Film Stuff

Last of the Mohicans (1992)

Every so often, I’m jolted out of my sense of complacency about films. I’d seen Last of the Mohicans before; of course I had. I can even tell you approximately when: it was a New Year’s Eve when I was about 20. It was a quiet, civilised night in with friends Sandra & Jo and we were working our way through a double or triple bill of films. I drove back home and arrived, stone cold sober at around 3am, to a chorus of drunken cheers from a parental party still in full swing. I have never felt more like Saffy before or since.

Anyway, the digression just serves to illustrate that I only got around to seeing the film approximately seven years after its first release, on a small screen, and it wasn’t the most memorable part of the night (that honour was taken by the image of my dad being hoisted up the stairs by his trousers by his elderly aunt at 5am, who clearly thought he’d had quite enough to drink, thank you very much). I remembered a few salient points – the waterfall, the shock fate of a couple of characters, and ‘I will find you!’, all combining into a sense of melodramatic excess. Frankly, I wasn’t too fussed.*

Fast forward to last weekend, and I’d spotted the film was being shown at The Electric as part of their Cinematic Time Machine series. Knowing Bob was not averse to the odd Western, I suggested we give it a go. Will McKeown from the University of Birmingham’s B-Film research centre gave a very interesting and informative introduction to the film, which provided some background context and set the stage effectively.

I tell you, I was almost crying by the time the first few bars kicked in. And no, before you ask, I’m not speaking as a newly discovered Daniel Day-Lewis fangirl (bit late now, seeing as he’s just retired). But the epic music, the vast landscapes, and the dramatic themes set against the backdrop of war seemed to strike a chord. And a melody. Did I mention the music?

Hawkeye (Daniel Day-Lewis) and his adopted father Chingachgook (Russell Means) and brother Uncas (Eric Schweig) exist on the fringes of the French and Indian Wars in 1757. They live, hunt, and survive alongside the colonial settlers, subject to no-one but themselves. Happening upon a Huron ambush led by the uncompromising Magua (Wes Studi), they rescue two daughters of a British colonel stationed at Fort William Henry. Offering to escort them to the safety of the Fort, they arrive to find the place under heavy siege by the French. Smuggling their charges through the lines under the cover of darkness, their mission seems to be complete. Until, that is, Hawkeye takes a shine to the elder daughter and decides to stay on for a bit to get to know her while the fort is pummelled into submission. Finally surrendering to the French, the Colonel and his men are allowed to depart with full honours, only to march straight into the path of the waiting Magua and his war party. Saving the day again with some nifty moves (albeit not quite preventing a massacre), Hawkeye and co. escape to the afore-mentioned waterfall with the two daughters, an English officer, and a couple of anonymous redshirts who you just know are not long for this world. After a few more twists and turns, and an awful lot of running, the denouement falls on a clifftop skirmish; a fight to the death to enact justice, revenge, and a poignant lament for a dying way of life.

Yes, it’s corny. But my god, does it work. The tone, while reverential, never succumbs to parodic pretension. The visuals – as noted in the introductory talk – are stunning, and not just the landscapes. Many scenes are seemingly composed to resemble historical paintings of the period (thanks to Bob for that observation). Such attention to detail exemplifies the director’s focus on historical authenticity, from training the extras in contemporaneous military manoeuvres, to building the entire set of Fort William Henry from scratch using local materials.

What is especially interesting is that this dedication to historical veracity is favoured above a faithful rendering of the original plot. Viewed as an adaptation, the film clearly takes liberties with the source material; several characters who survive to the end of the novel do not share the same fortune here. Identities are switched around, ages are altered, and a racial undercurrent is not addressed apart from a brief mention in passing. But audiences are not engaging with the story as an exercise in comparison. As John le Carre says in an interview as part of the DVD extras on the 2011 release of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: “this is the film of the film, not the film of the book.” It has to be seen on its own terms. Narrative fidelity – to what has been described as a rather simplistic depiction of cultural stereotypes – has been eschewed in favour of historical authenticity, in what Kamilla Elliott would identify as the ‘trumping’ model of adaptation. In this case, the changes align with the director’s interpretation of historical events to form a narrative cohesion that emphasises the central theme of survival and offers a prescient nod to the autonomy of rule.

The overall result successfully combines the genres of literary adaptation, war, frontier western, and historical romance, which is no easy task. The central relationships are well-characterised and (most importantly) credible, which go a long way to humanising the conflict and its surrounding politics. A film well-deserving of another outing on the big screen.

Some final thoughts:

  • It struck me that Peter Jackson must have taken some inspiration from this film for Lord of the Rings, not least in the visual characterisation of Aragorn and the chasing of the Uruk-Hai at the beginning of The Two Towers. You could push it even further and substitute the three characters easily enough: Hawkeye – Aragorn, Chingachgook – Gimli, Uncas – Legolas. Someone more technically-minded than me could produce a great mash-up of the two, swapping over the respective soundtracks
  • Like this kind of thing (full respect at 2.05 – that’s got to be tough on the thighs)


*A few years ago, we had also seen the 1970s BBC TV adaptation, which was memorable mainly for Allo Allo’s Hilary Minster popping up at regular intervals in roles ranging from a British sergeant, Huron warrior, French infantryman and Delaware scout. The budget evidently didn’t stretch to covering the extras.

Film Stuff

Day 6: Six Degrees of Separation (1993)

I think I bought this film on a 3 for £10 deal a few years ago, probably because it looked vaguely theatrical. It’s been sitting on the shelf ever since. It ranks alongside the likes of Copenhagen and Angels in America as worthy stage adaptations that I’ve never quite got around to watching. Bob took one look at the cover and disappeared upstairs. I’ve yet to sell him the concept of The Mayor of Casterbridge as a frontier Western, so this was always going to be a hard call.

Six Degrees of Separation follows a few weeks in the life of New York society couple Oisa and Flan Kittridge (Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland). Through a series of dinner party anecdotes, they tell the story of how a young man (Will Smith) appeared in their lives under false pretences – he claims he is both a friend of their children and also the son of Sidney Poitier. After discovering him in bed with a rent boy the following morning, they throw him out and think no more about it. That is, until they discover that he pulled exactly the same trick on some friends of theirs, and the couples team up to investigate this mysterious young man. He attempts to inveigle himself further into their lives, fundamentally challenging their values and assumptions.

This was a change of pace from yesterday’s sci-fi freneticism. From downtown 23rd Century New York, we move up in the world to the privileged existence of upper class aesthetes, who glide from soiree to cocktails in a manner that would put Frasier and Niles to shame. Their cultured world holds a fascination for Will Smith’s charismatic Paul, whose skills and dedication allow him to slip seamlessly into their lives, learning a whole new language in the process.

Language is the key element here – the inherent “talkiness” of the film mirrors the value these characters place on the ability to disseminate the smallest issue. Whether it’s discussing the symbolism of their prize Kadinsky (a painting portraying both chaos and control), or ruminating on the titular six degrees of separation, language is a commodity used to demonstrate both status and belonging. The fact that Paul is able to adapt so easily, punctures their belief that this is in any way a meaningful form of communication. It’s surely not a coincidence that the repeated phrase “a bottle of beer” is the same as the famous ventriloquists’ stumbling block: “a gottle of geer”. It sends a clear message that the words are hollow, empty and devoid of value. Their communication is merely a form of learned parroting, with society pulling the strings.

This is thrown into hilarious relief in the depiction of the Kettridge children, who follow the family expectations by going to Harvard. With all the privilege of money and birth, the eldest son becomes inarticulate in his rage:

You gave him my pink shirt? You gave a complete stranger my pink shirt? That shirt was a Christmas present from you! I treasured that shirt, I loved that shirt! My collar had grown a full size from weightlifting, you saw that my arms had grown, you saw that my neck had grown and you bought me that shirt for my new body! I loved that shirt! My first shirt for my new body and you gave that shirt away? I can’t believe you! I hate this life and I hate you!

The expensive, private school education produces nothing more than a spoiled brat whose values don’t extend beyond superficial appearance. In three months, Paul gleans all the knowledge and understanding he needs to survive in this supremely artificial world. His tragedy lies in the fact that his understanding doesn’t extend to questioning the validity of his ambitions.

There’s much to think about in this film, and it’s worth another visit at some point to catch a few more references and nuances that I’ve overlooked this time around.