Under the Volcano

It's November 1, 1938 in Cuernavaca, Mexico, The Day of the Dead. Former British consul Geoffrey Firmin (Albert Finney) is drunk walking the streets in a tux with no socks. He is despondent over his divorce from Yvonne (Jacqueline Bisset). She and his half-brother Hugh (Anthony Andrews) arrive to help him recover his senses.

Albert Finney delivers a fascinating performance. Of all the characters, I am most uncertain about is Yvonne. I think it's more compelling for his ex-wife to be an object of faraway longing. She is too nice anyways. Bisset is gorgeous. She is too perfect. She should be a source of conflict instead. Overall, Finney's compelling performance drives this train. Director John Huston knows how to draw it out of his great actors.

Under the Volcano could have made as just another 'Lost Weekend' film if not for the attention to a simple narrative (though one that has a lot underneath the surface), and a performance to compellingly take us through the unbalanced emotional state of its protagonist. From what I've read about what the novel became by this adaptation, Huston took out the big poetic bits that made it such an unclassifiable (and as many claimed unadaptable) work and made it into a tale of a man's downfall from grace and good times. The story is as such: Geoffrey Firmin (Finney) is a recently retired consul in Mexico who has that big, admirable personality that comes with those who have lived- or boasted to live- quite a life, and have taken now to mass consumptions of alcohol. It's not even about the enjoyment of it, but a compulsion for 'balance' to drink just to get sober, as it might be. He's also divorced, recently, but his wife (Bisset) comes to him again, wanting once more to patch things up.

This is set in the backdrop of the 'Day of the Dead' festival, and on the brink of world war 2, but these things are, however brilliantly and as a kind of delicate lining around, a backdrop for the emotional and mental and, it should be noted, spiritual struggle of Firmin. Huston never preaches about this man's rotting addiction, and there's no easy sympathy either. We see his emotional state rock from happy and hopeful to the pits of despair following the bullfight his half-brother Hugh (Andrews) takes part in, where he can't basically grasp his own reality anymore. Underneath this surface of the film though, where we're given this proud, unstable character, there's chaos riling about, attached in a way to the mood around, with rumored Nazi collaborators in the midst of things, a near-murdered body on the side of the road, the matter-of-fact metaphors of the symbols of death that (as Huston makes in one of the most Gothic openings to a movie I've ever seen) opens the film with marionette skeletons to an eerie Alex North score.

But lest to say that all credit should go to Huston for his storytelling. It's an interesting film for the first three quarters, though in a way feels like it has to be building for something; here and there, even as we're with these character wandering in a state of mind of disarray (will Firmin and Yvonne stay together, split apart, who will run away are the basic questions, as well as how Andrews might have something to do with it on either side), it starts to feel like it could become meandering. In that last quarter, however, Huston lays on a feeling of dread, maybe not entirely with coincidence, that hasn't been seen since Treasure of the Sierra Madre- something bad just HAS to happen, and it will come out through the worst devils of the protagonist's nature. There is that for Huston, the power of that brothel sequence, the terror and even the dark humor.

The best reason above all else, even as it's one of Huston's most challenging films, is that Finney is so terrific in the role. It's a startling work of an actor taking down his guard, making himself vulnerable and naked, so to speak, to the discord booze has brought to his mind. He gets depth to a guy that should be just another Hemingway figure, of the sorrow that really lies in every little moment and gesture and inflection. It also goes without saying he's one of the top three or four convincing drinkers in modern film. And at the same time it's not easy to peg what he'll do next as an actor, which step he might cross or double-back on. While his co-stars are very good in their parts, he dares to overshadow them with a tour-de-force. Under the Volcano pits its character into hell, and Huston brings us, without going overboard with stylistic flourishes, right along with him.

It is the finale of this film that redeems any possible weakness of the story one may entertain in one's mind as one views this film. The ending is so overwhelming, I had to watch it again at once. I then rewatched parts of the film just to luxuriate in the brilliant acting of Albert Finney. This is truly a masterpiece. There have been some criticisms of Ms. Bisset's acting etc, but this is small potatoes compared to the sheer genius of this story and its' realization. The music in the opening credits sets the tone and immediately draws you into the film. You know something profound will happen in the film and to you as you watch this film. Highly Recommended.

This is a fairly forgotten gem from the mid-80s, based on the classic and tragic novel of the same name. The film is also the legendary John Huston's third last movie as a director. Taking place in Mexico during the festival known as the Day of the Dead, the film also works against a backdrop of the early days of WWII, and explores the fragmented love triangle between a former British diplomat (Albert Finney), his estranged wife (Jacqueline Bisset), and his adventurous journalist brother (Anthony Andrews).

Under the Volcano starts out slowly, following the corpse-like wandering of retired diplomat Geoffrey Firmin as he explores the Day of the Dead and seeks out booze to feed his alcoholism. We're given various clues as to what has left him in such a sodden and rambling state, and we learn that his wife divorced him from abroad. Geoffrey proceeds to drink himself into oblivion, and into the fray enters his erstwhile wife Yvonne... testing the waters as it were for a possible reconciliation. Geoffrey's brother Hugh, recently returned from the Spanish civil war, is at a loss as to where he fits in with regards to their relationship, and also in regards to the world itself. The three decide to take a day trip out of town, with Yvonne and Hugh unsure of where Geoffrey's health and state of mind will literally lead them.

This film is a rambling, elegaic swansong to suntouched dreams fortified by alcohol. These three people try to outrun their demons and replace their mistakes with hollow new plans - Yvonne hopes to start her life anew, but Geoffrey's disgracefully drunken state makes him an unpredictable quantity to bank on, especially in regards to whether he can forgive her for the adultery that left him in such a state. Geoffrey tells a story at one point about a colonial named Blackstone, a man who turned native and disliked the puritans who tried to save him so much that he simply just disappeared into the wilderness. There's obviously something about this story that appeals to Geoffrey as he seems to identify with Blackstone so much that he later tells strangers that it's his name, and you can't help but feel that this is the only solution to the problems at hand that he can truly grasp at. Bubbling underneath the surface of the film all this time is a slowly building sense of doom highlighted by the coming of WWII, the ominous woodwind score, and the film's title itself. Geoffrey alludes to a horrific war story at several points, drawing comparisons with the 30s horror film Mad Love (referred to here as The Hands of Orlac) with his belief that "Some things you can't apologise for", and this quote echoes throughout the film whenever the main characters are forced to come face to face with each other's mistakes.

This won't be a film to everyone's taste, it starts out as something approaching a travel-drama but kind of mutates into outright tragedy in it's second half. At the core of Under the Volcano is a staggering performance from Albert Finney as the drunken diplomat. Finney was more than rightfully nominated for a Best Actor Academy Award for his realistic depiction of the life of a hopeless drunk... full of whimsy and cheer and rambling anecdotes, treading a fine line between absolute tankdom and lucidness, and tapping into all kinds of ambivalent emotions that would be far too challenging to a less complex and accomplished actor. Too often the drunk in film is shown as either a figure for comedy, fear or tragedy, but never are they shown as realistically as Finney's characterisation here. I could see shades of every pathetic and hilarious drunk I've ever met at a pub or a party in Under the Volcano's Geoffrey Firmin, and the film makes no compromises whatsoever in showing this for what it is. One of the best performances in film.

HIGHLIGHTS: There's nothing quite like a sinister Mexican dwarf grinning while he makes obscene gestures with his hands. I found this bit to be quite offputting and creepy.

There are pointless arguments to be had as to whether Burton and Taylor in the main roles would have been better and wouldn't it have been good to see that Losey or, praise be, the Bunuel version get off the ground, but we have what we have. Almost fifty years on from when I read the deeply affecting book I cannot recall how faithful the telling is although I do retain a memory of it being more intense and foreboding than here. That volcano was not just a pretty picture but something like the forthcoming war that impinged upon the daily life. Nevertheless this is a very fine effort, Finney gives it his all and just about convinces, Bisset is pretty but less convincing and Huston has an eye for the Mexican setting, particularly the Day of the Dead celebrations and the final ghastly booze and debauchery sequence. But then, Huston himself knew more than a little about, not just drinking, but periods of drinking all the time, or as someone says here, 'drinking himself sober'.