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Allan Corduner and Jim Broadbent excel as the Gilbert and Sullivan's in Mike Leigh's superb Topsy-Turvy |
It’s 1884 and the creative partnership between WS Gilbert
(Jim Broadbent) and Arthur Sullivan (Allan Corduner) is at a turning point.
With their latest, Princess Ida, hardly setting the box-office alight.
Sullivan feels the partnership has gone stale – and also feels under pressure
to turn his attention towards more ‘serious’ composing. Gilbert refuses to
change his next libretto, which Sullivan feels is effectively more of the same.
Things change though when Gilbert is intrigued by an exhibition of Japanese
arts and crafts, quickly creating a new libretto: The Mikado. The two
geniuses, finally in unison, work together to bring the production to the
stage.
Topsy-Turvy is probably Leigh’s most purely
entertaining film. For anyone who has ever been involved in theatre or the
arts, you’ll certainly recognise more than a few moments in this film, which is
practically Leigh’s love letter to the arts. Leigh’s aim was to pay tribute to
the difficulties of creativity and the demand of having to constantly refresh
and reinvent your work to stay relevant and fulfilled. He succeeded: few films have
so beautifully captured the struggle, pain, satisfaction and joy of creation or
the strange anti-climax artistic success can bring.
Most of the second half of the film is a fascinating look at
every step required to bring a production to life. From casting and contract
negotiations, to costume fittings, staging and work in the rehearsal room. We
get a fascinating insight into the complex backstage politics and squabbles in this
small world. From actors bitching about the management (always incompetent,
regardless of the situation) to the delight and playfulness of rehearsals as
different opportunities are explored, it’s a wonderfully true insight into the theatre.
Matched with the intricate and extraordinary detail of the reconstruction of
the original production – and you have an enthralling insight into theatre. It
also very appropriate for Leigh, whose organic methods of creating a film
through copious rehearsal and improvisation remains very similar to theatre.
Alongside this though, the film has plenty of sympathy for
the cost of creative exertion. Many of the actors lead sad and even lonely
lives. Shirley Henderson’s Leonara Braham struggles with drink, Martin Savage’s
George Grossmith is a drug addict (the company is too polite to mention it, but
he’s clearly struggling with withdrawal at the dress rehearsal), Dorothy
Atkinson’s Jessie Bond has constant pains from an unhealed ulcer. WS Gilbert and
his wife lead a chaste life, he as terrified of intimacy and connection as he
is of watching first nights. Sullivan juggles health problems and a
long-running, regular-abortion marked, affair with Fanny Ronalds with a
lingering sense of shame at not having exploited his talents more fully. These
are lives that come to life when doused with creation, for all the off-stage
world reveals trouble and strife.
Much of the first half is a wonderfully judged contrast between the extraverted Sullivan, keen to stretch himself but lacking the application and drive, and the repressed Gilbert, doggedly ploughing on with his (stale-sounding) original idea and unable to comprehend Sullivan’s reluctance. Leigh’s film could easily have manifested itself as a clash between two mis-matched partners. However, while the film expertly draws the parallels between the two, it also shows how much their energy comes from mutual respect. Sullivan is, after all, right that Gilbert’s first idea is a limp retread. But Gilbert’s Mikado idea is so good we don’t need a scene showing Sullivan change his mind – the simple contrast of Sullivan’s chuckles and animated striding while Gilbert reads him The Mikado’s libretto with his boredom and constant questions to the abandoned libretto speaks volumes.
Jim Broadbent is outstanding as Gilbert. He has the
repressed distance, the grumpy-old-man bluntness but he mixes it with small
flashes of excitement and rapture that speak volumes. His fascinated glances at
the Japanese exhibition – soaking up inspiration – are beautifully judged,
while his later excited larking around with a samurai sword (the very next
scene sees him with a first draft) is perfect. Broadbent is both supremely
funny, with several perfectly judged mon-bots, and also heartbreakingly, unknowingly
lonely in his distance and fear of emotional contact. Allan Corduner makes a
perfect contrast as the brash Sullivan, enjoying fame in a way Gilbert never can,
but sharing with him a tortured sense of his need to fulfil his artistic
potential.
The rest of the cast – a delightful mix of Leigh regulars
and familiar faces – are also fabulous. Lesley Manville is wonderful as
Gilbert’s wife, a gentle, eager-to-please woman who we discover has carefully
buried deep regret about her emotionally repressed marriage and lack of
children (Gilbert’s own difficult relationships with his parents have had a
long reach on his life). Timothy Spall is wonderfully entertaining as bitchy
leading actor who reacts with quiet despair when his big number is cut. Shirley
Henderson’s fragility is perfect for a woman whose stage presence masks her
emotional vulnerability and drink dependence. Dorothy Atkinson and Martin
Savage are marvellous as two actors whose willingness to carry on under all
conditions is skilfully contrasted.
Leigh’s film is also a brilliant reconstruction of time and era (rarely can a researcher be so highly billed on a film’s credits). There is a delight taken in showing how the characters react to new inventions, from Gilbert’s bellowing phone calls (“I am hanging up the phone now!”) to Sullivan’s wonder at a fountain pen (“What will they think of next?”). The design from Eve Stewart, the glorious photography of Dick Pope and the Oscar-winning costumes Lindy Hemming all are perfectly judged. The film though never becomes buried in “prestige costume drama” trappings: it’s eye for history is to acute. From alcoholism to drug addiction, broken families to the seamier streets of London, this is a film that never succumbs to easy nostalgia.
What it remains is a loving tribute to the strange families
the build up around theatre. When Temple’s song is cut from the play, the
chorus come together humbly but selflessly to beg for the song to be retained,
because of their affection and regard for Temple. There may be disagreements,
but everyone pulls together to stage the show when the time comes. Leigh’s film
is full of wit, affection and a deep, loving regard for those who have chosen a
life of creativity. While the film can show the cost of such a life – and the
contrasting emptiness and regret away from the stage, in a life which can
doesn’t always provide satisfaction – it also celebrates art in a way few other
films can. One of the greatest films about the theatre ever made.
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