I’ll grant you, my objections are pedantic. Until viewing Joe Wright and Erica Schmidt’s musical Cyrano, I was only vaguely aware of how closely I held Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac to my heart. I’ve read the translations and adaptations by Brian Hooker, Anthony Burgess, and Frank Langella. I’ve even been in a production of Langella’s take, though of course not as Cyrano, Christian, nor Roxanne.
Let me say also that there’s nothing inherently wrong with writing a musical version of a stage classic like this. Though I would also wish it were a bit catchier. The songs by Aaron and Bryce Dessner of The National are pleasant, and “Wherever I Fall,” sung by soldiers preparing to die in battle, absolutely drew me in.
Nor is the idea of Peter Dinklage as Cyrano de Bergerac anything less than brilliant. A tremendous actor, but the script’s efforts to make the story more accessible to a modern audience diminishes the language. When he has something to chew on, he shines. But this version mostly put Cyrano in the position of either pining for his “cousin” Roxanne or being angrily defensive. It’s not Dinklage’s fault that the streamlining of plot jettisons key elements of Cyrano.
Yes, he’s mocked by many, but adored by as many. Though a noble himself, many look down on him because he’s genuine while they are all artifice. (At least Ben Mendehlsonn’s Comte De Guiche has that right — rouged up with a wig powdered down.)
Cyrano should be witty, not just a talented and forlorn poet. When Steve Martin adapted the tale as his modern-day comedy Roxanne, he remembered that the first big impression of the character is the 20 superior insults he takes at himself. In Cyrano, that’s replaced by a rap flow called “When I Was Born.” He spits the words in a muddled sound mix as he outfences the foppish Valvert (Joshua James) and it’s straight self-hatred, not cleverness.
As Roxanne, Haley Bennett sparkles as much as one could. Limited by a woman’s place in 17th century France, Roxanne is deep but playing shallow because she must. And if her head is turned by the pretty face of Christian (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), it’s understandable. Because the bold and clever Cyrano lacks the confidence to woo her. How could he, when he believes the world sees him as hideous?
Schmidt’s script minimizes the counterpoint that he keeps missing but that Rostand made so key. On stage, even De Guiche has to admit there’s something about Cyrano, even as he considers him an enemy. But Cyrano robs Mendehlsonn of the opportunity to play notes beyond entitlement and lechery.
The major set pieces are all here, shot beautifully by Seamus McGarvey. Wright knows how to stage a scene. But again, to keep things moving, they’re gutted of subtext. Wright does make the famed balcony exchange look plausible, at least. And there’s charm in the banter between the inarticulate Christian and the lovestruck Roxanne.
To the pedantry: one word is key to the whole thing, and even the first English translator Brian Hooker only sort of got it. That’s the French word (absorbed into English) panache. It means two things. It’s a white plume, such as worn on the hats of musketeers (Cyrano is a soldier of the Gascoigne army). That’s the literal translation. It also connotes flamboyant style and, to some extent, honor. This version fails to give Cyrano de Bergerac the panache so central to his identity. It provides a through line that makes the end heartbreaking and yet triumphant. By leaving it out, it’s just another romance.
If that’s all you want out of this film, that’s fine. Even Steve Martin changed the ending, but that’s because he was making a straight-up comedy. Cyrano de Bergerac is an epic play, a tragedy redeemed by who Cyrano is to the end, and Dinklage should have been allowed to live up to it. Instead, he’s given a mediocre musical. It’s not as bad as a performance by the great Montfleury, but it’s not worthy of the great Peter Dinklage.
