Jun
2010
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This review is in response to a one-star submittal on March 26, 2004. It contains SPOILERS, so you’ve been warned.
My major interest is cultural anthropology, and there is no civilization so cruel as to lack civility nor one so civil as to hide its own form of cruelty. Watch Scorsese’s “The Age of Innocence” as a case in point. However, that’s not the focus of this film; to make it so reveals a literal-mindedness that can only be acquired in today’s “liberal” universities who turn out lock-step politically-correctniks and not critical, discriminating thinkers — the essence of eduction.
Since this is Kipling and not Conrad, I doubt the author was out to demonstrate the subtle and sometimes destructive changes technologically advanced societies visit upon native cultures. Here it’s not the native culture that’s fatefully affected but Peechy and Danny. “The Man Who Would Be King” is a tale of the inevitable misunderstanding when cultures clash, but also a tragic example of losing one’s perspective in a foreign land. This same phenomena was exquisitely filmed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger in “Black Narcissus,” complete with an insecure neurotic who goes murderously native.
From the very beginning, Peechy (Michael Caine) and Danny (Sean Connery) are driven by a need found in all cultures and universal to all peoples: social status, something neither possess in India. The two have seen the sacrifice and bloodshed of war and now refuse the undignified job of holding doors open for blowzy women. As Kipling wrote, “It’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Chuck him out, the brute!’ But it’s ‘Saviour of ‘is country’ when the guns begin to shoot.” So off to Kafiristan they go for adventure and the possibility of regaining their status by acquiring material treasures — always highly valued in the West.
Peechy never looses sight of the material treasures, but Danny is cursed. He takes an arrow in battle and survives — a sure sign he’s a God, the God Alexander, to the Kafiristan elders. Ah, to become a God; it’s irresistible and apparently less self-serving than Peechy’s more practical wants.
At first Danny is a magnanimous God, a King helping to unite Kafiristan and act with Solomon-like wisdom in addressing the problems of “his people.” But just as surely as in Acton’s England, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And what is corrupted? Danny’s assessment — nay, irrational belief — in his own powers. And what will it mean? The inevitably violent reaction of a tribal people to foreigners breaking a deadly serious cultural taboo and exposing themselves as mere mortals.
Danny’s talisman, the arrow that made him a God and which he now wields like a scepter, fails him when he attempts to take Roxanne for his wife. Tragically, Danny has betrayed his oath to swear off women during this journey besieged with ironies. Certainly, Gods make their own rules, but even They are at the mercy of nature and the power of culture, which have the final say as they always do, so poor Danny falls from grace like a “penny whirligig” into the bowels of the earth.
Only if Danny would have been more practical like Peechy, but Danny wouldn’t settle for base treasures; in reaching higher he deserves a spectacular and curiously noble end. And Peechy? He’s destined to wander the earth alone, a man with an unbelievable story and a peculiar wisdom few can appreciate. An out-of-focus still frame of Danny’s crowned skull punctuated by Jarre’s highly effective score with echos of “The Minstrel Boy” make for a wonderfully melancholy finish to a first rate film.
To call this a satire is a disservice to Rudyard Kipling and John Huston, one of the finest and most American of directors. From a cultural and psychological perspective, this is a further examination of man’s unquenchable need for social status that Huston began with “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” itself a brilliant adaption of Chaucer’s “A Pardoner’s Tale.”
Within American culture, status is synonymous with the acquisition of gold, silver, money with its Masonic symbols — you choose the means — and is sadly dismissed as greed. However, greed is an inadequate word to capture the flush of emotions and elevation of status that accompanies such ownership. For their possessor, these materials have a mystical quality and a dangerous one; it’s what makes the end of “Sierra Madre” so effective as nature reclaims its own and leaves few survivors free of this mysterious substance, this oro diablo. Come to think of it, Huston covered similar ground in his incomparable “The Maltese Falcon.”
The late John Huston was a great auteur of the American (and British) way, without the typical black and white judgments we’ve come to expect from lesser talents.
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