Les Misérables (2012)

I love Les Misérables. I've seen it thrice in the last year, and never before. I've read small pieces of the novel, which were phenomenally interesting. Without doubt here's a work that explores a greater fraction of human experience than most, and with tremendous empathy and intellect. Even the film, a hasty synopsis of the novel, strikes powerfully, again and again in its 2.5 hours. It seems every ten minutes is a devastating blow. As I have often said, these last few years saw my sensitivity increase and emotional tolerance decrease for all fictions, especially movies. Yet Les Misérables seems to tower above others, for scale, scope, intrigue, impact, power and profundity. The dramatic intensity would be enough, without the empathy, intelligence, and artistry, but the whole creates a singular cinematic experience. How great must be the literary experience.

Components: acting; dramatic narrative of the novel; music; writing; historical interest.

I think the actors' performances are outstanding, almost incredible. It's rare to see vulnerability and magnitude co-achieved like this. Tackling both at once is fearless, and achieving both at once makes the performance among the best in Hollywood. To have several of these miracles converging on one screen is a testament to the musical's impact on actors. At least three of them came and delivered some of the most heroic acting of the century so far. The format is unique (novel to stage musical to musical film), therefore difficult to compare with other performances, save with terms of experience: authenticity and emotion.

The drama struck me as Shakespearean. It's an old breed of drama, like the Old Testament, ancient poets, and Shakespeare, that needn't be believable in our age to get a point across. It's exceedingly dramatic, in all major uses of the word. "Dramatic" is one of the first words I'd use to describe both the film and what I've read of the novel. Impossibly dramatic, larger than life, even indulgent, but always authentic and profound. Hugo writes like a man aware of his extreme intelligence. He is not shy. The game is over, no one is pitching, and he's still hitting home runs on his own little tosses -- and we're still glued to our seats. It's amazing to watch. Each page I read was full of intelligence and fascination. It was a subtle genius whose expression was anything but subtle, and a mad spongey sort of genius, rambling intelligently about virtually anything. Yet he crafted this perfect narrative. The drama is almost excessive, and often incredible, yet never flawed for it, and not only spectacular but brilliant and beautiful.

I appreciate and love the music, though I go here and there with it. It's interesting enough, and embedded well enough in the rest of the experience, that I never criticize it like I do almost all modern music. It's interesting, thoroughly embedded, and beyond that very good. But it's not genius, it's not perfect, it's not fascinating, it doesn't strike my taste precisely like other elements of the film. I love it, and it's excellent, and saying it's not genius/perfect/fascinating wouldn't be saying much if I didn't consider other elements of the film genius and perfect and fascinating. The music is excellent and I love it. But it's not overwhelmingly positive an experience for me, like other elements. The reader should immediately remember: I am not a novelist, not a playwright, not an actor, not a historian, not a filmmaker, but I am a musician. Anyway, the music fits partly with modern popular music, therefore makes sense to the ear, yet strays plenty enough to make it interesting. For someone accustomed to music music and not "musical" music, much of it hardly makes sense. I would definitely be in this camp if I had less sophisticated musical training. My generation doesn't hear music like this anymore, at all, unless they go to the theater. For some reason the theater still breaks the molds of the radio, which is such a blessing. Well, I suppose the musical is from 1980. I have heard quite some basic theater music lately. The '80s were different. This also is not American, importantly. So now I'm defeating my own points. But it's still impressive how the theater continues to spice up our musical culture. Kids instantly become more sophisticated when they listen to theater music, which still delivers that rumor of classical music. Even when it's not symphonic, it has those key modulations, left-field chords, quirky melodies, ambiguous song structure/arc, nebulous rhythms, sort of cadenzas, trained operatic voices, almost a randomness we've missed since classical music became irrelevant. Musical theater may be the only remaining relevant rumor of the old style. And looking forward, musical film may be the only thing keeping musical theater relevant. As we get increasingly basic, impatient, and artistically stupid, everything transitions to TV and radio. Classical music went under a long time ago; musical theater carried a rumor of its spirit; now it's films like Les Misérables that may keep musical theater alive, for a while. Eventually it will all just be mumbling, and the 1% of us will fall upon our swords lamenting the past. Anyway, make no mistake, the apparent randomness of classical music is absolutely precious. It kills ever the mumbling over four-on-the-floor. It is drowning, but Les Misérables enshrines it in one cross-cultural generation-leaping monument. We cannot overestimate the significance of this achievement -- nay, service. The music of Les Misérables blends pop with classical; it is excellent stuff for this age; its pop basis is not exactly my taste, even within pop, but it is still quality stuff, and wonderful to hear; it has many terrific songs, many terrific moments; I love it; it is about as sophisticated as pop-based music gets; and it carries a torch bearing a small resurgence of the old flame. God bless it.

The writing is good. I only noticed this third time how it repeatedly leans on repeated phrases. For example, in four bars 1234 rhyming ABAB or ABCB, it's as though the writers wrote strong firsts and seconds, then strong fourths to rhyme with seconds, and then wrote thirds to fill the gap just rehashing the verbiage of the fourth but with a different final word or two, because they didn't want to think of or couldn't think of a really strong third. It's definitely an easy way out, to be honest, and it works, but it comes across as lazy or weak when you notice it many times in one work. I only remember one example, and it's not a great example: "you can take / you can give / let him be / let him live." It's not a great example, but the first two lines make sense, and the fourth works, so this is something I'm familiar with having written some poetry in my life: you write the first line first, inspired for content; then a second, also mostly for content, without much mind for rhyme, pending how things play out; then you imagine a fourth under rhyming necessity, and all three of these can be good; then you have to fit a third in; it's tough, it's crammed, it's the most restricted, it has to flow rhythmically, it has to flow thematically; and you end up rehashing the fourth in the third, because people pay least attention to the third anyway, and in fact have less attention available for #3 by nature, and repetition is very powerful, and puts greater emphasis on #4. But it's an easy way out, and you remove 25% of potential content, and it's ultimately weaker than achieving a really strong third, though that's often difficult. Ideal would be to add content for #3, without cramming too much content, because #3 is the toughest spot to grasp as the audience, yet subtle simple meaning can still be grasped. The repetition is certainly powerful, but is weak writing when indulged repeatedly. Beyond this I really like the writing. The vocabulary and style is largely simple old-fashioned. It's like a tasteful 20th-c. biblical translation (I wish I knew specifically which one to cite) -- not archaic and not too modern, not ornate and not basic, just a tastefully simple rendering of ageless terms, in fact quite like Tolkien at times, yet simpler. The quotation above ("you can take / you can give / let him be / let him live") exemplifies the simplicity, brevity, and timelessness I consider a virtue of the writing, although this example is too elementary. Better examples are more mature, and abound in the movie, though not in my immediate memory for citation. Tolkien is one of my favorite examples of simple yet profound and mature writing, and obviously Hemingway is the brevity guy, but Dylan Thomas (especially early in the collection) is ultimately my greatest example. If God had 100 English words to talk about human experience, they would be Dylan Thomas's. His words are simple, pointed, rich, and timeless all at once. Les Misérables did a good job with this. It will age better since it stays pretty simple and timeless, it strokes all human experience in general terms. And the rhymes are really nice, often surprising. An elegant rhyme that also surprises is one of the best things in all of writing, for me. They seem easy, almost effortless at times in this movie. Many instances convince one it's easy to write and rhyme. But it's not, and this is the nature of elegance. Effortlessness is one of my old core virtues of art, and lots of the writing in this movie appears effortless, elegantly simple.

As I age I feel myself increasingly interested in history. This reflects my increasing interest in identity, especially my own or extensions thereof, and in humanizing the Other. Often the projects are one in the same -- humanizing the Other entails integrating a broader extension of my identity, which always satisfies me, and all of this is enriched by history. History humanizes, and humanizing identifies, and identity is what I love and need. Histories of all kinds and of all entities achieve this. I can see myself reflected in any entity better if I know its history, because it's the dynamics of entities through time that reveal a universal nature, a universal identity, and not snapshots of entities. If all is Brahman, or all is fire, I can see and love myself as Brahman or fire better not viewing an image of a wave in the ocean or of fire but viewing a wave in the ocean transforming in time or viewing fire in its flickering. History reveals myself to me via revealing myself in others to me via revealing the transforming of others through time which looks a lot like me. The personal history of Jean Valjean, the political history of France, Hugo actually wraps many histories into one narrative; especially reading the novel it is clear Hugo is interested in history; therefore I am interested in Hugo, and his narrative is thrilling to me. Historical context enriches almost anything to me. I didn't love Wisconsin until I read its history; I didn't love math and my Senior Project concept until I read its history; I didn't love many people throughout my life until I heard their histories (seriously); I wouldn't love Les Misérables without its appreciation for history.

I love Les Misérables. I love the characters, the story, the music, the historical interest, and the whole thing was highly emotional for me. Every ten minutes was a profound emotion, each of a different color. The thing is monumental. Every page I skimmed of the novel was extraordinary. I should read more of that.