Not so much a legend, more like a fart.
Photos courtesy of Netflix
There’s something satisfying about watching a good period drama. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but afterwards I feel like sipping tea and wearing lace gloves. You pine for the days of yore. When people spoke with eloquence and danced at balls with funny hats. I’d expected such from “Savannah.” But instead of craving for tea, I wanted to wash down the experience with a bottle of Jack to cleanse my soul from the utter ruination this movie has brought upon me.
The film tells the story of Ward Allen (Jim Caviezel), a Savannah blue blood who gives up the lush plantation life to hunt ducks with his friend, Christmas (Chiwetel Ejiofor). His flaws and drinking get the best of him, struggling in his marriage with Lucy Stubbs (Jaimie Alexander) and the law that seeks to stop him from what he does best: hunt summer duck. The story swerves through time through the eyes of Ward, Christmas and Jack Cay (Bradley Whitford) — the man who eventually wrote “Ward Allen: Savannah River Market Hunter:” the book his son adapted into the movie.
The one thing director Annette Haywood-Carter does exceptionally well is depict the area’s natural beauty. The viewer spends a good deal of time soaking in the marshlands, live oak trees covered in Spanish moss and the architecture of the historic district. As a person living in the city, it’s entertaining pointing out which street they’re filming on, even the continuity errors when it comes to squares (they do not look all the same, shame on you). With all the trolley tours, fixed-gear bicycles and pedicabs it’s refreshing having an idea what Savannah could have looked like at the turn of the 20th century. But the charm ends there. To put into perspective, “Dracula 3000” has a higher rotten tomatoes score — 16 percent — than this film could muster — eight percent.
This movie tried to be so many things in one, my head was spinning. It’s a romance, an exploration on race, a drama, a comedy, a statement against the man, a skip through time and all it amounted to was a guy who was good at three things: getting drunk, shooting ducks and being a terrible husband. They try so many things happening at once that none of them receive the attention they deserve. The jumps through time are confusing and repetitive; one particular story involving a half-mustache in Russia is told twice in the same five minutes. As a framing device, Jack Cay’s story is uninteresting and falls flat. The question of Ward Allen’s death — which seems to be Cay’s main concern — is only brought up twice, and never explicitly answered leaving an unsatisfying end.
The actors did a pretty decent job with the rolls they were given, give or take some darn awful interpretations of a southern accent. They probably could have done a better
Maybe this can be our “always”?
job if the person behind the dialogue wasn’t so full of themselves. We can excuse some exorbitant eloquence in period films, but when you can barely understand what they’re saying when the characters are just straight talking to each other, you’ve got a problem. I’m sure that Ward Allen was quite the character, but the courtroom scenes and the bar scenes are way too over the top with his speeches. The same goes for the melodrama; your actors can be as passionate as they want, tears and all, but when the same goddamn piano music plays over and over nonstop it’s just annoying, not inspiring.
Ward and Lucy’s relationship seems like it was supposed to inspire romance but really it’s just scary and abusive. They fall in love in five minutes, get married with no friends or family and spend 95 percent of the marriage arguing over Ward’s drinking problem typically ending in gunfire. There are a few tender moments between the two, some sultry, but there is apparent lack of chemistry between Alexander and Caviezel. I spent a good portion of screen time yelling, “Girl you done messed up! Leave!”
He’s the best boy.
Like most movies, the real star wasn’t the scruffy human protagonist. Our hero was the dog. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t shoot at his wife’s portrait, doesn’t go through long eloquent speeches in bars and doesn’t hold contempt for the law. Rock is a saint, accompanying a man who doesn’t deserve him faithfully. Who’s a good boy? He’s a good boy.
So watch “Downton Abbey,” or “Anna and the King” or any of the BBC miniseries shows. For the love of God, avoid “Savannah.”
