Peterloo

Back in 2003, I ventured out to a relatively distant theatre (45 minutes each way, give or take) with my father to see Gods and Generals.  I was only a junior in high school, and up to that point had never seen a film that actually called for a real intermission: the thing is over three-and-a-half hours long, so it’s understandable.  What actually made the intermission necessary wasn’t the runtime, though, it was the film’s reliance on oration to get its point across.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a damn well-made film, one dripping in historical detail (and more than a little romanticization of the Confrederate cause), but a good portion of the narrative is communicated through the words of its characters above their actions, particularly when it comes to Stephen Lang’s (admittedly impeccable) “Stonewall” Jackson.  We don’t get a measure of the time from the sets, the costumes, the battles, the production itself, but rather directly and plainly from the mouths of the characters, almost always at length and in heightened language.  It’s a book of speeches – famous and otherwise – put on film with some interstitial scenes to provide proper flow, not unlike an adaptation of a stage musical.

I bring this up because the film is otherwise fantastic.  The performances are all top-notch, the attention to detail spectacular, and the production design is great.  The problem lies not really in the script (though a judicious script editor probably would have been beneficial), but in the methodology of how to communicate the themes and messages and characterizations.  It’s a major hit to a film that could have gone down as a legend in its genre.  Unfortunately, it did not, and the same is likely going to be said of the upcoming Peterloo.

The film, the release of which serves as a commemoration of the two-hundredth anniversary of the titular event, tells the story of the so-called Peterloo Massacre.  For a bit of historical context (seeing that American educational systems, at least, are kinda weak when it comes to other countries’ social movements, even those from Mother Britain), the years following the Napoleonic wars were not very sunny economically for much of the UK.  The restrictive Corn Laws made a series of bad harvests even worse, leading to famine in many areas, and the burgeoning industrialization of the economy was leading to work shortages and climbing debts.  In this context, the archaic system of parliamentary representation was placed in the crosshairs of radical social and political reformers, especially given the MPs’ habits of being wealthy landowners with little regard for the laboring classes.  As agitation increased, particularly in the northern counties (places like Manchester in Lancashire, where the early effects of the economic conditions were especially visible and harsh), the government sought to crack down on things before they got out of hand, aristocratic fears of violent revolution in France mere decades prior still very fresh and very strong.  As such, any large-scale demonstration would immediately catch the suspicion of the powers-that-be.  Not all that unexpectedly then, on August 16, 1819, when a massive crowd of demonstrators gathered at St. Peter’s Fields outside of Manchester, the whole production was set upon by local authorities, backed up by some proper military forces (think National Guard forces here for something of a crude approximation).  In their haste, zeal, and sloppiness, the soldiers wound up reacting to frightened and angered with force of sabre, leading to hundreds of casualties and eleven deaths.  Though the immediate reaction amongst the British populace was one of outrage and a push for more reform, the government was slow to act, in fact cracking down even harder on agitation in the proceeding years.  It would take until the passing of the Great Reform Act of 1832 for nearly all of the aims of the demonstrators at Peterloo to come to fruition (and, honestly, I don’t think I really see the appeal of annual parliamentary elections, anyway, but, hey, what do I know?).  (For reference, see Simon Schama’s A History of Britain, Vol. III: The Fate of Empire, 1776-2000, pgs 132-5 and episode 12 of the accompanying documentary series.)

Much like Gods and Generals, Peterloo does a fine job of visually painting the world of centuries past, complete with a heavy layer of grime or lacquer, depending on the setting.  The acting is strong, often bombastically so, the production design is solid, and the direction from Mike Leigh is able (if a touch flat), and the cinematography is fairly rich (if a bit mired in browns and blacks).  What kills things is the over-reliance on high-minded, lofty speeches delivered by nearly every major character with a hint of philosophical underpinning.  The virtues of universal suffrage and stronger representation are important, and their sources indeed need to be remembered, but in a cinematic setting the best option to communicate these ideals isn’t letting characters expound at length on them, regardless of the verve on display.  Any sense of pacing and narrative flow is tossed out the window so that entire speeches can be delivered, often as much toward the camera as toward the on-screen assemblies.  This strategy needlessly extends the runtime into something of a glomming mess, and this even bleeds into the climactic scene at St. Peter’s Fields, which, frankly, could have just been lengthened slightly into its own film, which definitely would have been more interesting to watch than the wordy quagmire we’re given instead.

At the end of the day, Peterloo is certainly worthy of a watch at some point, considering the talent on display, but it falls short of any true greatness or recommendability.  Just as with Gods and Generals, the film will likely fall into the same general obscurity, valued only in the niche areas of historical nerds and potentially academic avenues.  It’s a shame, but that’s what happens when you go with such a non-cinematic manner of storytelling.