Cold Mountain

Cold Mountain has all the symptoms of a quality movie: a stellar international cast, an Oscar-winning director, a critically-acclaimed bestseller as source material, and an experienced, talented crew. It is also, however, a Miramax film. Once the standard-bearer for risky, artistically ambitious cinema that proudly defied Hollywood studio conventions, the film company, manned by the formidable Weinstein brothers, has come to embrace the precise qualities it used to stand against. This is not to say Miramax has completely forgone releasing the former sort of film (recent examples include Ararat, The Quiet American, and Time Out), but by and large these movies get lost in the shuffle, enjoying only a brief release in major cities before scuttling off into oblivion, all the while facile crowd-pleasers such as Amelie and Chicago are given priority in the marketing department, and consequently, the box office. [note]

What does this all have to do with Cold Mountain? Budgeted at over $83 million, it is Miramax's most expensive production to date (Gangs of New York was co-financed by Universal), and as such, it embodies the direction the studio had taken over the past decade. The antithesis of the small, often brazen films that the company made its name on, the movie positively reeks of good taste. With sweeping camera movements, glorious period costumes, and a cast and crew with more than enough Academy Awards and/or nominations to go around, Cold Mountain harkens back to the era in Hollywood when prestige pictures were a heavy part of the studios' rotation.

This is not to say Cold Mountain isn't an enjoyable film; like early Hollywood adaptations of bestselling literary works (ranging anywhere from Grand Hotel to Little Women to Gone With the Wind), it moves along fluidly, easily hooking you into its storyline and characters. Its battle sequences are surprisingly powerful, blasting away the staid preconceptions many now have of the American Civil War as it recedes further into history, and Jude Law's conflicted Confederate deserter Inman makes for an appealing protagonist.

Nicole Kidman, however, seems to be having an increasing amount of trouble subverting her public persona in the roles she plays as her fame continues to grow. Unable to hide behind a prosthetic nose in this role, her Ada seems to have little more than her beauty to recommend her to Inman. Even in the dowdiest of clothes, her waist is cinched by a stylish belt, and her hair remains golden blonde as it somehow finds its way into complicated updos (scenes of distress are indicated by tendrils that are out-of-place).

Renee Zellweger, on the other hand, continues to surprise me with her range and seeming gameness for any role. Her hair dyed a brownish shade and forced into a frizzy, unruly braid, Zellweger (playing farmhand Ruby) stomps around Ada's farm with purpose, determination, and, significantly heart, a quality missing in much of Kidman's performance as Ada.

While the film does have its share of lame moments (which, to be fair, are mostly derived from trite moments in the book on which it is based), the cast and talented supporting players (including Philip Seymour Hoffman, Eileen Atkins, and Ray Winstone) help anchor it as the action swings between Ada and Ruby's life on the farm and Inman's trek back to Cold Mountain. By the end of 155 minutes, however, one may very well wish that Miramax would make its own journey back to the land of more interesting, provocative movies.

Note: Jonathan Rosenbaum includes an extended discussion (and criticism) of Miramax's practices in his book Movie Wars.