1985 had plenty of best-of-year selections that are all-time worthy. Brazil, Ran, Come and See, even Back To The Future and After Hours are sentimental favourites worthy of treasuring. However, that year the Academy opted for a film that would most likely have been forgotten by now if not for its stars. On rare occasions has Out Of Africa graced upon a top 10 Best Picture winners list. But it's not necessarily an offensively poor choice. Despite its sentimental package, it's not too sweet but not too thrilling, diving deep down into the middle ground. Scattered through its 160 minute running time, its delights are sparse and slight. There's a decent wit on occasion, some beautiful shots and the heartbreaks of the main story are quite effective. It's just too bloated to invest in. Every time I feel that it may be growing on me, it swiftly ruins it with a distraction or an unconvincing moment. Meryl Streep may have been at the top of her game at this time, but her performance is too inconsistent and shrill, and more-or-less blends into the background even though she leads the thing.
Then Robert Redford just sticks out with a thinly developed character where he's not able to shed off the star power he gained in the 70s. I bought their romance, but not their status in this early 20th century world. The film takes too long to get to its central argument of nature vs. life of luxury, and while its interesting, it feels quickly abandoned for more distractions. The cinematography is good at times, but it feels like its win was justified by the tricks it pulls. The soaring wides are wonderful, the plane ride sure is an experience (forgetting the terrible cutaways of our stars), but the beauty is in the individual shot and not the package as a whole. It's best in the simple imagery of poetic silouhettes. I just wish the film was richer. Other than the greens, the film's sets and costumes are bleached various beiges and browns. Blandness on top of blandness on top of blandness. It's pretty much summed up by a scene where Streep's character tells the characters a story and we skim over the whole thing with various reaction shots and then they tell us it was great. Here's a gift just because.
6/10
Then Robert Redford just sticks out with a thinly developed character where he's not able to shed off the star power he gained in the 70s. I bought their romance, but not their status in this early 20th century world. The film takes too long to get to its central argument of nature vs. life of luxury, and while its interesting, it feels quickly abandoned for more distractions. The cinematography is good at times, but it feels like its win was justified by the tricks it pulls. The soaring wides are wonderful, the plane ride sure is an experience (forgetting the terrible cutaways of our stars), but the beauty is in the individual shot and not the package as a whole. It's best in the simple imagery of poetic silouhettes. I just wish the film was richer. Other than the greens, the film's sets and costumes are bleached various beiges and browns. Blandness on top of blandness on top of blandness. It's pretty much summed up by a scene where Streep's character tells the characters a story and we skim over the whole thing with various reaction shots and then they tell us it was great. Here's a gift just because.
6/10