The Age of Innocence
It was the old New York way, of taking life ‘without effusion of blood’
As Christmas approaches, I like to recommend some films or dramas for your viewing pleasure. First, I direct you to the BBC version of North and South, which I reviewed here a few years ago.
Today I direct you to the Martin Scorsese film adaptation of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. I am obsessed with this film and book. I have the paper back version, a copy on my Kindle that I can read in the dark of night and I have watched the film more times than I care to admit. The book earned Edith Wharton the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1921, the first time the award had been bestowed upon a woman.
The film the Age of Innocence is beautiful to watch. Set in New York high society in the 1870s the cinematography is breath-taking; in one dining scene (there are quite a few of these) Scorsese frames each character with long candlesticks; the effect is remarkable. Symmetry dominates and small objects such as a parasol or a glove take on huge significance. Some of the narration is lifted word from word from the book; the dialogue is wonderful, but the silence is also critical.
The film stars Daniel Day-Lewis (the greatest actor of his generation), Winona Ryder, Michelle Pfeiffer and Miriam Margolyes. Scorsese once described the film as one of his most violent films ever which is interesting considering there is no actual violence in it. There are some knowing looks, but I don’t think this counts.
There is plenty of emotional upheaval. Newland Archer is engaged to the innocent and beautiful May Welland. But once her cousin the Countess Olenska arrives on the scene (a classic example of stranger comes to town) Archer’s life is turned upside down. The theme of duty and desire dominate.
Although many people dislike the character of May Welland, a Diana figure, I of course warm to her. What I love about this book is how tradition triumphs. It could be argued that there is a feminist subtext to the movie as the matriarchs outsmart Newland. He is no match for them. They set the rules that bring Newland Archer to heel.
At first, Newland Archer fancies himself as the chess master. He looks upon his world ‘a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs’ in a haughty manner. Although he abides by the social norms and conventions, he believes he is slightly above them. He also believes he can improve his fiancé May once he marries her. He believes he is controlling her.
In fact May Welland knows exactly what is going on; she knows exactly what she wants and she is the true master of this chess board. With the help of the matriarchs slowly but surely, she moves Archer around that chessboard until he is surrounded. There is no escape; it’s checkmate. The scene which captures May’s final victorious move is absolutely terrifying to behold.
As the New York families tighten the noose, the narrator tells us ‘it was the old New York way, of taking life ‘without effusion of blood’; the way of people who dreaded scandal more than disease, who placed decency above courage, and who considered that nothing was more ill-bred than ‘scenes’, except the behaviour of those who gave rise to them. As these thoughts succeeded each other in his mind Archer felt like a prisoner in the centre of an armed camp.’
Indeed, Scorsese once said in an interview that he saw great similarities between these upper-class New Yorkers and the violent gangs of New York. ‘If someone has to be taken out, then they are taken out.’
It is not until it is too late that Archer understands he has indeed been taken out; he has been stitched up like a kipper and his beautiful and innocent wife, armed with just a tiny waste and huge eyes, was at the centre of this Gang of New York. The result is both beautiful and brutal.