Phillip Noyce, 2002
Reparto: Michael Caine (Thomas Fowler), Brendan Fraser (Alden Pyle), Do Thi Hai Yen (Phuong), Rade Sherbedzija (Inspector Vigo), Tzi Ma (Hinh), Robert Stanton (Joe Tunney), Holmes Osborne (Bill Granger), Pham Thi Mai Hon (Hermana de Phuong), Quang Hai (El General), Ferdinand Hoang (Señor Muoi), Mathias Mlekuz (Capitán francés).
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A Noyce no le gustaba GreeneReparto: Michael Caine (Thomas Fowler), Brendan Fraser (Alden Pyle), Do Thi Hai Yen (Phuong), Rade Sherbedzija (Inspector Vigo), Tzi Ma (Hinh), Robert Stanton (Joe Tunney), Holmes Osborne (Bill Granger), Pham Thi Mai Hon (Hermana de Phuong), Quang Hai (El General), Ferdinand Hoang (Señor Muoi), Mathias Mlekuz (Capitán francés).
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El americano impasible siempre fue una de mis novelas favoritas. El triángulo amoroso de los dos occidentales, el cínico británico, Fowler, el idealista americano, Pyle, la joven vietnamita, Fuong, es un decorado al que vuelvo constantemente. Ello me impide ser comprensivo con una versión de un americano ofendido (la versión de Mankiewicz) o con la versión de un australiano politizado como Noyce.
La novela de Greene habla de los tontos útiles, que son los americanos idealistas. Ellos, con su afán de salvar el mundo, con su falta de complejidad estropean las cosas. El tópico es aplicable a Clinton que quiso arreglar la compleja situación de los Balcanes con bombardeos selectivos. El Vietnam del 52 es un país de viejos europeos y de viejos orientales, un joven americano quiere romper ese equilibrio. Pyle ha leído a Harding y se ha llenado la cabeza de tópicos sobre la idea de una tercera fuerza que arregle todo. Fowler, el británico, ama a una joven vietnamita, joven en edad, pero no interiormente. Fowler entiende la complejidad del mundo, y de la guerra. Con su sarcasmo se burla de los sueños salvadores del americano, Fowler es un cínico. Pyle quiere salvar el mundo pero su bondad lo convierte en un fantoche en manos de un militar sin escrúpulos, el general Thé. La reflexión de Greene es que los hombres buenos son mucho más destructores que los perversos. Su paradoja es que Fowler, que se enfrenta a ese gafe de Pyle, no está seguro de si fue honrado o si sólo quiso recuperar a la mujer que ama y que Pyle le quitó. La ambigüedad de esos conflictos es la riqueza del libro. Los dos directores que han abordado el tema se han esforzado por no dejar ningún resquicio a la duda, las dos versiones cinematográficas son tan claras como pobres.
La versión de Mankiewicz de “El americano impasible” es la peor. El director norteamericano no lee la novela, lee el tópico, cree que la crítica de Pyle, del americano tranquilo, es una crítica de todos los americanos. Así que su película es una respuesta al desaire. Mankiewicz rueda una película para decir que los americanos no son malos, y que los malos son los británicos.
Noyce es australiano, no tiene su amor propio herido, pero su versión de la maravillosa novela de Greene es tan floja como la del primero porque la mira desde lejos, ha rodado su versión cincuenta años después. Greene hablaba de un conflicto emergente, los americanos aún no han llegado a Vietnam. Noyce habla de una gerra acabada. Los americanos fueron a este país y perdieron la guerra. La lectura de Noyce es puramente política. Pyle no es un ingenuo engañado, es la CIA que manipula a los demás. En Greene, Pyle, y América, son los grandes ingenuos, los grandes primos. La visión de Greene es clarividente, humana, la de Noyce obvia, política.
Greene escribe sus libros como una meditación, entre línea y línea de diálogo siempre hace un aparte para explicar las reflexiones del personaje. Noyce respeta ese ritmo e intercala una voz en off. Lo malo es que ese narrador en off no repite ni una línea de Greene. Parece que a Noyce no le gustaban las paradojas de Fowler sobre el catolicismo, las tres culturas de los personajes, la guerra, no le gustaba el sarcasmo de Greene que a veces es chispeante en medio del dolor. Es una pena que no le gustara el auténtico Greene.
Brent Simon
The Quiet American is a movie that, on the surface, you think you know everything about: right, right… another staid little character study/travelogue. It is in actuality, however—like its two main characters—a much deeper and well-rounded movie than you might suspect.
Noyce telegraphs his big twist a bit too plainly, perhaps fearing the significance will be lost on an audience not particularly well-schooled in the backstory to the Vietnam War proper. Regardless, the utilization of flashbacks and voiceover in certain key instances highlight too clearly The Quiet American’s subtext.
Rex Reed | The New York observer
Without tricks and pyrotechnics, Phillip Noyce, the Australian director of such high-octane thrillers as Patriot Games, Clear and Present Danger and The Bone Collector, turns cerebral, exploring the visceral intrigues—both personal and political—between two men caught up in the French war in Indochina in the early 50’s.
Working from a tight adaptation by Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan of the classic Greene story, Mr. Noyce builds an existential portrait of conflicted souls with hidden agendas in which nothing is as it seems. The smell, heat, rain, lights on the Mekong River at night, opium and brothels—every surface appearance is deceptive, and every sensual pleasure is pierced by an undercurrent of violence. The fact that there are no heroes in this film enhances its integrity, but also challenges its potential for commercial success. In the newly forged national patriotism following 9/11, do audiences really want to see a movie that depicts the American military as savage mercenaries?
Roger Ebert | Chicago Suntimes (4/4)
The novel inspired a 1958 Hollywood version in which the director Joseph Mankiewicz turned the story on its head, making Fowler the bad guy and Pyle the hero. Did the CIA have a hand in funding that film? Stranger things have happened: The animated version of "Animal Farm" (1948) was paid for by a CIA front, and twisted Orwell's fable about totalitarianism both East and West into a simplistic anti-communist cartoon.
The Quiet American" was planned for release in the autumn of 2001. It was shelved after 9/11, when Miramax president Harvey Weinstein decided, no doubt correctly, that the national mood was not ripe for a film pointing out that the United States is guilty of terrorist acts of its own.
It would be unfortunate if people went to the movie, or stayed away, because of its political beliefs. There is no longer much controversy about the CIA's hand in stirring the Vietnam pot, and the movie is not an expose but another of Greene's stories about a worn-down, morally exhausted man clinging to shreds of hope in a world whose cynicism has long since rendered him obsolete. Both men "love" Phuong, but for Pyle she is less crucial. Fowler, on the other hand, admits: "I know I'm not essential to Phuong, but if I were to lose her, for me that would be the beginning of death." What Phuong herself thinks is not the point with either man, since they are both convinced she wants them.
The Quiet American is a movie that, on the surface, you think you know everything about: right, right… another staid little character study/travelogue. It is in actuality, however—like its two main characters—a much deeper and well-rounded movie than you might suspect.
Noyce telegraphs his big twist a bit too plainly, perhaps fearing the significance will be lost on an audience not particularly well-schooled in the backstory to the Vietnam War proper. Regardless, the utilization of flashbacks and voiceover in certain key instances highlight too clearly The Quiet American’s subtext.
Rex Reed | The New York observer
Without tricks and pyrotechnics, Phillip Noyce, the Australian director of such high-octane thrillers as Patriot Games, Clear and Present Danger and The Bone Collector, turns cerebral, exploring the visceral intrigues—both personal and political—between two men caught up in the French war in Indochina in the early 50’s.
Working from a tight adaptation by Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan of the classic Greene story, Mr. Noyce builds an existential portrait of conflicted souls with hidden agendas in which nothing is as it seems. The smell, heat, rain, lights on the Mekong River at night, opium and brothels—every surface appearance is deceptive, and every sensual pleasure is pierced by an undercurrent of violence. The fact that there are no heroes in this film enhances its integrity, but also challenges its potential for commercial success. In the newly forged national patriotism following 9/11, do audiences really want to see a movie that depicts the American military as savage mercenaries?
Roger Ebert | Chicago Suntimes (4/4)
The novel inspired a 1958 Hollywood version in which the director Joseph Mankiewicz turned the story on its head, making Fowler the bad guy and Pyle the hero. Did the CIA have a hand in funding that film? Stranger things have happened: The animated version of "Animal Farm" (1948) was paid for by a CIA front, and twisted Orwell's fable about totalitarianism both East and West into a simplistic anti-communist cartoon.
The Quiet American" was planned for release in the autumn of 2001. It was shelved after 9/11, when Miramax president Harvey Weinstein decided, no doubt correctly, that the national mood was not ripe for a film pointing out that the United States is guilty of terrorist acts of its own.
It would be unfortunate if people went to the movie, or stayed away, because of its political beliefs. There is no longer much controversy about the CIA's hand in stirring the Vietnam pot, and the movie is not an expose but another of Greene's stories about a worn-down, morally exhausted man clinging to shreds of hope in a world whose cynicism has long since rendered him obsolete. Both men "love" Phuong, but for Pyle she is less crucial. Fowler, on the other hand, admits: "I know I'm not essential to Phuong, but if I were to lose her, for me that would be the beginning of death." What Phuong herself thinks is not the point with either man, since they are both convinced she wants them.
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