THE REMAINS OF THE DAY: 4K UHD Blu-ray (Columbia/Merchant-Ivory, 1993) Sony Home Entertainment

When Kazuo Ishiguro began to write his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Remains of the Day, he asked himself one question: ‘if so desired, how could one singularly sacrifice his/her own happiness?’ The answer, at least for Ishiguro, was to become an English butler. Like the novel on which it is based, director, James Ivory’s The Remains of the Day (1993) is so much more than that investigation of a squandered existence; an opulent period melodrama, exquisitely wrought with the psychological complexities invested in Ishiguro’s underlying social commentary on England’s caste system. Herein, a life in service is used as template, catalyst, and cultural touchstone to compare and contrast England’s pre-war stoic isolationism with its slow, sad decline in the post-war period. In more recent times, Julian Fellowes has taken the cue with Gosford Park (2001) and TV’s Downton Abbey (2010-16) and their subsequent big screen adaptations. But The Remains of the Day ought to be credited with starting this trend - or rather, resuscitating it from its long overdue hibernation. During WWII, Hollywood excelled at telling tales about the fictionalized upstairs/downstairs sect across the Atlantic, the upper classes cultured on the one end, the lower strata, rife in ribald cockney humor. Britain’s own perspective – at least in the movies – was somewhat more circumspect. And certainly, there was little to impress the Brits here.

Nevertheless, it was Hollywood that set the tone of England’s grand ole aristocracy, and for decades yet to follow, with aspersions and exaltations aplenty for London and Londoners – before and ‘after midnight’. Americans came to know England from a distance, with its romanticized white cliffs of Dover, ‘cavalcade’ and veritable ‘random harvest’ of stiff-upper-lipped craggy Cornwall moors where the likes of the brooding Baskervilles and/or remnants of a once proud country estate known as Manderly were readily unearthed.  So ensconced in the collective cultural mindset have these images remained that, at least in hindsight, every ‘modern day’ film-maker endeavoring to tell stories – presumably or factually set in England – remains at their mercy, indulging and massaging this mythology to satisfy a wider audience. Indeed, Ishiguro has openly admitted, in preparing his novel, he did very little research on the gentleman’s art of butlering, cribbing instead from his own fertile imagination and from such past representations gleaned from the movies. Hence, our Stevens (peerlessly portrayed with wounded pride and an impenetrable strength of character by Anthony Hopkins), is depicted, in addition to the duties imagined in overseeing a grand household like Darlington Hall, ironing newsprint and dusting dust jackets in the library. True to life or just Ishiguro’s snub aimed at the hoity-toity demands of a tea-sipping aristocracy? Who can say?

The Remains of the Day is a sumptuous feast. Tony Pierce-Roberts’ cinematography is an exemplar of meticulously crafted visual design, steeped in stunningly rich compositions, almost lyrical in their design and gorgeous from first frame to last. If anything, this retreat into Merchant/Ivory-ana reflects on the already well-travelled epoch of an England on the cusp of its own social decay, but where social graces and gentlemanly decorum still take precedence, the careworn nod of encroaching modernity, soon to set its cultured precepts to ruin. The glorification is necessary. Such an age was far too good (at least, for its upper classes) to last. Where this movie differs is in its immediately obscured contrasts, opening with a veritable rummage sale of the late Lord Darlington’s personal effects, sold for taxes and to spare the one-time grand estate from the wrecking ball.

As the crowd bids on these priceless antiques, we catch the vapors of ‘merry ole’ England’s past enchantments, now, slightly fortified by a distinct scent of moth balls and formaldehyde. From this dour and misty aera, grimly and dimly lit to emphasize the grey valor of post-war exhaustion and decline, we retreat into the more familiar and comforting Vermeer-lit, not-so-distant past in the throes of a great tradition, red riding coats gathered on horseback for a fox hunt one crisp autumn afternoon.  The ease with which director, James Ivory maneuvers from bustling pre-war to gloomy post-war aftermath, yields a sublime tapestry of unraveling threads. Not unlike the prologue to Selznick’s Gone With The Wind (1939), “here is a world where gallantry had its last stand…look for it only in books as a dream remembered…” Ivory’s comment on a gallant past, ne’er to return, is cribbing from a superior screenplay by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, the oft overlooked indispensable in the Merchant-Ivory franchise. No one is better than Jhabvala at chronicling the tragedy in this march of time. And then, from the ashes there emerges the ironic, if solitary survivor - the English butler – the epitome of even-keeled elegance, propriety and decorum.

In Stevens, the butler, we have the ultimate emotional deprivation – born of such exquisite naiveté to keep the status quo comfortably ensconced in their hearth-burning antechambers, plush libraries and majestic ballrooms. The seismic shift in culture after the war exacts a disastrous price on the serving classes, forever doomed to remain living relics in this shadow.  Ishiguro’s take on ‘how to’ waste a lifetime is seemingly important in the moment, yet, in the grand sweep and undertow of human history, he reveals its stifling deceptiveness to deprive a man of his substance, if hardly his memory, making painful sacrifices to no avail. What price, this glory? For Stevens, none he can justify – or even rectify, when that rare window of opportunity faintly glimmers barely beyond this postwar abyss. The Remains of the Day is more than a tale of war-time tragedy. It is a fairly disturbing, jaundice view of an England that arguably never was – at least, not entirely – as well as a sad farewell to Hollywood’s reincarnated versions of it.  In film-makers’ terms, the picture harks back to a resplendent glamor, but then, betrays it with the sobering reality that what once was believed to be a secure and never-to-change world is, in fact, as perishable and impermanent as the flesh of man.

The Remains of the Day is also Merchant-Ivory at the pinnacle of its success - a company well-established for quality, craftsmanship and above all else, exceptional story-telling. Herein, Luciana Arrighi’s production design, John Ralph’s art direction, and Ian Whittaker’s set decoration conspire to evoke pre-war tradition and post-war weariness. Of these two irreconcilable worlds, the past is the more richly sweet and familiar. We are repeatedly reminded of the myth, as this picturesque past is rendered into grizzle. The Remains of the Day is, of course, a metaphor for this passage of the years, the twilight-ed optimism in youth prematurely advanced by the war into an inescapable folly of middle-age regrets, and labors born of experience and lessons learned the hard way. In every way, The Remains of the Day is grandly edifying. Its visual stylization goes well beyond mere decorousness, something ‘nice’ for the audience to look at and/or fill the camera lens. A year before the movie’s release, Ismail Merchant and James Ivory were still basking in the afterglow of their Oscar-nominated magnum opus, Howards End (1992), a peerless adaptation of E.M. Forester’s novel, similarly themed, but set in those more secure Edwardian caste distinctions: slum prudery butted against middle class morality and upper crust snobbery. Reuniting the stars from that movie – Emma Thompson and Sir Anthony Hopkins – would prove inspired casting yet again, although initially The Remains of the Day was begun with quite a different roster in mind, and even without Merchant/Ivory’s participation. Columbia Pictures and producer, Mike Nichols owned the property outright.

Although the crux of Ruth Prawer Jhabvala’s screenplay wisely concentrates on the novel’s ill-fated ‘love among the ruins’ – her intricately revised narrative seeks best to examine the nation’s misguided comprehension of ‘peace in our time’, brought to its heels by the machinations of realpolitik, for whom these amateur politicians possess no stomach or wherewithal. In many ways, The Remains of the Day is a cheek-bruising slap to England’s well-intended snobs, exposing the nation’s Achilles heel that, by 1939, was rife for Adolf Hitler’s disastrous push into Europe. What is recalled best from the picture, especially upon reflection, is that decline and death knell for England’s empire-building age, mirrored in its vanishing aristocracy, herein typified by James Fox’s benign, Lord Darlington - an ineffectual political theorist who fancies himself as a power in the game. Alas, Darlington is, as American congressman, Lewis (Christopher Reeves) suggests during a state dinner, an amateur. Worse, a bungler, whose rose-colored impressions of a prostrated Germany (clouded by the suicide of an old friend, Hans Bremer) blind-side his benevolence with a misguided sense of honor – leading directly to unflattering allegations after his death, that Lord Darlington was actually a war monger or worse - a Nazi sympathizer and traitor to his own nation.

Running parallel to this rather public tragedy is a more intimate one involving Stevens and Darlington Hall’s housekeeper, Miss Kenton (Emma Thompson), told with uncharacteristic, yet wholly convincing, subversive sensuality. Here is a mismatched pair unlike any in movie history - the gentlemen’s gentleman, horrendously flawed in his belief the world will take care of itself (if one can delay the onset of opinion on practically any subject beyond the superficial) and a forthright and principled good woman, who lacks better judgment, yet summons at least enough conviction to defy the only world she has ever known by leaving it. It is difficult to qualify what transpires between Stevens and Miss Kenton as a ‘romance.’ There is no grand moment to mark a declaration of love. No passion. Not even a kiss. And yet, Stevens and Miss Kenton discover, mostly to their own detriment, that sacrifice is bittersweet at best. Kenton’s stubbornness prevents her from acknowledging these mistakes. But it remains Stevens’ incalculable inability to see beyond the comfortableness of this world already in steep decline that proves the couple’s ‘wake-up’ call. To satisfy these incredibly subtle prerequisites requires an actor of considerable range, and ‘Tony’ Hopkins is irrefutably, the best of the best.

The same can definitely be said of the team of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory; frequently to bicker over the finer points of their creative alliance, but always in service of bettering the product coming down their pike. Scouring England’s countryside in search of the ideal estate to embody the fictional Darlington Hall, the team was quick to realize no single estate could fully satisfy all of their requirements. Most vintage manors, while exceptionally well-appointed, lacked period authenticity, having been modernized in the interim, especially in their below stairs’ kitchens, cellars and servant’s quarters. In stitching together a blueprint to ‘become’ Darlington Hall, Merchant and Ivory turned to Durham Park, then Powderham Castle - two magnificent country estates, having withstood the deluge of changing times. While critics were quick to dub The Remains of the Day ‘the Tony and Emma Show’ Merchant-Ivory got underway on their most ambitious project to date. While immediately popular with audiences, the picture’s lingering and palpably pronounced social commentary as well as its’ thought-numbing melancholy, was likely what prevented it from becoming a critical darling rife for Academy Awards. Yet, here is a movie so perfectly realized, so completely to enrich us with its intelligence while stirring the heart, it seems unfathomably obscene to recall it won in none of the categories in which it was nominated: Best Actor/Actress/Director/Picture, etc. et al

The Remains of the Day opens with a sketch of a typical English manor, its center window dissolving to reveal a spectacular tracking shot under the opening credits, the camera following a vintage automobile down a heavily treed and winding country road on a particularly overcast afternoon. Our introduction to Darlington Hall is not unlike Hitchcock’s debut of Manderly in Rebecca (1940): Darlington Hall, once the grand bastion of stiff upper-lipped pride, elegance and refinement, presently the sad derelict, branded a ‘traitor’s nest’ in The Times, silent and diminished in the shadow of an auctioneer’s tent where its’ priceless artifacts are being sold to the highest bidder.  We begin with a voice-over narration from Miss Kenton (Emma Thompson); the former head housekeeper, responding in kind to a letter written by Stevens, the head butler (Hopkins). Her brittle commentary is about the weary state of postwar England and the badly maligned reputation of the estate’s former owner; their employer, Lord Darlington (James Fox). Like the estate, Stevens has been relegated to the scrapheap of time. Yet a reprieve of sorts is in store for both the man and his memories. Retired U.S. congressman, Jack Lewis (Christopher Reeves) has bought Darlington Hall for his retirement retreat and is in the process of repossessing as many of its cultural artifacts. Lewis encourages Stevens to take a road trip in Lord Darlington’s Daimler; Stevens, suggesting he might venture to the West Country where he has been practically assured of Miss Kenton’s return to service. Quickly, however, we discover Stevens has more personal reasons for making the journey.

Regressing into the film’s pre-war story, Stevens, considerably younger – is leading what he once perceived as an enviable life. As a proper English butler, he is afforded certain creature comforts – modest by comparison to the Lord of the manor, but also can count the honor to serve one of England’s premiere houses of notable repute. Lord Darlington is a gentleman of highborn pedigree who casually dabbles in politics. His meddling is well-intended, but flawed. Inadvertently, his outlook has drawn post-war Britain closer into a looming second European conflict.  On this particular afternoon, Darlington is hosting a fox hunt for his neighbors. The day is marked – at least in Stevens’ memory – by the arrival of Sarah Kenton who has come in search of a position as its replacement housekeeper.  Initially, Miss Kenton and Stevens do not get on. In fact, she mildly resents his rather imperious tone and quizzical interventions. He is, in fact, marginally amused by her bristling and frustration. However, as time wears on, a quiet understanding grows between Miss Kenton and Stevens – though he seems quite incapable of accepting even her most remedial acts of kindness without remaining quietly aloof - considering a freshly cut bouquet of blooms brought to enliven his drab room, “a distraction”, or refusing to reveal the contents of a book he has been reading in secret, which turns out to be ‘just a sentimental love story’ – the big reveal being, Stevens might be placing his more altruistic thoughts elsewhere. Perish this thought – as Stevens struggles to suppress his inner feelings. Jhabvala’s screenplay is particularly devious (though never false) in the way it builds these seemingly innocuous sparring matches into a sort of restrained sexual frustration. And Hopkins and Thompson are marvelous in their subdued exchanges, crackling with the embers of this burgeoning romantic realization.

With Lord Darlington’s permission, Stevens hires his aged father, William (Peter Vaughan) as the under butler. Afoot and at stake are negotiations between Germany, France, England and America; an international peace conference set to take place at Darlington Hall. Apart from its diplomatic importance, Lord Darlington is determined the conference will be an exemplar of English hospitality and tradition. But William is forgetful. Moreover, he has past his prime as a viable manservant. Unavoidable dereliction of duty is brought on by age. Miss Kenton readily recognizes these infractions and attempts to point them out to spare both men their dignity. But Stevens is adamant and unwilling to even acknowledge them. When William trips and falls on some crooked paving stones while carrying a heavy silver tray, Lord Darlington sends for the doctor, leaving his staff one short during the conference. In the meantime, Lord Darlington’s nephew and budding journalist, Reginald Cardinal (Hugh Grant) has arrived to cover the conference for his newspaper. He cautions his uncle on prudence and contemplation, rather than big-hearted, thick-headed and empty-promised appeasement that everyone, except Congressman Lewis, seem all too willing to embrace. During these four days of heady discussion, William succumbs to a stroke and dies. Miss Kenton delivers the unfortunately news to Stevens, only to be asked if she would manage all further inquiries, including closing William’s eyes. On the surface, Stevens’ inability to rush to his father’s side or even shed a tear in private over his death, seems callous. Yet, lest we forget this is a man so utterly shielded from any reality apart from his immediate duties to his employer, so recklessly guarded and incapable to express a single human emotion – perhaps even to reason, communicate or understand them fully himself from within – that Stevens is, for all intent and purposes, an emotional cripple.

During the conference, Miss Kenton is reintroduced to Thomas Benn (Tim Piggott-Smith); a man servant whom she once knew rather well at Stanton and Lacey, her former place of employ. Reacquainted in Stevens’ sitting room, Benn later comments on Kenton’s attractiveness. Herein, Stevens delivers a rather telling reply, “I’d be lost without her,” with an intense duality of meaning. On the surface, his comment is mere praise for Miss Kenton’s abilities as a housekeeper. But we begin to sense – perhaps as Stevens does for the first time – how tethered her presence has become to Stevens’ own heart, or rather, its reawakening from a very long slumber. A few days after the conference, Stevens is summoned by Lord Darlington to his study, praised for his participation but nevertheless instructed to terminate the employment of Elsa (Emma Lewis) and Irma (Joanna Joseph); two refugees previously taken in at the start of the war, who Darlington now regards as unsuitable because of the Jewish heritage. Miss Kenton is outraged, informing Stevens of the likely consequences, that without proper references, Elsa and Irma will likely be sent back to Germany where, as history and retrospect teaches, their fate would be sealed. Miss Kenton threatens to resign, but later rethinks this urgent decision, her cowardice continuing to gnaw at her.

She and Stevens come to a disagreement about the hiring of another house maid, Lizzie (Lena Headey) whom Stevens wisely assesses as a young girl moving from post to post ‘looking for love’. Determined to reassert the authority she believes has been lost by betraying Elsa and Irma, Miss Kenton overrides Stevens’ decision, but later comes to regret it when Lizzie decides to run off with the rather cocky head footman, Charlie (Ben Chaplin) instead. This impromptu elopement puzzles Stevens. But it rekindles Miss Kenton’s wellspring of desire to fall in love and marry. Confiding with sincerity her affections toward Stevens, Miss Kenton’s amour is stifled by his non-responsiveness. She begins casual meetings with Thomas Benn on her days off, returning from one such outing on a windswept night to announce to Stevens she has received (and decided to accept) Benn’s proposal of marriage.  Her news hits Stevens like a sledgehammer. But even now – with the wound so obviously deep and gaping – he can bring himself to do little, except congratulate Miss Kenton on her excellent choice, his voice shaky, his eyes glazed over with tears refusing to escape.

We return to postwar England. Having run out of petrol on the open road, Stevens is forced to spend the night at a local pub where he indulges in some spirited conversation about the war and meets Doctor Richard Carlisle (Pip Torrens). The patrons mistake Stevens for a gentleman with past political connections. But when asked about Lord Darlington, Stevens categorically denies he ever knew the man. The next day Doctor Carlisle, who sees through Stevens’ disguise, offers to drive him to the spot where his car stalled with a can of petrol for his motor. In his company, Stevens confides he is a man servant who not only knew, but also greatly admired Lord Darlington, despite the papers having since branded him a complicit Nazi sympathizer. Carlisle and Stevens part along the open road and Steven hurries to the West Country where he is reunited with Miss Kenton. Alas, the reunion is short-lived and fraught with the greatest loss of all. For Miss Kenton has received a letter from her daughter, soon to have a baby. She cannot return to service and will likely attempt a reconciliation with her estranged husband. Her unexpected decision utterly destroys Stevens; the moment, photographed with heartbreaking sadness on a pier in Brighton out of season. Hopkins is poetic in his tragically blank stare, capturing all of the arctic desolation mirrored in the stark grayness of these damp and colorless surroundings.

At the end of what remains of their day spent together, Stevens escorts Miss Kenton to the bus depot. He quietly suggests they may never meet again and removing his hat in her honor, allows the rain to cover him as he gingerly releases her hand, the bus pulling away and leaving him in darkness – both figuratively and literally. This is the movie’s most unguarded moment; Miss Kenton’s eyes full of bitter tears and Stevens, unable, even now, to fully realize the magnitude of his sacrifice, following the bus with wounded eyes as it rounds the corner before either can fully ascertain this moment as their forever ‘goodbye’.  In this penultimate farewell, The Remains of the Day achieves a sort of epistolary adieu on par with great lovers throughout history and such an unlikely reveal it is too, coming between two people that time has so completely forgotten. Resigned to Darlington Hall, Stevens begins the arduous task of preparing the long-shuddered house for the arrival of Lewis’ family. His efforts are momentarily thwarted by a wayward pigeon having entered the once grand banquet hall down the chimney flue and begun its panicked flutter in an enclosed space. The bird is gingerly captured by Lewis who quietly carries it to the open French doors, releasing it from captivity; the obvious parallel, that there is no such escape for our Mr. Stevens.

Like all truly great romances, The Remains of the Day tells of unrequited passions, their inconceivably misguided approach, doomed to failure, yet with a belated epiphany to reopen old wounds of regret and personal disappointments. We feel for these mismatched would-be lovers, perhaps because at the very fiber of our own being, we can recognize a life of roads not taken to these imagined greener pastures, never again ours for the asking. Mercifully rife for the asking is Sony Home Entertainment’s new 4K rendering. Sony’s Blu-ray was always a quality affair. Nevertheless, it pales to the exemplary remastering in native 4K from an original camera negative. Prepare to be dazzled. The Remains of the Day looks positively ravishing in 4K UHD. The pluses - a gorgeous hi-def image with rich and fully-saturated colors, naturalistic flesh tones, exemplary contrast, and, stunningly realized fine detail, also very accurately resolved film grain. In short – this one is perfect. Sony has likewise upgraded the audio to Dolby Atmos, while also including the old DTS 5.1 and 2.0 theatrical mixes for our consideration. The Atmos offers some sonically subtle advantages, the tinkling of glasses, or soft gusts of wind in the garden. The score also benefits from this expanded audio mix. Extras have all been ported over from Sony’s Blu-ray release. There is nothing new here. We get an audio commentary from James Ivory, and several featurettes containing vintage interviews, plus deleted scenes with additional/optional director’s commentary. Bottom line: The Remains of the Day is a top-tier entertainment with few equals. The new 4K UHD advances in all of the perceived areas and is truly reference quality. Very – VERY – highly recommended! 

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

3.5