Few devices prop up political thrillers more than a good cover-up.
Watching our hero struggle to keep up with the incessant hole patching in their way while trying to stay one step ahead (and alive) is a guaranteed nail-biter whether we grasp the implications of what is being suppressed or not. It doesn’t even need to be a political thriller per se to be effectual. Indiana Jones escaping the “Temple of Doom” in a runaway mine cart is exciting to watch but the child slave camp he just uncovered is what makes you really care if he makes it.
In 1986 Jean-Jacques Annaud (Seven Years in Tibet, The Bear) gave us a new twist on the political cover-up thriller in the form of an incredibly gutsy adaptation of Umberto Eco’s densely layered historical novel The Name of the Rose. Applying the tried and true mechanism of protective bodies murdering in the name of agenda to the medieval study of Christian scripture, Annaud takes us down some complex theological corridors in the midst of an inventive and often majestic production. The omnipresent sins of the flesh are also dealt with (of course) but we’ll get to that.
Franciscan friar William of Baskerville, a not so low-key Sherlock nod, played by Sean Connery arrives with his young apprentice Adso (Christian Slater, in a very early role) to a northern Italian monastery. Putting aside the conflicts of the humble Franciscans vs the more opulent Benedictines, William is here because these are indeed troubling times. Michael Lonsdale (That’s right, Drax from Moonraker!) as the resident abbot fills Connery in on a suspicious death that he believes wasn’t an accident. This is a delectably crafted scene that not only draws you into the game that is very much afoot, (seriously though, this isn’t just ‘Medieval Sherlock’) but also lays down in no uncertain terms that this film will belong to the character actors in the cast. Here Lonsdale makes a meal of the poetically indulgent dialogue and trust me, he will not be the last actor in this picture to do so.
Connery, in one of his more understated performances, provides a dignified gravitas with just the right amount of droll sagacity that complements the more bombastic performances surrounding him. While the desperate plea for William to investigate the strange goings on is attributed to his past as an inquisitor, it’s Connery’s wry tip off to his fidgeting young ward of the perfect spot to relieve himself after their long journey that immediately puts us in the right frame of mind for the exploits of “Friar P.I.”
As the body count rises within the walls of the abbey, William and Adso cross paths with Ron Perlman as a mutant hunchback who speaks a cacophonous mix of “all languages… and none”, a typically unhinged William Hickey as a Franciscan leader, a mute and jittery librarian who looks like an early descendant of Uncle Fester and a sea of scavenging peasants syphoning food from the abbey’s dumping grounds. Among this colourful parade of characters, drawn with an almost Felliniesque brush, emerges an enigmatic girl (Valentina Vargas) who tests the young Adso’s faith.
That last bullet point proves to be a central but at times unevenly woven wrinkle in this admittedly busy film and one wonders whether it was better intertwined with the rest of the heady themes in Eco’s novel than it is here. While Annaud does manage to nurture the internal struggle of Adso’s love for this girl in some very intense and revelatory scenes, it does feel like the grander importance of this thread sneaks up on you more than it should; that it’s fighting for pertinence within the mystery plot as opposed to naturally harmonising with it.
In terms of production design The Name of the Rose is practically a triumph. The legendary Dante Ferretti has created one of the most convincing and richly detailed medieval movie worlds I personally have ever seen. There are some fantastic flights of fancy too, including a mind boggling set I won’t spoil but is truly an astonishing piece of work that features one of the film’s most heart pounding set pieces: Slater lost trying to find his master. That may sound like sarcasm but it’s sincerely a brilliantly staged sequence where we watch Slater and Connery call out to find one another. Having the confidence to simply let the actors communicate without the need to embellish the jeopardy while good editing does the rest is a refreshing amount of discipline for a production this ornate.
That’s something that can be said for the movie as a whole. Despite awe-inspiring sets, elaborate make up work and gargantuan acting on display this is not an epic as these expensive period pieces tend to be. There are no attempts to “sweep” the audience away with showy cinematography or any other grandiose filmmaking fiddle faddle. While Director of Photography Tonino Delli Colli does give the majesty of this abbey and the mountains overlooking it room to wash over the viewer, it’s all done with brevity, letting the work in the frame speak for itself.
And then F. Murray Abraham shows up and all subtlety goes out the window…
The arrival of Inquisitor Bernardo Gui, played by a then hot-off Amadeus Abraham, throws a wrench in William’s investigation and the societal order of the abbey itself. While William was building his case that these murders are logically grounded in conspiratorial chicanery regarding texts, Gui is set on proving black magic and heresy is at play, hurtling the film firmly into Miller/Crucible territory.
Abraham (emphasis on the “ham”) holds court with all the venomous vigour that we would hope to see from an F. Murray performance, loudly demanding all the stake burning justice a heretic infested monastery can provide. In a movie that already has William Hickey melodically raving, Ron Perlman squealing gibberish in bovine make-up and a rabble rousing council played with as much restraint as extras from Monty Python, Abraham still pulls focus once he arrives into the picture. Gui and William share a dark history which provides the crucial ethical quagmire of the piece and sets in motion a rather chaotic and messy final act. Unfortunately, while Gui adds to the overarching themes and provides a gripping catalyst for the monastery’s descent into sheer pandemonium, his rather late-in-the-game presence also drives home what was already becoming clear: that perhaps Eco’s source material was simply too multifaceted for a two hour film.
Having said that this is still quite a remarkable and fervently written film featuring Connery at his wry best with a game cast that know they’re in an actor’s playground (and boy do they play).
As part whodunnit, part coming-of-age story, part censorship allegory and part historical adventure, it’s no secret that Jean-Jacques Annaud was passionately locked in with doing right by Umberto Eco’s celebrated behemoth of a novel.
Breathtaking in its presentation and just wonderfully weird, this might be one of the most ambitious adaptations of an “unfilmable” book ever attempted. While it gets too narratively cluttered for its own good, especially after the arrival of Abraham in the second half, The Name of the Rose is still undoubtedly sophisticated, thought provoking and spellbinding entertainment.
