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Tony Richardson's adaptation of Henry Fielding's classic
novel was one of the most critically acclaimed and popular
comedies of its time, winning four Academy Awards, including
Best Picture. The film follows Tom Jones (Albert Finney), a
country boy who becomes one of the wildest playboys in
18th-century England, developing a ravenous taste for women,
food, and rowdy adventures. Over the course of the film,
Jones tries to amass his own fortune and win the heart of
Sophie (Susannah York). Not only does John Osborne's
Oscar-winning screenplay stay true to the tone of the novel,
but the cast--including Lynn Redgrave in her first screen
role--tears into the story with spirited abandon, making the
movie a wildly entertaining and witty experience. For the
1989 reissue, Richardson trimmed the film by seven minutes.
-- Stephen Thomas Erlewine
A bawdy, exuberant
adaptation of Henry Fielding's classic 18th century
novel, TOM JONES bears the enviable contradiction of
being a timeless period piece. Boasting both a
uniformly excellent cast and a screenplay by John
Osborne that remains one of the cinema's most successful
literary hatchet jobs, the film ushered in a new era for
British cinema. Its unabashed commercialism (which had
to be financed by United Artists after its subject
matter was deemed too outré by British financiers) was
key to the subsequent influx of American dollars into
the British film industry, and it signaled the effective
end of the darker, more politicized English Free Cinema
movement.
The film was a landmark for a
number of other reasons, first and foremost director Tony
Richardson's presentation of the subject matter. Presaging
MTV-style film direction by at least three decades,
Richardson directed his film with impressive speed,
employing rapid cuts, frequent breaking-down of the fourth
wall, and a pace breathless enough to make audiences
forget that they were watching what had been a 1000-page
novel.
Notable, too, was the fact
that a story set two centuries ago could ring so true with a
contemporary audience. The depiction of Tom's libidinous
past was marked by the sort of carefree, liberated attitude
that would soon become one of the defining attributes of the
film's era. Moreover, it featured one of the most
memorable demonstrations of the link between food and sex
ever committed to celluloid, giving new meaning to the term
"human appetite." With so many lasting qualities to say
nothing of a star-making performance by a young and dashing
Albert Finney it is little surprise that Tom Jones
has stood the test of time as one of the 20th century's most
enjoyable cinematic achievements.
The famous, sex-drenched
eating scene between Tom (Albert Finney) and, (all
unknowingly) possibly his mother Mrs. Waters (Joyce Redman)
begins naturally enough with big steaming pewter bowls of
soup, whereat Mrs. Waters leans well over the table and
lustily slurps big round spoonsful, breasts tumbling out of
her bodice, with a more-than-come-hither look. Tom, nearly
overcome, involuntarily rips a claw off the langouste he has
in his hand and sucks happily on it. Drafts of ale, turkey,
oysters, pears, and wine are then dispatched with loving
attention
Rebecca Flint |
