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It often happens that something comes along, sets a standard, is recognized as being trailblazing, then gets copied and co-opted, until finally we take it for granted and think, “oh, that one’s so overrated.” Such is the case with an adaptation of a novel published in 1749 by the writer Henry Fielding. The title of the book, a comic novel, was The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling but the 1963 movie shortened it to the foundling’s name alone, Tom Jones. With the screenplay adapted for the screen by celebrated playwright John Osborne and directed with flair by Tony Richardson, Tom Jones hit the screen to great notices and, more importantly, a certain amount of awe for its style. A blurb from The New York Times‘s Bosley Crowther, slightly edited for length and clarity (where you see the ellipses), ended up serving as the film’s tagline in its advertisements: “Prepare yourself for… one of the wildest, bawdiest, and funniest comedies… ever brought to the screen.” Thus the adaptation of an 18th century comic novel became a 20th century movie blockbuster, but does it still work today? Indeed it does.
Before writing this piece, I last saw Tom Jones a good twenty years ago. I selected the movie precisely because I wanted to watch it again with fresh eyes and see how my attitudes towards it had changed, if at all. My previous take is that it is a good, solid film, well acted and entertaining. Watching it again I feel I vastly underrated it. In fact, if you had asked me about it prior to watching it again, I probably would have told you it was overrated, if anything. Seeing it again opened my eyes to a great many pleasures and delights held within the film, both of style and substance. Firstly, though, the style.
I had either forgotten, or never quite noticed, the remarkably modern style of Tom Jones on previous viewings. It’s rapid fire editing, handheld cameras and fourth wall breaking, would fit so comfortably into today’s moviemaking scene that I’d wager you could show it to someone unfamiliar with any of the actors involved and convince them it was made in the last decade. It’s comedic style is especially en vogue these days, taking a period piece and filling it with contemporary jokes and winks to the audience.
Its substance is something quite more than I remembered as well. Here, in the middle of a sardonic lark about a rakish foundling, is an absolutely brutal and relentless hunt scene that is so effectively shot and edited that it alone could have won the movie its Best Picture Oscar. The point of the scene may be obvious – that the rich and privileged are, at the heart, merciless and cruel – but it is the sheer barbarity of the scene that burns it onto the brain. As the action is followed along at high speeds, with nothing on the soundtrack but the sound of dozens of horses in full gallop, the drunken, sated gentry and their dogs pursue a stag through the countryside, utterly indifferent to the destruction and devastation they wreak. They whip their horses without mercy and dig their spurs into their sides. A working man’s barnyard is trampled and as we see him holding the disfigured goose that was killed in the process, we hear the men laugh at the look on his face. We see men fall off their horses to the concern of no one and when the stag is finally cornered, they leap to the ground and beat it to death before slitting its throat. The leader of the pack holds it up, heartily laughing at the stag’s demise.
But it doesn’t end there. Tom Jones does not hold back on showing the hierarchy of 18th century society in all its despicable glory. Men of lower class or distinction are given no real chance in life, and women are either honorable lasses awaiting proper marriage or, as one character disdainfully says in the movie, nothing more than a “filthy slut.”
The director, Tony Richardson, was famously dissatisfied with the movie and even said that when people told him how much they liked it, he would “cringe a little inside.” The cinematographer, Walter Lassally, said that Richardson, for whatever reason, couldn’t see it. He said that Richardson was seeing mistakes and flaws that simply weren’t there. I would wholeheartedly agree with Lassally’s assessment. Tony Richardson created something quite special with Tom Jones and, like many artists, couldn’t see his own work from the outside looking in.
Then, there are the actors. The titular role is played so perfectly by Albert Finney that it’s almost impossible to notice how much charm and kindness Finney brings to the role underneath all the Lothario bravado. Susannah York is pitch perfect as Sophie Western, playing most of her emotions, from anger to elation, under the surface, as a lady in her time was expected to be quiet and submissive. Diane Cilento plays every deceitful moment with verve. She goes from telling Tom sternly to his face that she can never have another man to laughing at herself when an instant later another man is found hiding naked in the barn behind her. David Warner, in his film debut, seems a fully seasoned film actor, playing Tom’s half-brother as a priggish fop, showing sanctimony to the world while selfishly pursuing only that which will benefit him most. Finally, Hugh Griffith, one of the greatest of all character actor hams, steals the show so much he should have won every supporting award available.
Looking at it again over 50 years after its release, Tom Jones is as surprisingly fresh and lively today as it must have been in 1963. Its filmmaking techniques and narrative styles have been used so many times since, that someone watching it today might easily dismiss it as just another period piece deconstruction. But it is so much more than that, and in many ways, the main influence on all period comedies to follow. Tony Richardson was a fine director and with Tom Jones, he outdid himself and made a movie that will stand the test of time. He just didn’t seem to know it. Fortunately, we do.
Greg Ferrara