I went to see it, chosen for the good ratings, and the presence of Ralph Fiennes, whom I admire. Unfortunately, it was a big let-down.
In theory, it’s the story of a British town in 1919 staging an community musical performance with locals. They were originally planning to do Bach, but then switched to Elgar, due to anti-German sentiment of WWI. Then, losing their musical director, they are obliged to turn to Fiennes, who is also under a cloud for having lived in Germany.
Given that the writer is Alan Bennett, I expected humor, but no. Given the small-town setting, I expected warmth, but no. There are a lot of sub-threads, mostly dispiriting, about anti-German sentiment, homosexuality, war, death, and god knows what else. Oddly, there’s the jarring inclusion of a token black woman, with, weirdly, no discrimination; I somehow find it hard to believe that she would be not only completely enfolded into the community but even romanced. Or am I completely wrong?
There are many characters but most are unnamed and almost none are distinctive. Little of the process is even seen, nothing about the orchestra, nothing about costumes. So much is missing that I was thinking maybe it’s from a factual book, but there’s no sign of that. Seeing Fiennes now—aging, stocky, sad—making me wistful for the handsome young man of the past. And I didn’t recognize others—so, bizarrely, there were more familiar names in the credits than the cast: screenwriter Bennett, editor Tariq Anwar, costumer Jenny Beavan, composter George Fenton.