Andrew Scott portrays the charismatic but unconvincing Mr. Ripley.
Reactions to Andrew Scott’s casting as host of the new “The Talented Mr. Ripley” followed a predictable and excited script, at least in my social circles: “The hot priest from “Fleabag” is playing Tom Ripley!”
Understanding the anticipation was not difficult. The sensual edge with which the picture directed by Anthony Minghella in 1999 displayed Jude Law, Matt Damon, and Gwyneth Paltrow at the height of their youth and beauty is something that those who are familiar with the film remember in their minds. Considering that Scott’s magnetic performance as Moriarty in “Sherlock” was the most memorable part of the show, and that his electric turn as Fleabag’s love interest (and confessor) in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s beloved series catapulted the Irish actor into a sensation seemingly overnight, one could only imagine what he would do with the role. Every single person on the internet had a crush on him, and he had become a dreamboat. What sensual heights would he accomplish as Patricia Highsmith’s most successful literary creation, that charismatic con artist whose proclivity for slaying barriers to his social climb she recorded over the course of five novels?
The response that Scott provides is, as is his custom, captivating; yet, it is likely to disappoint those of his followers who are more thirsty. In Steven Zaillian’s “Ripley,” a gorgeous, witty, cinematic extravaganza that chronicles the charlatan’s journey from a bleak existence in New York City to a luxurious one in Italy, the actor obliterates every trace of his considerable charm to produce a gloomy, awkward Tom Ripley whose joyless smile is as false as the signatures he fakes. “Ripley” is considered to be a cinematic extravaganza.
To make this perfectly apparent, this is an excellent (and pointed) choice. One is able to comprehend the reasons behind this man’s desire to flee his dreary surroundings and himself. The reason why his friendly American target, a wealthy aspiring artist named Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn), promises to provide him with lodging in Italy is as follows: In the process of trying to turn Dickie against him, Dickie’s girlfriend, Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning), a middling memoirist from Minnesota, realizes that Scott portrays the character as being so outwardly bland and unoffending that he is technically unimpeachable even if he is a touch unpleasant. Several times, Scott and Fanning have made jokes about the “anti-chemistry” between their characters.()
One thing that Scott’s selections make very clear is that Tom, much like his target and the title of the novel, is not particularly brilliant. The despondent con artist accepts a lifeline in the shape of a commission (from Dickie’s affluent father) to get Dickie to forsake his life of luxury on the Italian coast and return home. This is because the con artist is facing the possibility of being charged in New York for a fraud that was very simple to detect. To put it simply, Tom’s primary strategy is to never speak more than what is required of him. It is because of his chronic tactlessness that he is able to avoid correcting the elder Greenleaf’s erroneous belief that he and his son are friends in this particular occasion. After some time has passed, it provides him with a humorous way to avoid having to provide his opinion regarding Dickie’s “art.” The advancements that Tom makes as a result of his abilities as a respectable and sometimes compulsive mimic are dwarfed by the advancements that he makes by merely riffing on the incompetence of others. Additionally, Tom accomplishes these advancements by performing a kind of embarrassing semi-transparency in social circumstances, which ironically earns him Dickie’s trust.
In order to compensate for Scott’s lack of discipline, the camera, which is a wildly expressive agent, swiftly positions itself as the show’s most prominent character (and the sole actual artist). In his black-and-white cinematography, Robert Elswit does not show any signs of chill. The show takes great pleasure in transforming practically every shot into a work of art, and it does it in a manner that is both arrogant and fun at times. Methodologies can vary. The lens might settle briefly for virtuosic stillness — letting the subject wander through a gorgeously composed and static frame instead of following them through it, with everything in technically brilliant focus — then swing into maniacal motion, dramatizing the act of typing a letter (for instance) by swooping through so many different focal planes and angles that the scene starts to feel unreal, hyperstylized, absurd.
Given the often unflattering realism, the decision to photograph the center trio in a rather plain manner can sometimes feel laden. As a result of the steadfastness with which this particular camera, which creates sublime compositions out of bolts and steel beams and mousetraps and blood, refuses to glamorize its very-good-looking actors, the love triangle comes to appear to be more boring than enticing. The effect has the impression of a purposeful sendup, perhaps of the breathless frisson that is associated with Gatsby-adjacent narratives about social climbers (there is no Daisy Buchanans in this film), or (perhaps) of the youthful beauty that Minghella’s 1999 adaptation lingers upon. A few imperfections, such as Tom’s wrinkles and Marge’s stray hairs, are sometimes brought to the attention of the observer by the lens. The fact that they are shot in black and white simply serves to accentuate the degree to which these characters, who are striving for something such as art, mastery, or transcendence, become sluggish. The camera’s refusal to worship these gorgeous performers in traditional terms may be the most amusing choice it makes, especially if it covers both recognizable themes (such as the splendors of Italy) and quirky ones (such as the emotions of desk clerks).
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