WITH three superlative E.M. Forster adaptations already to their credit, the Producer-Director-Screenwriter team of Ismail Merchant, James Ivory and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala turned their attention, in 1993, to Japanese novelist Kazuo Ishiguro, and his Booker Prize-winning The Remains of the Day (1989). If A Room with a View, Maurice and Howards End had been polished comedies of manners, then their new project would be a drama of protocol, and the nuanced cocktail of egotism and cautious diplomacy politics naturally entails. Recruiting Howards End alumni Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson, the film charts Darlington Hall’s hosting of a summit during the inter-war years, and the coinciding arrival of a new housekeeper, Miss Kenton (Thompson). Lord Darlington (James Fox), keen to mend relations with Germany following the reparations demanded of her at Versailles in 1919, will lead the delegation, with Stevens the butler (Hopkins) ensuring that justice is realised in flawlessly opulent surroundings.
Foregrounding the imminent descent of Europe’s political elite, Stevens urges his staff to “let them know they are in England”, his assured rhetoric a curiously infantile advocacy of patriotism that subordinates the democratic process to a superficial theatre of nationhood.
Woven into preparations for the conference, and its bid to stabilise a tense political climate burgeoning in Europe, is the film’s second and similarly complex story – the sometimes tepid professional association of butler and housekeeper, but one that rarely betrays Stevens’ evolving regard for Miss Kenton, and perhaps his love. Indeed, though their early exchanges are slightly acrimonious – centring, variously, on an ill-positioned oriental treasure, and her inexperience compared to that of Stevens’ butler father (Peter Vaughan) – evident nonetheless is a mutual respect, even affection, between the two. At the heart of the narrative, then, is the brilliantly understated test of how far, if at all, Stevens will voice his feelings for Miss Kenton. His is a perpetual conflict of duty and feeling, and whether his perfected austerity will admit desire into a cloistered world of professionalism and restraint.
Woven into preparations for the conference, and its bid to stabilise a tense political climate burgeoning in Europe, is the film’s second and similarly complex story – the sometimes tepid professional association of butler and housekeeper, but one that rarely betrays Stevens’ evolving regard for Miss Kenton, and perhaps his love. Indeed, though their early exchanges are slightly acrimonious – centring, variously, on an ill-positioned oriental treasure, and her inexperience compared to that of Stevens’ butler father (Peter Vaughan) – evident nonetheless is a mutual respect, even affection, between the two. At the heart of the narrative, then, is the brilliantly understated test of how far, if at all, Stevens will voice his feelings for Miss Kenton. His is a perpetual conflict of duty and feeling, and whether his perfected austerity will admit desire into a cloistered world of professionalism and restraint.
Indeed, it is not solely love between them that Stevens’ abject loyalty stifles, but a political meeting of minds. When two maids, Elsa (Emma Lewis) and Irma (Joanna Joseph), look set to be dismissed on the ground of their Semitism, Stevens seems almost unmoved, while Miss Kenton threatens to leave herself, should they be obliged to depart. Whereas she is horrified that race can be any criterion for their exit from the house, Stevens insists “It is out of our hands. His Lordship has looked fully into issues surrounding the nature of Jewry”. Palpable throughout the film is the irony that Stevens’ consummate professionalism itself impairs his moral judgement, even the fascism in which he is unwittingly complicit a footnote to his unquestioning service to Darlington. During the pivotal conference dinner scene, a glittering ensemble of etiquette and sycophantism, American Congressman Lewis (Christopher Reeve) bemoans the “amateurism” of those assembled, noting how their well-intentioned words cannot veil how little they understand world affairs. Stevens’ taut expression, upon hearing Lewis’ polemic, conveys, through its peculiar naïveté, the true extent of his loyalty to Darlington – as if his employer’s rank political inexperience can be stressed above Darlington’s own but archaic retorts about “honour” and “goodness”.
After interviewing another candidate for service, Lizzy (Lena Headey), Stevens declares “She’s not suitable”, but is assured by Miss Kenton that “She’ll do well”. Pressed by her on the matter, the butler dismissively claims to have “...placed [my] thoughts elsewhere, while you chatter away”, before holding Miss Kenton to be “always right”.
His purported immunity to her criticisms, only to be followed by a proclamation of her faultless intuitions, lends humour to their casual interactions, but pathos to moments when expressions of genuine emotion are impeded by his social unease. “Miss Kenton, you mean a great deal to this house. You’re extremely important to this house, Miss Kenton”, he tells her. “Am I?”, she replies, with surprise and hope. “Yes”, he says, as if frustrated there can be any doubt on the question. How much he has acknowledged her professional gravitas, how little the implicit depth of his feeling. Later, in Mr Stevens’ parlour, Miss Kenton probes him on what he is reading, gradually prizing the volume from his hand. He gazes at her almost tenderly, with a silence through which so much is said. In the film’s devastating account of their staid reciprocity, the parlour scene is perhaps the defining moment – whether Mr Stevens will allow intimacy to temper rationality, if his Kantian demeanour can entertain possibility amid almost ritualistic sensibilities.
His purported immunity to her criticisms, only to be followed by a proclamation of her faultless intuitions, lends humour to their casual interactions, but pathos to moments when expressions of genuine emotion are impeded by his social unease. “Miss Kenton, you mean a great deal to this house. You’re extremely important to this house, Miss Kenton”, he tells her. “Am I?”, she replies, with surprise and hope. “Yes”, he says, as if frustrated there can be any doubt on the question. How much he has acknowledged her professional gravitas, how little the implicit depth of his feeling. Later, in Mr Stevens’ parlour, Miss Kenton probes him on what he is reading, gradually prizing the volume from his hand. He gazes at her almost tenderly, with a silence through which so much is said. In the film’s devastating account of their staid reciprocity, the parlour scene is perhaps the defining moment – whether Mr Stevens will allow intimacy to temper rationality, if his Kantian demeanour can entertain possibility amid almost ritualistic sensibilities.
Compelling and moving, Remains is a superbly executed drama that meditates evocatively on whether it is integrity or sacrifice which fosters potential, and just how far autonomy can go in ensuring happiness.
No comments:
Post a Comment