Un uomo da affittare

After watching "The Go-Between", author L.P. Hartley cried, being so moved by the cinematic representation of his novel. Had he been alive he may well have cried after watching "The Hireling" for the way his subtle novel had been vulgarized. But Hartley had died just before "The Hireling" was made and playwright Wolf Mankovwitz felt himself free to do as he pleased with Hartley's book. That in itself seems to be an act of great disrespect and worse, his changes are greatly detrimental to the work. It calls into question just what right does one have to so radically alter a work. There is little doubt that Hartley would ever have agreed to this version.

It's a great pity. The bulk of the film is well done, both Robert Shaw and Sarah Miles delivering strong performances. Adhereing to Hartley novel the overall effect would have so much more compelling.

Not only a disappointment, but a great annoyance at the presumption of lesser artists to tamper with the work of their betters.

Thoughtful study of the British class system, told from the perspective of one who essentially occupies its bowels, a chauffeur (Shaw) interacting with his employer (Miles), forming a close bond that threatens to transcend societal boundaries. Unfortunately for Shaw, his vulnerabilities mutate into misplaced fondness for Miles, a mentally crippled lady of standing whose only capable affections are for a recently returned war veteran (Egan).

Slow moving, talky and ultimately (in my opinion) a bit aimless - the climax is much anticipated, but the film ends quite abruptly and doesn't seem to me to do the narrative justice. Having not read the book, perhaps director Bridges was somewhat constrained by the manacles of the source material.

Performances are of the calibre that LP Hartley fans came to expect following "The Go Between" in 1971, "The Hireling" should appeal to anyone whose interested in human drama, or perhaps, who admires the work of Shaw or Miles. Both are very realistic in their extremes, and of course, poignantly, in their common frailties. More narrative structure would have suited me better, even so, it's a sophisticated drama worth a look.

If you have enjoyed the original Hartley book with its subtleties and irony, then this film is going to be a big disappointment. Although the pace and direction of the screenplay are broadly the same, some of the characters are missing and others have extended roles. The revised finale completely loses the harrowing irony and pathos of the book. Ripe for a Merchant/Ivory production...

The 1973 Palme d'Or winner (a tie with SCARECROW, 1973), a British film directed by Alan Bridges and adapted from L.P. Hartley's novel, screen-scripted by Wolf Mankowitz, is quite a curio to find, stars Sarah Miles and Robert Shaw as an odd pair, the story takes place at rural England after WWI, it is an acrimonious tirade towards British hierarchical underbelly and is spiced up by the qualified performances from two leads, Miles' innate fragility and gullible naivety finds a quite befitting rhythm with Shaw's rough edge and macho dominance (also Peter Egan's nob Captain is graphically delineated with a light touch), despite the fact that the film is somewhat a lukewarm achievement.

Miles is Lady Franklin, an upper-class new widow suffers from the post-trauma of her bereavement, anew from convalescence, she is mentally hurdled to resume her social life and raring to find someone who she could talk to, when she meets her new chauffeur Ledbetter (Shaw), who just initiates his own private rent business, Lady Franklin is clearly not that kind of clever woman of his tier, she befriends with him and it's not another DRIVING MISS DAISY (1989, 8/10) well-intentioned (racial) class-defying friendship crowd-pleaser, things will turn ugly as Ledbetter's escalating jealousy and infatuation towards Lady Franklin grows, which will end up with a clumsy self-destructive finale driven by indignant impulse (he doesn't have the luck and handsomeness which befits the romantic credentials in DOWNTOWN ABBEY).

It is again a glum, inclement England, the lamenting dirge belts out along the first half of the film, Lady Franklin, bears a frail delicacy and her indecisive nerve of "getting the knack" to continue her life in the countryside getaway, bespeaks a damsel-in-mistress desperate for a savior (her ill-tempered, apathetic and self-centered mother, Elizabeth Sellars brings the role point-blank accuracy, for sure is more of a nuisance than a comfort here), so Ledbetter, who is professional and pretty sentient of their social disparity at first, would slowly capitulate to Lady Franklin's daring openness and closeness, and mistakes it as a kind of mutual affection (reaches to the pinnacle when he receives a helluva bunch of money from her to save his bogus financial mire), for Lady Franklin, she is much obliging to give the dole as it is a sort of compensation towards Ledbetter's optimum services and a relief to her own conscience (an upper class privilege) as well, money is her final offer, not love, of which we onlookers are all fully aware but not Ledbetter, in his eyes, it is a signal of devotion, an illusion while kindness mis-conceited as the flame of desire, especially when the benefactor is from a higher-up echelon, naturally the delusion has to be unsparingly shattered, it is the perpetual tragedy resides within the classes between "sanctimonious" upstairs and "covetous" downstairs. Like Shelton Cooper from THE BIG BANG THEORY rightfully teases "the upstairs should never eat with downstairs, it will only give them a false hope of the life they would never be involved", which I'm paraphrasing here.

With all respect to the team effort, THE HIRELING doesn't ring true as a prestigious Palme d'Or champion, it is nothing but a solid period feature carries a powder peg to indict the tenacious scourge, and eventually misfired.

A British drama; A story about an upper-class widow suffering from depression over the loss of her husband, who develops an unusual relationship with her chauffeur. This is an adaptation of L.P. Hartley's novel. It has a measured pace and a care for the telling detail. It shows the vast barrier between social classes, suppressed sexuality, and of a casualness. One side is cold, yearning for warmth; the other, striving but painfully frustrated yet they give one another the confidence one grants a stranger. Robert Shaw is remarkable as the chauffeur, an ex-sergeant major, ramrod straight, filled with a sense of class and keeping his place. Sara Miles's aristocrat is equally well drawn as the widow, childless, on release from a sanitarium. Their scenes are marked by intriguing sequences: long, uninterrupted car rides through an overcast, rainy Somerset. The work up to the final scenes is gentle and slowly paced to maximise tension. This is a film very well directed, earning the Palme d'Or in 1973.