It's no surprise to me that David Lean's penultimate film, 1970's "Ryan's Daughter", is the last of his epic films to receive the deluxe DVD treatment since it is likely the most maligned and misunderstood. However, the 2006 two-disc package really shows a genuinely affecting, WWI-era romantic melodrama set against the stormy western coast of Ireland. Calling it a sweeping epic does not really do justice to the splendid visuals that Lean and his favorite cameraman Freddie Young present here (Ireland's Dingle peninsula looks stunning), yet at its core is an intimate love triangle that raises the ire of the village given the political frictions between Britain and Ireland. It seems a shame that the film was so lambasted when it was released since expectations were set so high after Lean's previous three films, all three widescreen masterworks - 1957's "The Bridge on the River Kwai", 1962's "Lawrence of Arabia" and 1965's "Doctor Zhivago".
Written by Robert Bolt (who also wrote "Lawrence" and "Zhivago") as a Celtic variation on Flaubert's "Madame Bovary", the plot is focused on Rosy, the spoiled, headstrong daughter of Thomas Ryan, the local publican. She seeks a more cultured life and sets her sights on Charles Shaughnessy, the educated schoolmaster. Rosy makes the naive presumption that Charles' worldliness represents great passion but finds out otherwise on their wedding night. Enter Major Randolph Doryan, the young, shell-shocked British soldier assigned to take command of the local army detachment. Doryan and Rosy enter into a passionate affair, but it's a matter of time before Charles and the rest of the village find out. Meanwhile, a band of Irish rebels led by Tim O'Leary are intent on retrieving a shipment of German arms in order to take umbrage against the unwelcome British occupiers. The two plot strands merge, and tragic consequences ensue.
There are certainly moments of excessive, florid abandon in the film, especially when Lean focuses on the illicit lovers. The director goes all out in making the lovemaking scenes between Rosy and Doryan combustible, first in the pub amid Doryan's traumatic flashbacks of exploding bombs and then in a lengthy and surprisingly carnal scene in a wooded enclave. Their mutual rapture is at turns moving and titillating. The other drawback is that unlike "Zhivago" or "Lawrence", Lean does not really integrate the political backdrop of the story fully into the triangle plot. Rather, he uses it more as a plot device to give the story a greater historical resonance. At the same time, some sequences highlight Lean's brilliance as a film auteur, for example, when Charles gradually discovers the reality of his wife's indiscretion on the beach or the aftermath of the town pillaging when Rosy is brutalized for her alleged role in helping the British. From a technical standpoint, Lean's pure cinematic mastery can be best seen in the storm sequence, when the town bands together to get the boxes of artillery. Maurice Jarre's music is memorable, as his haunting theme plays constantly throughout.
The performances are variable, though all the key players provide strong moments. Sarah Miles handles the difficult role of Rosy with dexterity, especially as she runs the risk of alienating the viewer with her extramarital deception. In what has to be the most atypical role of his lengthy career, Robert Mitchum is a revelation as Charles. His natural tough-guy veneer has been completely subverted to play a passive, accepting man whose love for Rosy remains unsullied by the harsh reality of her adulterous behavior. It's a masterful performance because with a minimum of fuss, Mitchum taps into the depth of despair experienced by the cuckold husband. Looking pained and obviously cast for his James Dean-like demeanor and look, Christopher Jones portrays Doryan with brooding stares and a minimum of dialogue. Lean does what he can to camouflage Jones' comparatively stoic performance, but the result still provides a sagging imbalance to the love triangle. A heavily made up John Mills plays the mute gargoyle-like Michael as a series of tics and befuddled looks. Leo McKern effectively plays Ryan for the weak-willed hypocrite that his character is, and his emotional abandonment of his daughter is quite affecting. As Father Collins, Trevor Howard has a wild-eyed look about him at times, but he passionately provides the moral compass for the story.
As the movie runs for three hours and fifteen minutes (actually shorter than "Lawrence" and the same as "Zhivago"), the film is on two discs separated by an intermission. In fact, like any epic, there is orchestral music for the overture, intermission (which ends part 1), entr'acte (which begins part 2) and ending. The print quality is superior and the sound even better. The commentary track has several participants who take turns commenting on the scenes. DVD producer Laurent Bouzereau smartly introduces each speaker in order to avoid confusion, and the differing perspectives can be quite interesting. Disc 2 has a solid, hour-long 2006 documentary, "The Making of Ryan's Daughter" divided into three chapters, as well as a couple of production shorts made at the time of filming.
Written by Robert Bolt (who also wrote "Lawrence" and "Zhivago") as a Celtic variation on Flaubert's "Madame Bovary", the plot is focused on Rosy, the spoiled, headstrong daughter of Thomas Ryan, the local publican. She seeks a more cultured life and sets her sights on Charles Shaughnessy, the educated schoolmaster. Rosy makes the naive presumption that Charles' worldliness represents great passion but finds out otherwise on their wedding night. Enter Major Randolph Doryan, the young, shell-shocked British soldier assigned to take command of the local army detachment. Doryan and Rosy enter into a passionate affair, but it's a matter of time before Charles and the rest of the village find out. Meanwhile, a band of Irish rebels led by Tim O'Leary are intent on retrieving a shipment of German arms in order to take umbrage against the unwelcome British occupiers. The two plot strands merge, and tragic consequences ensue.
There are certainly moments of excessive, florid abandon in the film, especially when Lean focuses on the illicit lovers. The director goes all out in making the lovemaking scenes between Rosy and Doryan combustible, first in the pub amid Doryan's traumatic flashbacks of exploding bombs and then in a lengthy and surprisingly carnal scene in a wooded enclave. Their mutual rapture is at turns moving and titillating. The other drawback is that unlike "Zhivago" or "Lawrence", Lean does not really integrate the political backdrop of the story fully into the triangle plot. Rather, he uses it more as a plot device to give the story a greater historical resonance. At the same time, some sequences highlight Lean's brilliance as a film auteur, for example, when Charles gradually discovers the reality of his wife's indiscretion on the beach or the aftermath of the town pillaging when Rosy is brutalized for her alleged role in helping the British. From a technical standpoint, Lean's pure cinematic mastery can be best seen in the storm sequence, when the town bands together to get the boxes of artillery. Maurice Jarre's music is memorable, as his haunting theme plays constantly throughout.
The performances are variable, though all the key players provide strong moments. Sarah Miles handles the difficult role of Rosy with dexterity, especially as she runs the risk of alienating the viewer with her extramarital deception. In what has to be the most atypical role of his lengthy career, Robert Mitchum is a revelation as Charles. His natural tough-guy veneer has been completely subverted to play a passive, accepting man whose love for Rosy remains unsullied by the harsh reality of her adulterous behavior. It's a masterful performance because with a minimum of fuss, Mitchum taps into the depth of despair experienced by the cuckold husband. Looking pained and obviously cast for his James Dean-like demeanor and look, Christopher Jones portrays Doryan with brooding stares and a minimum of dialogue. Lean does what he can to camouflage Jones' comparatively stoic performance, but the result still provides a sagging imbalance to the love triangle. A heavily made up John Mills plays the mute gargoyle-like Michael as a series of tics and befuddled looks. Leo McKern effectively plays Ryan for the weak-willed hypocrite that his character is, and his emotional abandonment of his daughter is quite affecting. As Father Collins, Trevor Howard has a wild-eyed look about him at times, but he passionately provides the moral compass for the story.
As the movie runs for three hours and fifteen minutes (actually shorter than "Lawrence" and the same as "Zhivago"), the film is on two discs separated by an intermission. In fact, like any epic, there is orchestral music for the overture, intermission (which ends part 1), entr'acte (which begins part 2) and ending. The print quality is superior and the sound even better. The commentary track has several participants who take turns commenting on the scenes. DVD producer Laurent Bouzereau smartly introduces each speaker in order to avoid confusion, and the differing perspectives can be quite interesting. Disc 2 has a solid, hour-long 2006 documentary, "The Making of Ryan's Daughter" divided into three chapters, as well as a couple of production shorts made at the time of filming.