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The
Grandfather (1998)
The
Grandfather opens with a shot of a framed photograph sitting on a table, a picture of
a mother and her two daughters. The camera pulls back and reveals a luxurious room, all
ochres and golds, yellow roses, brocade wall coverings, candlelight. Dona Lucretia (Cayetana
Guillen Cuervo) arrives home with her escort, a minister of the
government with whom she has been having an affair. He wants her; she is nonresponsive to
his kiss. "To eternal love," she toasts, "and the short time it
lasts."
The movie takes place in turn of the century
Spain, but the sensibility - and the film's style - are pure 1948. Memories of
romantic-family-costume dramas from that period evoke nostalgia in those who experienced
the genre. It was the Saturday matinee equivalent of curling up with a respectable, but
not-very-challenging novel for a "good read."
But times change, sensibilities change, and
yesterday's escapism becomes, alas, today's bore. The Grandfather is beautiful to
look at; the scenery, costumes, and decor are handsome, the lighting and the
cinematography are fine. There are some interior scenes that have golden hues and glowing
light reminiscent of a Rembrandt painting.
The script, unfortunately, is another story. Don
Rodrigo, the aged grandfather (Fernando Fernan Gomez), has
returned from Peru to rescue the honor of his granddaughter. His widowed daughter-in-law,
Dona Lucretia, has two daughters, one his legitimate granddaughter, the other the
product of yet another extramarital affair. Both girls are beautiful, loving and charming,
but Don Rodrigo is locked into fiercely held values of aristocratic honor, the integrity
of his lineage. His conflict with Dona Lucretia, a woman of both passion and
practicalities, is established.
By now, what might have been drama has
deteriorated into melodrama, ever more predictable, ever more sentimental, and taking
itself as seriously as Streisand takes her investments. Don Rodrigo repeatedly speaks in
intended aphorisms ("We elderly people are really children locked up in old
bodies.") which are either silly or banal. Had the slightest attempt at irony
been injected here, there might have been hope, but, no, director Jose Luis Garci,
veteran of three decades of filmmaking and winner of an Academy Award in 1983, plays it as
straight as a Baptist in Disneyland.
The screenplay, based on a novel by Benito
Perez-Galdos, includes stock characters for social commentary: a well-fed priest, an
obsequious bureaucrat, self-serving family retainers, a nouveau riche mayor. Allusions to
changing times give the impression, if not the substance, of weighty observations. The
actors are skilled, but defeated by the stereotyped characterizations and the leaden,
cliche-ridden dialogue. And the soundtrack uses saccharine arrangements of two pretty but
overexposed melodies, Elgar's Nimrod and Satie's Gymnopedie 1. Although both
compositions might have been heard during the period in which the film is placed,
historical accuracy does nothing to serve esthetic ends here, and Satie would surely
shudder at the burdening of his simple melody with the overwrought and underfelt emotions
of this celluloid anomaly.
- Arthur
Lazere...........