Even
though E.M. Forster’s twice-revised posthumous novel of the love that dare not
speak its name was not published until after his death, a non-canonical ending
still circulates in some editions. On the advice of a few trusted friends, Forster
discarded a years-after-the-fact postscript—and so did the characteristically
classy Merchant Ivory adaptation. In honor of its thirtieth anniversary, a
pristine 4K restoration of James Ivory’s Maurice (trailer here) returns to theaters in New York this Friday.
Maurice
(pronounced “Morris”) Hall is a middle-class striver, whereas Clive Durham is
to the manor born, but when they meet at Cambridge, their mutual attraction is
undeniable. Unfortunately, in early 1910s England, it is also illegal.
Ironically, it is Durham who makes the first move. Although initially shocked,
Hall quickly becomes much more accepting of their orientation and maybe a bit
more reckless than Durham would prefer.
Soon
after leaving Cambridge, Durham breaks off their romantic relationship, spooked
by the public disgrace of a former classmate. The two men maintain an
ostensibly platonic friendship, but their secret past is always hovering over their
heads. Yet, it is during Hall’s awkward visits to Durham’s estate that he meets
a certain under-gamekeeper by the name of Scudder. (Gamekeepers just seem to
get a lot of action in English literature, don’t they?)
Frankly,
A Room with a View is probably the
best Marchant-Ivory Forster adaptation, but Maurice
is still a finely crafted period production. Unlike agonizingly reserved
M-I films such as the masterful Remains
of the Day (the full greatness of which is still not sufficiently
recognized, despite its eight Oscar nominations), Maurice has a slight tendency towards the melodramatic. However, it
is at its best when depicting the complicated way Hall’s strained relationship
with Durham continues to evolve.
In
all fairness, Hugh Grant is excellent in the role of Durham, but it is
uncomfortably meta watching him fret over a possible scandal in light of the
actor’s own well publicized vice bust. In contrast, James Wilby’s Hall is a bit
Jekyll-and-Hyde-like, whipsawing back and forth between painful sincerity and
brusque aloofness (A Handful of Dust from
the following year probably still represents his best work). Rupert Graves is
almost unrecognizable, but impressively intense as the rough, passionate
Scudder. Yet, it is the crafty veterans Simon Callow, Barry Foster, Denholm
Elliott, and Sir Ben Kingsley who consistently steal the show with small but
colorful (and critically important) supporting turns.
