Cyrano Review by Alice Jones-Rodgers.

Cyrano

The Long and Short of It

Review by Alice Jones-Rodgers.

A decade ago, I did something previously unthinkable and walked out of a cinema mid-film. The film in question was ‘Anna Kerenina’, Joe Wright’s all style but no substance and impenetrably dull retelling of Leo Tolstoy’s classic 1877 novel. From that point on, despite the fact that I had previously enjoyed 2007’s ‘Atonement’ and in 2017, there was a brief admission that Wright could be nearly as good as he thinks he is with the World War II political drama ‘The Darkest Hour’, I have always erred on the side of caution when it comes to a new Wright film just in case it causes me to up and leave a cinema mid-film for the second time in my entire life.

So, here it is, Wright’s ninth full-length film, ‘Cyrano’. Yes, it is another period piece based on a literary classic, this time Edmond Rostand’s 1897 fictionalised account of fellow playwright Cyrano de Bergerac, who’s enormous schnozz prevents him from expressing his love for the beautiful and intelligent Roxane (sic). As you may have guessed, with ‘Game of Thrones’ (HBO, 2011-2019) star Peter Dinklage taking the lead role, it is the titular character’s diminutive size rather than his nose that is the root of his insecurity in what is billed as a musical adaptation. And here is my first point of contention, because having sat through 124 long minutes of ‘Cyrano’ (and I promise you, I did), I cannot remember a single song. Instead, what stands head and shoulders, so to speak, above any other aspect of ‘Cyrano’ is the vast acting talents of Dinklage, who, at times, particularly when out-insulting his detractors, brings a comedic flair which nearly measures up to Steve Martin’s portrayal of Charlie “C.D.” Bales in everybody’s favourite interpretation of this story, 1987’s ‘Roxanne’ and at other times, manages to pull back what would otherwise be obnoxiously long and laborious scenes from the brink of disaster with his more serious acting.

As ‘Cyrano’ crawled towards its dismal anti-climax, I did wonder whether walking out of a Wright film for the second time might be more satisfying than seeing it through to the end. Instead, I left the cinema with several other miserable-looking punters as the credits rolled, with this film having strengthened my opinion that Wright, even in spite of once again having had access to a $30m budget and the cream of Hollywood’s talent, is one of the most overrated directors to ever work in cinema.