TESS: Blu-ray (Columbia 1979) Criterion Home Video
The time has
come to acknowledge Roman Polanski as a true cinematic genius – period! For too
long now this visionary film maker’s reputation has lingered under a cloud of
suspicion; his name synonymous with - not one, but - two very heinous crimes;
one perversely perpetuated upon Polanski’s actress/wife, Sharon Tate and their
unborn child, the other, allegedly, the rape of a fourteen year old girl in
1977 when Polanski was forty-three. Despite the many permutations to this
latter story (the victim chronically altering her understanding of events; a probationary
court’s findings that “the victim was not
only physically mature, but willing”; the revelation, L.A.D.A, David Wells lied
to ‘butter up the story’ and make
himself ‘look better’; the unearthed
corruption of presiding Judge Rittenband that ought to have led to an outright
dismissal of the charges, and finally, the court’s 2009 consideration of
Polanski’s attorneys’ writ of mandate - usually summarily dismissed) Polanski’s
name bears the scarlet letter of a known pedophile and rapist living in exile.
Remarkably,
while Polanski’s personal reputation has suffered irrevocable damage, the
status of his movies has only grown in prominence. This, of course, is as it
should be; for Polanski has proven time and again (as though further proof were
needed) he is a filmmaker par excellence, capable of exploring and excelling in
virtually any genre. It behooves the reader to reconsider the merit of just two
of Polanski’s most enduring creations, to ask ‘Is not Chinatown (1974) the
greatest noir detective story ever conceived in color? Is Rosemary’s Baby (1968) the most psychologically complex and intellectualized
horror movie of all time?’
Polanski’s most
prolific period encompasses the mid-sixties to early 1980’s. In hindsight,
however, his adaptation of Thomas Hardy's brooding 1891 novel, Tess
of the d'Urbervilles – foreshortened to Tess (1979) for the movie – evokes something of the wounded sentiment
and martyred anguish of this man behind the camera, almost as much as it extols
the tumult and destruction of Hardy’s victimized heroine (played with
noteworthy composure and clairvoyance by eighteen year old Nastassja Kinski). Tess has been interpreted as everything
from a highly romanticized apology made by Polanski to his own victim, to a tribute
for Sharon Tate, who first brought Hardy’s masterpiece to her husband’s
attention as a possible vehicle for her to star in, and, to whom Tess’ bittersweet dedication in the
opening credits belongs. Indeed, the rape in Hardy’s novel – left mysterious
and open to interpretation – is handled with uncharacteristic ‘acquiescence’ in the movie; Tess’ brief
refusal, and struggling with Alec, yielding to momentary bouts of confusion
afterward, but then, an even queerer sense of contentment.
Like the
martial liberty Rhett Butler takes of Scarlett O’Hara in Selznick’s Gone With The Wind (1939), our Tess
emerges from her ordeal with a half-amused smile, a bitter understanding of
this world of men and her place within it, and, a repentant (even, grateful)
suitor at her side; the definition of mutual consent crossed by Polanski’s
alter-ego, Alec Stokes-d'Urberville (Leigh Lawson), whose social standing fares
considerably better than Polanski’s own did under similar indiscretions.
Polanski is genuinely empathetic toward Alec in the movie; Alec’s repeated
attempts to lavish Tess with gifts of money, and, eventually making her his mistress.
In the novel,
Alec’s motives are purely predatory; seeking to possess Tess outright
(remember, married women were then considered property – not their own person).
But Polanski makes something more of Alec’s motivations, his earthly desire
counterbalanced by a somewhat more nagging need to look after this girl he has
wronged; perhaps as mere recompense meant to ease this guilt or
responsibilities increasingly felt towards her. Even after she repeatedly
spurns him, as she herself is rejected in turn by the man who presumably cannot
exist without her, Angel Clare (Peter Finch), there is something genuinely
compelling about Alec’s insistence; an intervention from the squalor and filth
of Tess’ present circumstances. Quite simply, Polanski is not ready to give up
Hardy’s affluent assailant as the movie’s generically sneering villain.
Conversely,
Polanski’s portrait of Angel Clare becomes increasingly more unsympathetic; a
man who professed to adore our heroine unconditionally (though not really) on
the misunderstanding she is chaste. Yet, the revelation that Tess has had a
‘lover’ prior to their relationship reveals Angel’s truer heart. Polanski is
very critical of this virtuous man – the son of a reverend, his mind cluttered
with disappointment, anger, disgust and ultimately pity for the wife he has
abandoned, but then comes to reclaim. In many ways, it is Angel – not Alec –
who ruins whatever joy Tess might have had in this world; his return to her
causing Tess to make a terrible decision; one ultimately leading to abject
misery for both she and Angel.
Polanski’s Tess is an exquisite adaptation of Hardy’s
novel; imbued with the selfsame subtext about a declining agrarian class forced
to submit to a burgeoning era of modernity and progress. The movie’s secondary
characters are constrained by Victorian slum prudery that none of the
principals in Hardy’s novel – or the movie, for that matter – subscribe to, or
even submit. But the movie’s plat du jour remains its exorcising of the novel’s
subversive ideas about human sexuality; something Hardy might have wanted to
express but was unable to due to the conventions (nee, social/moral constraints)
of his time. Hardy did, in fact, abhor the narrow-mindedness of his own generation.
Nevertheless, he fought the established mores in his own creative way to express
what his publishers feared.
Thomas Hardy’s
heroines are tragic portraits of self-destructing femininity, bound by chastity
(which, after all, is tantamount to saintliness), yet trapped by lust, considered
the devilry to send them to the gallows. Tess is no different; besieged by
unwanted desire from two ill-advised suitors; one of privilege, the other
unable to fully detach his heart from its pedigree in high-minded morality.
Hardy’s compassion is all with the latter. Tess is merely the implement to be
martyred as she is wounded by these men of diverging caste, who nevertheless
converge upon her advantageous youth and beauty: distant ‘cousin’ Alec, who is,
in fact, no relation at all, having bought the once prominent d’Urberville name
to enrich his own family’s fortunes, and Angel Clare; the son of a respectable
clergyman (David Markham) who chooses to become a farmer and marry the girl to
whom his heart so obviously belongs. The irony, of course, is that Tess is
judged unworthy by Angel after he discovers her scandalous history. Despite the
fact he has had mistress, Tess’s own confession - having spent her formative years
adorning Alec’s bedchamber - ultimately poisons the passion Tess and Angel
would have shared on their wedding night. It all but destroys the totality of
whatever happiness life once had in store for them.
Polanski first
conceived of the project in French with longtime collaborator, Gérard Brach;
their script later translated and expanded by John Brownjohn. The movie is
remarkably faithful to Hardy’s novel, with Polanski arguably making ‘improvements’
only to take advantage of the more liberal artistic freedoms Hardy could never
have imagined, much less hoped for in his own time. As example; in the novel Alec’s
rape of Tess occurs while the girl is asleep. Even the long awaited
consummation of Tess and Angel’s marriage is witnessed only through a keyhole
by an inquisitive cleaning lady. Such were the necessary excisions made by
publishers for Hardy to get the rest of his masterpiece printed.
Polanski,
however, is working under no such constraints; though perhaps even more incredibly,
he refrains almost entirely from indulging in his own generation’s laissez
faire acceptance of gratuitous sex, violence and nudity, popularized in movies
throughout the 1970’s. Instead, Polanski explores the novel’s seductions with an
analogous viewpoint; rape and legitimate lovemaking becoming two halves of the same
equation. And which is more destructive to Polanski’s Tess; the man who would
take by force what he wants from this inexperienced waif, or the other, who
willingly offers himself to her, but then just as easily take it all away as
punishment, and, to satisfy his own vanity and ego? Polanski asks, but never entirely answers
this question, though we, as the audience, come to suspect he has ever so
slightly veered on the side of the unromantic conqueror - not the quixotic
idealist.
It is precisely
this impartiality that makes Polanski’s Tess
quite daring; the viewer caught unawares by his/her compassion for the prurient
behaviorist, and, contrariwise, putt off by how stifling and unnatural the forthright
lover suddenly appears; hypocritical even, as Angel cannot forgive Tess the
same indiscretion she so uncomplicatedly chooses to excuse in him. It’s a
fascinating read on Hardy’s characters, further fleshed out by Anthony Powell’s
sumptuous costuming to cleverly mirror the spiraling emotional state of our
impressionable heroine.
When first we
see Tess, she is the quintessence of virginity, bedecked in button-downed white
from head to foot, and utterly dazzling in her laurel of white flowers braided into
her hair. Gradually, the colors in Tess’s garments begin to turn, first to pale
blue (for the rape), then later drab grays and deep unattractive browns to
compliment her souring mood immediately after leaving Alec. Tess reverts to the
purity of white just prior to her second ‘cute meet’ with Angel; Polanski using
wardrobe again to punctuate this new beginning, or perhaps merely to foreshadow
his motif of doomed passion destined to repeat its mistakes. Once more, Tess’
wardrobe goes from white, to pale blue to dark burgundies, browns and grays;
all three colors on display for the penultimate bittersweet reunion between
Angel and Tess at the home she now shares with Alec.
Herein, the
effect is uncannily reminiscent of Ingrid Bergman’s devolving sanity in the
1944 classic, Gaslight (1944);
Kinski unsettlingly like Bergman in her Victorian negligée as she descends the
stairs to confront her former husband; her wild, troubled eyes yearning for his
acceptance; her mind reeling in chaos over how best to conjure a return to this
man who has considerably wronged her, but who she so obviously prefers to the
other convenience currently occupying
her bed. The parallels between Bergman’s Paula Alquist in the aforementioned Gaslight and Tess go even further;
Paula’s tortuous manipulations at the hands of her husband, pushing her to the
brink of self-destruction by taking the next obvious step to murder as revenge.
Inevitably, Bergman’s character suffers a moment of clarity. She does not
plunge the knife into her wicked husband, and her decision pulls her back from the
brink of a similar trap our Tess cannot help but fall into; thus, she is made
to submit to the penalty of death for her actions.
And Polanski
hyphenates Tess’ corruptibility at the hands of the ironically named ‘Angel’ by
having Powell sheath her from top to bottom in magnificent scarlet for the
movie’s last act; a befitting hue to parallel the blood murderously spilled in
the upstairs bedroom. For now our Tess is truly the fallen woman; the choice to
do evil by her own hand, and believe she can escape its consequences, informing
the audience of a very tragic and brief future together; Polanski forcing us to
bid a reluctant farewell to this peasant girl who has, for the better half of
171 minutes, occupied our hearts as a desirable innocent, then chivalrous
sufferer to whom we could relate.
Yet, this
creature is gone; evaporated once the unholy deed is committed. The Tess of our
own aspirations - to see her succeed - has died; replaced by visions of a femme
fatale we cannot understand, or perhaps refuse to accept as having any shred of
moral decency. She’s done the wrong thing – if, for the right reason – and we
strangely find ourselves looking forward to her inevitable demise; Polanski,
perhaps plying our own intuitively Victorian slum prudery with a viable outlet
into which it can rather unapologetically be expressed and, ultimately
satisfied.
Our story begins
in real Thomas Hardy country: Wessex during the Victorian age. Tess and the
other eligible maidens are having their May dance in the countryside at sunset,
the vision of a large gathering of women dressed in virginal white, stirring
young Angel Clare, a passing farmer, to join their occasion for a spirited jig
and reel. Along a similar country road, Tess’s father, John Durbeyfield (John
Collin) encounters clergyman, Parson Tringham (Tony Church) who refers to him
rather glibly as ‘Sir John’. Durbeyfield, a hopeless drunk, is not above making
his own inquiries, discovering from Tringham that he is a direct descendent of
the d’Urbervilles; a once noble lineage dating all the way back to William the
Conqueror, though now all but turned to dust.
Durbeyfield becomes
fixated upon regaining this lost nobility. To this end, he quickly discovers a
wealthy family living on an estate not far away and bearing the d’Urberville
family name. Sir John forces his eldest daughter, Tess to seek employment
there. Almost immediately, Alec d’Urberville is amused, then enraptured by his
beautiful young cousin. But his attempts at seduction, plying Tess with wild
strawberries and roses, do not meet with her approval. She is a good girl, and
will not be swayed. Alec confesses to Tess that his family is of no relation.
He has bought the d’Urberville name, intent on exploiting its heritage to
benefit his own. As the days pass, Alec becomes consumed by Tess’ beauty until finally,
frustrated and angry at her lack of interest in him he takes advantage of her
in the forest.
Humiliated and
with child, Tess returns home, giving birth to a sickly baby that later dies. Sometime
later, Tess is employed at a dairy as a milkmaid where she meets her heart’s
true ideal; Angel Clare. He rescues Tess and her friends from ruining their
Sunday best on their way to church, carrying each girl over a deep puddle obscuring
their path on the narrow wood-lined country road. One of the girls, Izz
(Suzanna Hamilton) is desperately in love with Angel, though quite incapable of
expressing her unrequited feelings to him. Instead, she watches with increasing
sadness as Angel and Tess grow closer.
Angel comes
from a respectable family. What’s more, he believes Tess is an unspoiled country
lass; completely naïve in the ways of the world. The two fall in love, and
despite his own father’s objections, are later married. Previously, Tess had
tried to write Angel a letter, explaining her affair with Alec. The letter,
however, remains unread by Angel and Tess later destroys it, intent on keeping
her past a secret from her husband. However, on their wedding night, Angel quietly
confesses to his wife that he had a previous relationship before they ever met.
Believing this confession alone will make Angel more sympathetic to her own
plight, Tess confides in Angel about Alec. Instead, Angel rejects Tess for her
honesty, his romantic ideals about her totally shattered.
After several
days, Angel vows that they should go their separate ways. The love that was to
have been everlasting between them is now dead. In his desolate departure from
the country estate he has rented for their honeymoon, Angel discovers Izz to
whom he discloses his broken heart. In turn, she reveals her true feelings for
him. But Angel stops just short of asking Izz to take Tess’ place, riding off
into the distance alone, presumably to forget Tess forever. This, however, he
cannot do. Nor can Tess excuse or forgive Angel his abandonment, particularly
after her family is forced into poverty by Sir John’s untimely passing from
strong drink.
Tess attempts
to keep her family together by finding backbreaking work in the fields. Alec
attempts to reason with her, offering them financial aid but at a price. Tess
initially rebukes the offer, but in order to spare her family certain death
from starvation, she reluctantly re-enters into an arrangement with this man
who raped her, becoming his mistress to support her mother and siblings. Not
long afterward, Angel comes in search of his wife after a disastrous missionary
tour abroad has considerably compromised his health. Discovering Tess as Alec’s
kept woman leaves Angel brokenhearted and ashamed. But Tess, now determined to
return to Angel, murders Alec by slitting his throat with his shaving blade;
Polanski once again refraining from showing us anything more than Tess’ glance
at the implement of death, followed by her hasty departure from the house after
Angel, and finally a few prominent drops of blood seeping through the upstairs
carpet and through the ceiling on the first floor.
Angel and Tess
run away together, his acceptance of her past without passing moral judgment
coming too late in their chance for happiness.
Breaking into a seemingly abandoned manor house, Angel and Tess consummate
their marriage. They are forced to flee when the tenants return; their trek
across the moors to Stonehenge leading to Tess’ capture by the police on
horseback. As Angel looks on, Tess is led away in chains, the movie’s epilogue
reiterating that she was summarily tried, convicted and hanged for Alec’s
murder.
Tess is a starkly beautiful movie of rare and exceptional
qualities, long overdue for resurrection as an important work in the arc of
Roman Polanski’s film career. At the time of its release, Tess was the most expensive movie ever produced in France; the
latter, a necessary sacrifice in authenticity, because Britain would have
extradited Polanski to the U.S. to be sentenced on his rape conviction.
Nevertheless, the French countryside is a fairly convincing substitute for England,
in part because Polanski has studied the great agrarian paintings of French
artists, Georges de La Tour and Gustave Courbet, evoking their palette,
lushness and textures into an evocative living tapestry for the film. Tess was a production marred by a
tragedy; the unexpected death of cinematographer, Geoffrey Unsworth from a
heart attack necessitating that his work be picked up by Ghislain Cloquet. Both
men won the Oscar for Best Cinematography on Tess, though remarkably, the Academy chose to entirely overlook its
star as Best Actress or Polanski as Best Director. The movie wasn’t even
nominated for Best Picture.
Nastassja
Kinski did win the Golden Globe for ‘Best
New Star of the Year’, though again, and perhaps even more ironically, she was
entirely overlooked in that award’s ‘Best Actress’ category as well. It must be
said of Kinski that she remains the movie’s exquisite lynchpin. Arguably, without
her, the story still would not have fallen apart, thanks to Polanski’s
meticulous planning and superb casting choices made throughout this peerless
production. But with Kinski as his star, Polanski’s Tess attains a level of movie magic practically unattainable and
decidedly pure. When Kinksi darts those dark and piercing, expressive eyes,
volumes of subtext from Hardy’s novel come tumbling out; the transparency
caught in her emotional responses unexpectedly catapulting this material into
the stratosphere as cinema art of the highest order. Kinski’s Tess truly haunts
us from within, making her hypnotic captivation of both Alec and Angel wholly
believable.
The other performances
in the movie are universally fine and wrought with an appreciation for Hardy’s own
period and presence of mind. It’s as though the author is being channeled
through these characterizations. And
Polanski has been ever so meticulous in maintaining this fidelity to his source
material without his devotion ever becoming stagey, slavish or uninspired by
that necessary spark of ‘original genius’
for which all of Polanski’s best works are internationally acclaimed,
appreciated and admired. Adaptations of great novels remain in vogue in the
filmmakers’ milieu. But Tess is the
truest of rarities among them; conducting itself on its own visual terms, yet
timeless and faithful to Thomas Hardy’s 'of the earth' textures and that fateful
narrative of pastoral tragedy.
Criterion Home
Video’s Blu-ray delivers the goods. Tess
has been sourced from a new 4K digital restoration. At first, I wasn’t entirely
convinced. The opening credits appeared ever so slightly soft, contrast looking
slightly off and/or boosted and fine detail seemingly lost under a patina of
haze. The image just didn’t seem to snap together as it should. Perhaps the
original optical printing process has something to do with this. For, almost immediately
after the credits, a noticeable improvement occurs that perfectly realizes the
luxurious visuals achieved by both Unsworth and Cloquet. A good portion of Tess is shot outdoors, under natural
lighting conditions; both cinematographers creating an almost sepia-tint agrarian
backdrop, dripping in honey-yellow/golden afternoons; richly saturated and
positively glowing from the screen. On Blu-ray, Tess will undoubtedly impress as few movies of its generation
can. The image is detailed and vibrant;
the red in the strawberries Alec feeds Tess, as example, popping off the
screen. Tess is not a film that
exemplifies crisp, clean contrast. Unsworth and Cloquet’s soft lighting and
deliberately hazy afterglow of late day sunlight have been perfectly preserved
on this 1080p transfer; as have the more foreboding dark blues and lifeless
grays as the mood of the piece turns darker and unromantic.
The 5.1 DTS
audio is another cause for celebration; subtly nuanced and exactly right.
Extras are the icing on the cake. We get a superb 2006 documentary ‘Once
Upon A Time’ on the making of the film with rare interviews from
Polanski, Kinski and other contributors. Criterion also affords us three
separate vintage programs that covered the movie’s production, again featuring
cast and crew giving in-depth coverage about the making of the movie that puts
most of today’s junket featurettes attempting to do the same to absolute
shame. Add to this a 1979 interview with
Polanski (in French with subtitles), another 45 min. documentary shot on
location while the movie was being made, a fascinating booklet essay by Colin
MacCabe, the movie’s original trailer and voila!
– this is a Tess for the ages: a
magnificent offering from Criterion that belongs on everyone’s top shelf of
must haves! Very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
5+
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