Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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5 of 10 people found the following review helpful:
2.0 out of 5 stars
Darryl F. Zanuck wrestles with enlightened goodness in Somerset Maugham's novel. Zanuck wins, 11 Sep 2008
What if Somerset Maugham had written a novel about a coal miner who decided to search for transcendental enlightenment by trying to join a country club? If he had, he could have called it The Razor's Edge, since the Katha-Upanishad tells us, "The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard." But Maugham decided to stick with the well-bred class, and so we have Darryl F. Zanuck's version of Larry Darrell, recently returned from WWI, carefully groomed, well connected in society and determined to find himself by becoming a coal miner.
Or, as Maugham tells us, "This is the young man of whom I write. He is not famous. It may be that when at last his life comes to an end he will leave no more trace of his sojourn on this earth than a stone thrown into a river leaves on the surface of the water. Yet it may be that the way of life he has chosen for himself may have an ever growing influence over his fellow men, so that, long after his death, perhaps, it will be realized that lived in this age a very remarkable creature."
The Razor's Edge has all of Zanuck's cultural taste that money could buy. It's so earnest, so sincere...so self-important. As Larry goes about his search for wisdom, working in mines, on merchant ships, climbing a Himalayan mountain to learn from an ancient wise man, we have his selfish girl friend played by Gene Tierney, his tragic childhood chum played by Anne Baxter, the girlfriend's snobbish and impeccably clad uncle played by Clifton Webb, and Willie Maugham himself, played by Herbert Marshall, taking notes. The movie is so insufferably smug about goodness that the only thing that perks it up a bit is Clifton Webb as Elliot Templeton. "If I live to be a hundred I shall never understand how any young man can come to Paris without evening clothes." Webb has some good lines, but we wind up appreciating Clifton Webb, not Elliot Templeton.
Zanuck wanted a prestige hit for Twentieth Century when he bought the rights to Maugham's novel. He waited a year until Tyrone Power was released from military service. He made sure there were well-dressed extras by the dozens, a score that sounds as if it were meant for a cathedral and he even wrote some of the scenes himself. The effort is as self-conscious as a fat man wearing a rented tux. Despite Hollywood's view of things in The Razor's Edge, I can tell you that for most people hard work doesn't bring enlightenment, just weariness and low pay.
After nearly two-and-a-half hours, we last see Larry carrying his duffle bag on board a tramp steamer in a gale. He's going to work his way back to America from Europe with a contented smile on his face. "My dear," Somerset Maugham says to Isabel at the same time in an elaborately decorated parlor, "Larry has found what we all want and what very few of us ever get. I don't think anyone can fail to be better, and nobler, kinder for knowing him. You see, my dear, goodness is after all the greatest force in the world...and he's got it!" Larry and the audience both need a healthy dose of Dramamine.
Maugham, lest we forget, was a fine writer of plays, novels, essays and short stories. To see how the movies could do him justice, watch the way some of his short stories were brought to the screen in Encore, Trio and Quartet. And instead of wasting time with Larry Darrell, spend some time with Lawrence Durrell. The Alexandria Quartet is a good read.
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2.0 out of 5 stars
Too long, too pretentious and too much Power, 30 Oct 2009
A film which - to borrow Shaw's words about Henry James - has "chewed off more than it can bite", 'Razor's Edge' manages to last for long 140 minutes or so without hardly a single, original, thought in its head. The badly miscast Tyrone Power, wide eyed and gormless, tries to look intellectual but ends up appearing confused. As much as he works at his part, Power simply can't communicate philosophical contemplation adequately. This central weakness makes his single-minded odyssey appear shallow, trite, and selfish - ultimately achieving nothing but a good view of a sunrise from a private hut in the Himalayas. His newly found enlightenment may mean a lot to him personally, but the film reduces it to the status of a hypnotist's act, useful in curing headaches. A moment's comparison to a similarly tortured soul, Kirk Douglas as Van Gogh in Minnelli's 'Lust for Life' (1956) reveals just how soft and insubstantial is the centre of Zanuck's earnest would-be masterpiece; Douglas is neurotic, fierce and intense as the man seeking for great peace of soul - Power just stands around and looks mildly perplexed.
There's some recompense in the splendid performances of Webb and Tierney of course, and Goulding's extravagant mounting of this prestige production makes individual scenes pass more easily than they otherwise might do. Some of his camera movements and set ups are complex, choreographed carefully, and reveal more about character relationships than the dialogue. But the Indian episode is trivial and unconvincing, while Darrell's querulous rejection of material shallowness beforehand is nothing like as full throated as one would like it to be. (Perhaps this coyness is an indication of the political temperature of the times.) Similarly, Sophie's degradation is hardly shocking to modern eyes, her final collapse in a vague 'smoking den' after falling prey to Pisovka (Absinthe) a relatively mild affair.
As Maugham, Herbert Marshall gives his usual sophisticated performance, while John Payne remains obstinately wooden. As one might expect from such a project, Newman's score is opulent and lush, the cinematography crisp and detailed.
Ultimately this ambitious, flabby, work makes one want to return to the more sincere, slimmer delights of 'Laura', where both Tierney and Webb were united earlier to much better effect. Or, for a film where camp is worn on the sleeve rather than wrapped in the earnestness of 'art', I'd recommend Tierney in 'Leave Her To Heaven', made immediately after the classic noir.
It may not be based on a grand novel, but it sure is more enjoyable.
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