Artistic vanities, especially the cult of the romantic starving artiste, have
always been sitting ducks for satiric terrorism. Among the writers whoíve taken their
shots in this century, the most diabolically merciless -- the veritable Carlos the
Jackals of their realm -- have been such renowned British curmudgeons as Kingsley
Amis, Evelyn Waugh, and George Orwell. Orwellís early novel, Keep the Aspidistra
Flying, is the basis for this acerbic little social comedy which, for all its broadness
and uncharitability, goes down as clean and bracing as a neat glass of gin. Unsung
character-acting genius Richard E. Grant, savored by a small but evangelically devoted
cadre of fans for savory roles in Withnail and I, Franz Kafkaís Itís a Wonderful
Life, and other semi-obscure movies, is the hero, a frustrated adman named Gordon
Comstock who dreams of being a poet. One day Gordon decides to bloody well do it.
Heíll chuck his job, hole up in a garret somewhere, and pursue his true destiny as
an ecstatic plumber of deep truths ignored by the smug bourgeois masses. Needless
to say, Comstock is quickly revealed as a pompous, self-deluding twit. His pathological
hatred of all things middle class is so extreme it causes him to fixate on inanimate
objects like potted plants as symbols of conformity and philistinism. Surprisingly
-- perhaps because heís so bizarrely sincere in his beliefs -- a handful of enablers
actually stick by Gordon despite his fatuous posturing, drunken benders, and aversion
to bathing. In particular, his practical-minded fiancée (Bonham Carter) seems
willing to suffer the insufferable. She doesnít really understand what Gordon is
after, but she recognizes an admirable bravery and focus in his quest. This is a
movie that rewards patience. For roughly the first two-thirds, it seems that all
Bierman (who sticks rigorously to Orwellís original tone and intent) accomplishes
is setting up and mowing down clownish effigies: artistic poseurs; blueblood socialists;
vulgarian ad execs. But then Orwellís true intent begins to reveal itself. With Grant
and Bonham Carter delivering some of the more affecting, detail-perfect, and subtly
humorous acting of their careers, a far more substantial theme develops about how
concepts like ìhigher callingsî should really be interpreted in human life. Never
burdened with the bellicose Tory agenda of some of his curmudgeonly peers, Orwellís
satire always was blessed with a bit more human empathy than theirs. That difference
-- along with another priceless comic performance by oughta-be star Grant -- makes
A Merry War worth two hours of your time despite its talkiness, cinematic monotony,
and less than graceful narrative. Itís a pretty dry brew all right, and you may wince
at the first couple of sips. But once it gets in your blood Iím guessing youíll want
to polish it off, right down to the last drop.
--Russell Smith
Capsule Reviews
A Merry War 
A Merry War 
A Merry War 
A Merry War 
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