The Films That Award Ceremonies Forget

It was a foregone conclusion that in 1993, Schindler’s List would take away most of the significant film awards, followed closely behind by Tom Hanks’ groundbreaking performance in Philadelphia. The year-end roster included other fine cinematic works like In The Name Of The Father and The Piano.

Still, there always seems to be one film that in any other year would be heaped with accolades, which inevitably goes almost completely unnoticed. Strange also, that in this particular year of filmmaking excellence, would be a work by one of cinema’s greatest directors, Martin Scorsese.

On the surface, when we look at the body of directorial work from Scorsese, it’s not difficult to see certain recurring themes are present throughout his films. His use of the travelling shot for example, where the camera takes the audience on a moving tour through enclosed spaces is always featured to establish an environment, as is the never-seen narrator who guides the story in most of Scorsese’s scripts.

On a symbolic level, one theme that Martin Scorsese seems to revisit regularly is the brutality of humankind. It may be much subtler in the instance of one film in particular, but that brutality, that struggle for control on others is very present in what perhaps may result in Scorsese’s greatest achievement, The Age of Innocence.

Martin Scorsese’s handling of the Edith Wharton tale of the Gilded Age and aristocracy of late 19th century New York, is a study in master strokes where each element of filmmaking is finely tuned to work harmoniously with the other. There are no graphic scenes of violence in this picture as are normally expected in many of Scorsese’s other works.

Instead, it is replaced with an intricately woven tapestry of tension that places the viewer in a sort of emotional vice, and all of the resulting tension is achieved through nuance. Beginning with the silky tones of Joanne Woodward who speaks as the author would with an elegance that befits her time, the director sets a subliminal image in our minds for the era we are about to witness.

More than just observers, however, Scorsese’s shot selection draws us in as active participants in the opulence that is served up daily in 1870s New York society. The story follows the life of newly betrothed lawyer Newland Archer from the days leading up to his marriage to an attractive debutante, May Welland.

At the most prestigious event of the ‘coming out’ season, Archer’s gaze is momentarily swayed to May’s mysterious and sultry cousin, Countess Ellen Olenska who has returned from a failed marriage to a Polish Count. The players in this drama are set quickly with introductions of each by our narrator, but the pacing of this film is where the real genius lies.

Scorsese takes his time, takes our time, as he gradually unpeels every aspect of aristocratic life in New York during its era of industrialization. As invited guests, we are swept at a walking pace through the corridors and anterooms of elegant brownstone mansions. When finely tailored staff serve meals, the viewer is given a seat at the table and every delectable dish is presented to us as if we are there to indulge.

During our encounter with the New York elite, we are offered visual and spoken cues for the rules of engagement in negotiating a lifestyle befitting the upper class. Nothing is left to chance in Scorsese’s cinematography and scene settings. It’s incredible how you can actually notice your central nervous system relaxing to the slow and steady rhythm of the times. We join the men in a fine cigar and a glass of premium whisky as they talk of the mundane.

Archer and Ellen have their first moment alone together, and the filmmaker allows Wharton’s exquisite dialogue to drive the narrative. Archer comments that it must be difficult for the countess to learn again to negotiate the trappings of New York society life.

Ellen notes how odd his remark is given that the streets of New York are formed in a grid, but people live as if in a maze of social custom. She retorts, “It seems stupid to have discovered America only to make it a copy of another country.”

The die is cast and Archer is smitten. The forbidden fruit of a beautiful woman in the throws of a scandalous divorce proceeding is more than the naïve young lawyer is prepared for. What’s worse, it is he who is charged with directing the countess’ affairs on behalf of his firm.

Scorsese puts classic cinematic technique to work when Newland meets with his boss to discuss the countess. We’re given a clear sense of the conflict that will arise as the two men sit across one another to discuss the matter. When one of the characters is on screen, the other’s figure is blocked from our view by a chair. Every detail has been clearly thought through. This is filmmaking art at its best.

A clear line has been drawn for Archer between legal rights and privileges and societal expectations. America is changing, but ever so slowly. Still, Newland is questioning everything in his life before the arrival of Ellen. He concocts more ways to be alone with her but she shuns him, knowing that the path he is taking will lead to his ruin.

Scorsese emphasizes the chasm that must not be crossed in a scene where the two speak quietly at another theatre event. The director vignettes the two in a tight spotlight and removes all background sound as they whisper to each other. They are isolated in their revelry yet outside that bubble, a world watches with unseen eyes.

Olenska convinces Archer he must carry on and marry his dutiful but ignorant bride, May Welland. For Newland now his new wife is an empty vessel, devoid of any depth of understanding and wholly unlike the magnificent Countess Olenska. We are made to believe that May “has the depth of feeling but lacks imagination”. Scenes of their honeymoon and ensuing life together are portrayed like landscape paintings from French masters.

The narrator explains how Archer now finds his only solace in the delivery of new books to his library. As he reads the poetry of Rosetti, Supreme Surrender, she tells us “the taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth”. But, this room, his library will be the scene for every important milestone of his life with May and their children.

By the time their children are grown we come to realize that May is not so naïve as was once thought. We see it in her look as she leaves the library after telling Newland of Ellen’s plan to return to Europe and her unhappy marriage. We also learn how in tune she was in the picture’s closing scene. Whether you have read Edith Wharton’s novel or you’ve seen the film, this revelation won’t change much about a brilliantly woven tale. Scorsese and his co-screenwriter Jay Cocks adhere closely to Wharton’s story. The author made it very plain at the beginning of her novel that aristocratic life in New York then was a keenly watched spectator sport.

When Newland Archer realizes he’s been an unwitting participant, it should come as no surprise. No matter the outcome, we have been treated to a journey of cinematic excellence, and two hours plus running time hardly seems real.

Schindler’s List and Philadelphia were necessary and remarkable films. Both merit our admiration and our respect as great films. But The Age of Innocence is a crowning achievement that should never have gone unnoticed. Awards have their purpose for box office sales and public exposure. Film lovers though will always find the true gems, the kind of films where artistry is on full display.

This story originally appeared on Medium by Stuart Englander

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