Au-dessous du volcan

An ex-colleague of mine once recommended this movie to me. When it was released in the cinemas he watched it several times, and he said that if i really was a movie freak, this was something i had to see. So, when a few weeks ago this movie was shown on TV in The Netherlands, i did. When i watched it i didn't know where the story was going, but when it ended and a week after it, it didn't get out of my head. After that week when i was doubting about it was a good or an average movie i ended up with the idea that it really is something special. Albert Finney is really great in this picture as an alcoholic (better than Nicolas Cage in "Leaving Las Vegas") and i totally agree with my ex-colleague that he is one of his favourite actors. It is not a movie for the masses, but when you are a movie-fanatic it is a must.

There are pointless arguments to be had as to whether Burton and Taylor in the main roles would have been better and wouldn't it have been good to see that Losey or, praise be, the Bunuel version get off the ground, but we have what we have. Almost fifty years on from when I read the deeply affecting book I cannot recall how faithful the telling is although I do retain a memory of it being more intense and foreboding than here. That volcano was not just a pretty picture but something like the forthcoming war that impinged upon the daily life. Nevertheless this is a very fine effort, Finney gives it his all and just about convinces, Bisset is pretty but less convincing and Huston has an eye for the Mexican setting, particularly the Day of the Dead celebrations and the final ghastly booze and debauchery sequence. But then, Huston himself knew more than a little about, not just drinking, but periods of drinking all the time, or as someone says here, 'drinking himself sober'.

It's November 1, 1938 in Cuernavaca, Mexico, The Day of the Dead. Former British consul Geoffrey Firmin (Albert Finney) is drunk walking the streets in a tux with no socks. He is despondent over his divorce from Yvonne (Jacqueline Bisset). She and his half-brother Hugh (Anthony Andrews) arrive to help him recover his senses.

Albert Finney delivers a fascinating performance. Of all the characters, I am most uncertain about is Yvonne. I think it's more compelling for his ex-wife to be an object of faraway longing. She is too nice anyways. Bisset is gorgeous. She is too perfect. She should be a source of conflict instead. Overall, Finney's compelling performance drives this train. Director John Huston knows how to draw it out of his great actors.

This is one of those films that I wanted to see because of the rave reviews I had read about a particular performance, rather than for the quality of the film which was generally described as mediocre at best.

Sometimes its just as interesting to see one aspect of a film (particularly a single performance) standing head and shoulders above anything else.

I was led to believe 'Under the Volcano' was such a film especially after the Halliwell Film Guide (easily the best movie guide) described it as a 'drunken monologue' which was 'fascinating as a tour de force'.

So I expected this to be an average film that focussed almost entirely on and was finally saved by a remarkable performance (by Albert Finney) in the lead role.

The fact that it wasn't had nothing really to do with Finney's performance, the character he plays simply does not allow him to give the sort of performance that I had read about.

His portrayal of a permanently tipsy retired British consul (Geoffrey Firmin) drinking himself to death was fine. However the structure of the film was totally different from how it had been described, there was not a single monologue in the film and it was never the sort of apocalyptic journey into a man's tortured mind that I had hoped would fully test an actor of Finney's calibre.

Instead we see Firmin joined by his half brother and wife (played by Anthony Andrews and Jacqueline Bisset respectively) as they go for a walk and have a journey on a bus.

That is basically the entire film, Firmin's character is surprisingly serene compared with what I was expecting (no rage or acting fireworks at all) whilst Andrews and Bisset play the sort of dotty, stereotypically English twits that wouldn't look out of place in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'.

The fact that the two characters are former lovers is supposed to add tension to the proceedings but it really doesn't.

Although the role never allows Finney to be brilliant, his skill and assurance is in stark contrast to his two co-stars who look awkward in comparison and their limitations are all too obvious alongside a far more talented performer.

So this dull and rather pointless film plods along towards its supposedly tragic but unintentionally risible conclusion which rather than providing shocking drama delivers slapstick comedy akin to Laurel and Hardy.

Why John Huston chose to make this is a mystery, this type of film is destined to fail.

Under the Volcano could have made as just another 'Lost Weekend' film if not for the attention to a simple narrative (though one that has a lot underneath the surface), and a performance to compellingly take us through the unbalanced emotional state of its protagonist. From what I've read about what the novel became by this adaptation, Huston took out the big poetic bits that made it such an unclassifiable (and as many claimed unadaptable) work and made it into a tale of a man's downfall from grace and good times. The story is as such: Geoffrey Firmin (Finney) is a recently retired consul in Mexico who has that big, admirable personality that comes with those who have lived- or boasted to live- quite a life, and have taken now to mass consumptions of alcohol. It's not even about the enjoyment of it, but a compulsion for 'balance' to drink just to get sober, as it might be. He's also divorced, recently, but his wife (Bisset) comes to him again, wanting once more to patch things up.

This is set in the backdrop of the 'Day of the Dead' festival, and on the brink of world war 2, but these things are, however brilliantly and as a kind of delicate lining around, a backdrop for the emotional and mental and, it should be noted, spiritual struggle of Firmin. Huston never preaches about this man's rotting addiction, and there's no easy sympathy either. We see his emotional state rock from happy and hopeful to the pits of despair following the bullfight his half-brother Hugh (Andrews) takes part in, where he can't basically grasp his own reality anymore. Underneath this surface of the film though, where we're given this proud, unstable character, there's chaos riling about, attached in a way to the mood around, with rumored Nazi collaborators in the midst of things, a near-murdered body on the side of the road, the matter-of-fact metaphors of the symbols of death that (as Huston makes in one of the most Gothic openings to a movie I've ever seen) opens the film with marionette skeletons to an eerie Alex North score.

But lest to say that all credit should go to Huston for his storytelling. It's an interesting film for the first three quarters, though in a way feels like it has to be building for something; here and there, even as we're with these character wandering in a state of mind of disarray (will Firmin and Yvonne stay together, split apart, who will run away are the basic questions, as well as how Andrews might have something to do with it on either side), it starts to feel like it could become meandering. In that last quarter, however, Huston lays on a feeling of dread, maybe not entirely with coincidence, that hasn't been seen since Treasure of the Sierra Madre- something bad just HAS to happen, and it will come out through the worst devils of the protagonist's nature. There is that for Huston, the power of that brothel sequence, the terror and even the dark humor.

The best reason above all else, even as it's one of Huston's most challenging films, is that Finney is so terrific in the role. It's a startling work of an actor taking down his guard, making himself vulnerable and naked, so to speak, to the discord booze has brought to his mind. He gets depth to a guy that should be just another Hemingway figure, of the sorrow that really lies in every little moment and gesture and inflection. It also goes without saying he's one of the top three or four convincing drinkers in modern film. And at the same time it's not easy to peg what he'll do next as an actor, which step he might cross or double-back on. While his co-stars are very good in their parts, he dares to overshadow them with a tour-de-force. Under the Volcano pits its character into hell, and Huston brings us, without going overboard with stylistic flourishes, right along with him.