Monte Cristo

It's ironic that for an adaptation of the novel "The Count of Monte Cristo" by Alexandre Dumas that shortens the title to just "Monte Cristo" and that is silent that the film is actually verbose--filled as it is with too many loquacious title cards. Also seemingly contradictory is that the picture renders the spectacle of the novel, well, spectacularly when it's attempted, but the filmmakers also on several occasions falter in their visual transmutation of the text by telling instead of showing action. A title card informs us that Dantès is rescued by smugglers, for instance, and that he gains their confidence; we don't see it. This leads to the Count's staged rescue of Ferdinand, which also isn't visually depicted. Indeed, these bandits from the book don't appear until near the end with the capture of one of the targets of the Count's revenge. Adapted more so from stage versions than the original prose, too, the film features some peculiar deviations from what Dumas wrote, but, overall, it's rather faithful when compared to some other such films, including the 1934 "The Count of Monte Cristo."

We're fortunate, however, to be able to see "Monte Cristo" at all anymore. Fox releases during the silent era in particular have an atrocious survival record; 136 of their feature films exist in some form today, according to David Pierce (see "The Survival of American Silent Feature Films: 1912-1929"), while 683 of them are lost. Consequently, almost entire careers have largely vanished, like Fox's star vamp Theda Bara, or the acclaimed works of director Herbert Brenon, or most of the Westerns of cowboy Tom Mix. As with a good many Hollywood movies it seems, "Monte Cristo" only remains because of the preservation of a foreign cut at the Czech archive. "A single worn and choppy print," as the Flicker Alley DVD puts it. Moreover, that prints of Hollywood productions issued for foreign release tended to consist essentially of B-roll footage may explain some of the awkward moments in this adaptation, as may, perhaps, some missing parts from scenes in what appears to be a duplicated print. I don't know whether it helps explain an over-fondness in the picture for extreme long-view establishing shots, either, or if that was merely a choice to exhibit the production's admittedly opulent sets and lovely landscapes.

Maybe John Gilbert in the eponymous role wasn't as unremarkable in the domestic negative, although this was before he became a huge star at MGM--this film being re-issued in 1927 to capitalize after that fact--and his transformations of appearance as guileless sailor Edmond Dantès, as heavily-bearded prisoner of the Château d'If, under the disguise of priest Abbé Busoni, and as the avenging and fabulously rich Count of Monte Cristo are effective. I couldn't help but wonder while watching the film, however, what would've been made of the role by the "man of a thousand faces," Lon Chaney. Oh well. An impressive job is also done in making the Count's adversaries here look dastardly, especially Villefort, with his twirled mustache and a patch of hair on his labiomental groove. It doesn't take a lot of cinematic training for one look at this character to inform a spectator that he's the baddie. Early on, at least, he also has that desk toy that he manages to play with in a seemingly nefarious manner.

Yet, what they did to the story's female characters tends to be, let's say, unfortunate. Speaking of those verbose title cards, one of them goes taking from another play in Shakespeare's "Hamlet" for, "frailty they name is woman." Here, that refers to Mercedes marrying someone else after Edmond has been gone for a year or so and pronounced dead behind bars. Years later, she's still proclaimed "faithless." This considerably reduces any charm from the rewritten romantic ending, as does the newly-concocted romantic partnership for Haidee, the central figure of the book and the film's Orientalism, as well as the Count's slave (or "ward," as they say in the movie), which seems haphazardly thrown in for this adaptation.

Fidelity isn't a priority for me in adaptations, but it'd be nice if the alterations at least made logical sense within the reformatted narrative. Edmond's supposed to be innocent of the crime he's accused of, but unlike in the book he knows he's supporting the Bonapartist cause in delivering his captain's letter; in fact, he hand delivers it to Napoleon himself. It doesn't seem worth it to me to undermine the main predicament of the protagonist just so you can dress up a diminutive actor as the Emperor for a couple minutes of the two-hour movie. Later, one of the Count's nemeses is convicted by a "Chamber of Peers" on hearsay, and another demands proof in the courtroom, but seems to reside to the fact without being provided any. The latter might be due to missing footage, though, as I aforementioned suspect. Similarly, we don't see Dantès switch the bodies for the prison escape. But, then again, the filmmakers don't even seem to understand how duels work--the business of only one loaded gun, at least, is something I've never heard of, including from reading the book.

On the other hand, there remains a good deal of spectacle and even a duplicate and worn nitrate film looks pretty good when restored and presented well enough. We see Gilbert struggle free underwater (the other silent versions lack such submerged photography) and proclaim "the world is mine" against crashing waves. There's the requisite sword fight--this time with Villefort. The sets demonstrate the high production values. There's some nice lighting, including low-key and silhouettes, and tinting. Double-exposure visions are plentiful. Before the picture seems to overly rely on those establishing shots in the second part, the scene dissection is decent for the era, too. And even the adaptation is appreciable for how it retains some scenes that other versions don't, such as, say, the "ghost story" of the buried infant. Actually, there is some good use of flashbacks scattered about here, which makes the textual ellipses instead of visual depiction in other parts the more perplexing. The film is a mixed bag, but it's a happy ending that the film survives at all for us to see it today.

This is the earliest adaptation of the novel that I could find on the internet. It was taken during the silent era. There are many characters and some of them are introduced a little too fast. The second part of the movie is different from others. But it has some memorable moments, like the underwater shots and the sword fight scene. Generally, the cinematography and costume designs are beautiful.

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO is one of Alexandre Dumas père's most successful novels, along with THE THREE MUSKETEERS. Eugene O'Neill's father, James O'Neill, made a career of the role for decades, committing an abbreviated version of it to the screen in 1913. Indeed, the IMDb lists more than thirty screen adaptations of the work. The most successful version was, I feel, the 1975 version starring Richard Chamberlain. Yet all of the versions I have seen -- about a dozen of them -- struggle to simply tell the tale, let alone infuse the story with the depth and breadth of Dumas' novel, which runs to a thousand pages in full translation, a novel which encompasses issues of morality, godliness, the Vampire Theater of Paris which flourished for half a century in France -- and the ultimate futility of vengeance.

Therefore, it is a shock to see this movie, recently restored and issued on DVD by Flicker Alley, directed by little-remembered Emmett J. Flynn in a two-DVD set with the recently rediscovered BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT. This is a wonderful retelling of the story, with fine performances in what was heralded as 'an all-star cast'. The script is carefully written to cover the scenes not shown on the screen. If the print seems, at times, to be a bit washed out, this apparent failure can be laid on the film stock of the era: the orthochromatic film that had been a standard of the industry for almost thirty years would be superseded within a couple of years by faster, panchromatic stock that could film blues more effectively.

If the story seems a bit rushed and more straightforward in its telling than seems proper: alas, that's what happens when you try to get so a long story into a two-hour picture, folks, and director Flynn does a highly competent job, given the Augean task.

Other reviewers for the IMDb have written that John Gilbert does not really seem to be John Gilbert in this picture. True enough, but he is not busy being John Gilbert the star, but an actor playing the Count of Monte Cristo, born Edmond Dantes in the fertile mind of Dumas. Although the modern film-goer may have some issues with the conventions of a movie made almost ninety years ago, those who enjoy silent films will find little reason to regret the time they spend watching this version.

This movie had had a big advantage - the story based on which it was made. That had very minimal flaws. In this particular movie version however, the story had been modified and not for good, but exactly opposite. In fact I don't even see any reason for the change that had been done. The plus point is - despite the initial disclaimer on the screen (of preservation), the print on DVD had been sharp, and without any visible discontinuities. The movie more or less faithfully adapts to the classic approximately three-fourth of the way - after which the adaptations start and spoils the taste in the mouth. Some of the sequences had been avoided, and that is understood, to compact the story, and didn't hamper the flow e.g. Morel & daughter, or Pharaoh II. But there had been distortions as well as wrong characterisations which made the story and the character's especially Edmond's actions not as logical as in the classic. The first of such instance came with regards to Mercedes' wedding. The circumstances and her helpless condition was made into 'fickleness of women'. Mercedes, had she been, would have strongly objected. Another very strong error was in the introduction of Princess Heidi. In the story she was kept incognito, a slave girl, till her veil was removed to bring the traitor in open. Here she is a known, and naturally Ferdinand would have smelt a rat. Even the end is not only not in line with classic, but concocted - Heidi can't really forgive the son of her father's killer. I will rather go with the 1954, Jean Marais Version, with much lesser distortions.



Even if it is around 100 years ago, there

I had low expectations of this film, thinking it was a Hollywood bastardization of Dumas's classic, like the corny but enjoyable 1934 version starring Robert Donat. How wrong I was! This is one of the better adaptations of "The Count of Monte Cristo"--not just required viewing for fans of the novel but a good film in its own right.

Let's start with its star. The problem with most actors who play the Count is that they're usually suited to play only one side of him-- the young and naive Edmond Dantes or the suave, revenge-driven Monte Cristo. John Gilbert is the only actor I've seen who excels as both. It helps that he was a young man at the time and plays Edmond with the vigor of genuine youth. He's just as convincing as the older, embittered Monte Cristo, thanks to the intense, smoldering stare that made him a matinée idol. As written by Dumas, the Count might be a swashbuckler but he is also an avenger whose thirst for cold revenge disturbs other characters and even the reader. Gilbert understands this and is perfectly cast.

Dumas's novel is a 1,200 page monster, and even three-hour adaptations have to cut large chunks of it. This version (which draws on several stage adaptations) is less than two hours, yet it manages to preserve the major plot points of the book. This is intelligent distillation is considerably more faithful than the 2002 version. Minor characters have been combined to streamline the story, which gains a surprisingly swift pace. The ending is differs from the original, but the scriptwriters have prepared for it with a melancholy prelude.

I wasn't familiar with the director, Emmett J. Flynn, and feared the movie would be stagy and visually dull. Once again I was wrong. The direction is lively and makes excellent use of superimposition. The lighting and costumes are lavish in the old Hollywood style, and the opulent, airy sets perhaps influenced the 1929 French film of the novel, directed by Henry Fescourt. His three-hour "Monte Cristo" is a greater work than Flynn's, though the most faithful adaptation is a 1979 French TV production starring Jacques Weber. Neither Weber nor Fescourt's versions have English subtitles so my recommendation for those who've read the book is to watch Flynn's film, with Gilbert's excellent performance, and the 1964 BBC TV production starring Alan Badel, which has been released on Region 2 DVD. The 1934 film starring Robert Donat takes too many liberties and the 1998 French TV miniseries suffers from the miscasting of Gérard Depardieu in the central role.