The Constant Gardener - film review

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Film Review - The Constant Gardener

         Since the release of Oscar-nominated Cidade de Deus in 2002 which thrust him into the limelight director Fernando Meirelles has been relatively quiet, a TV series adaptation of his film being his only offering. The release of this adaptation of John Le Carré's novel is a significant milestone for him – his first English language film, his first feature length production using an entirely professional cast and large budget, the first of his works immediately released to a mainstream audience.
         It is comforting, then, to see the flair which made 'City of God' such an awesome cinematic experience have not disappeared as he tackles the Hollywood market. We are aware of the Meirelles touch from the outset: his use of unconventional camera angles, tilted shots and the partial obscuring of picture by everyday obstructions may be more fitting to his earlier photographer protagonist, but is still effective in displaying the simultaneous vibrancy and squalor of Africa and giving the audience something more than the everyday. As the film progresses we also have the inclusion of more grainy forms of media (such as webcams and home movies) to maximise the realism and emotional hook.
         But Meirelles is also maturing as a director and learning from others. Most notable is his colour-coordination for locations in the film, showing the influence of Steven Soderbergh's Traffic though with more subtlety and less symbolism: London a Minority Report-esque blue-grey wash; Berlin illuminated by stark white; and Kenya a resplendent orange. He also benefits from a greater confidence in those around him, allowing the more obtrusive cinematography to take a back-seat as the plot picks up pace and the actors come to the fore.
         Le Carré's plot is hardly revolutionary, yet its chief power is in marrying together the classic elements of a conspiracy-thriller with unusual and very topical concerns at its heart. Justin Quayle (Ralph Fiennes) is a well-meaning but detached diplomat who's existence nurturing his flowers and worrying over relationships is jolted into action by the death of his radical crusading wife (Rachel Weisz), leading him to uncover a conspiracy revolving around the African AIDS crisis, corrupt pharmaceutical companies and government bureaucracy. With such a look at how the West treats the developing world it is unsurprising to see Richard Curtis regular Bill Nighy turning up, though uncharacteristically performing the role of the absent villain who keeps his own hands clean, a role which he keeps mercifully free from his usual comedic quirks.
         Fiennes' puts in a fine performance; his accent a little too plummy for British tastes, though I daresay perfect for the American market, but his characterisation allows us to feel the kind of attachment necessary to follow him to the depths of peril and care about his well-being, human enough to be free from superfluous heroism, passive enough at first to contrast well to Weisz while making his baptism of fire believable and resisting the temptation to overplay.
         It is Weisz, however, who commands the screen with her stellar performance. In a role far more demanding than her more usual fare (think The Mummy, Enemy At The Gates, Constantine) she keeps the ambiguity over her character's fidelity under close control, her rapport with Fiennes develops from shy tenderness to the full flush of love to silent tension without becoming overly sentimental, her character's sheer wilfulness and inviolable voice for justice working in tandem with a heavy maternal instinct played out with energy and attention. She also has to contend, it must be said, with some poor script-writing: an inevitable idealist “principle over pragmatism” exchange is well-delivered when the cliché could so easily have ruined the drama of the moment; far worse is the unfortunate continuation of the tendency to give humanitarians voices which are repetitive, inarticulate and unable to appeal to reason (see co-star Nighy's bumbling 'bleeding heart' civil servant in The Girl in the Café), forcing Weisz to deliver an all-too-familiar tirade against the Iraq War which seems rather too obvious for her successful graduate student's resourcefulness.
         Meirelles' film contains some weak elements: we are hardly surprised by any of the unsavoury revelations which are revealed as Quayle digs deeper and deeper into a profit-driven welfare market; the obligatory sex scene obeys the overdone form of a montage of small clips under capacious sheets which is at odds with the more subtle chemistry between Fiennes and Weisz; and the neatness of beginning and ending (somewhat inexplicably) with birds over a lake seems to have been done a million times before. But The Constant Gardener has the plot finesse you would expect of a writer of Le Carré's standing; Fiennes and Weisz carry the film with magnificent lead roles, ably supported by Danny Huston and Hubert Koundé; Meirelles underlines his talent as a director in the mainstream arena.
         From an audience perspective, though, the film's chief success is that when we are increasingly desensitised to shock tactics and sympathetic appeal regarding "the African issue", The Constant Gardener makes us care without revelling unduly in the drama of mass human misery. At heart the film is about the individual's quest to redeem his wife's memory and find personal peace through it. But we, like Fiennes as the film progresses, cannot help but be drawn by the injustice, lies and complacent evil of the echelons of government and big business. Looking around the audience as the credits rolled after the last understated seconds it was evident from the silence and reluctance to move that The Constant Gardener is not just a a fine film to watch for the aesthetic and technical quality, but also one to discuss round the dinner-table and discern its place in the real African issues we face outside the cinema screen.

4 Stars