The Count of Monte Cristo (2002)

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Adaptations of Alexandre Dumas pere’s classic revenge novel have been around since the silent era. Actors who have memorably stepped into the unjustly imprisoned Edmond Dantes’ leg irons include Robert Donat in 1934, Richard Chamberlain in 1974, and Gerard Depardieu in an epic French miniseries in 1998. Now, it’s James Caviezel’s turn to pursue vengeance in director Kevin Reynolds’ (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) stab at recreating the majesty of Dumas. Not all of the flavors work in this particular stew, but there’s enough spice to sate all but the most jaded appetites.

There’s one central mystery to this latest screen version of The Count of Monte Cristo, and that is how the stouthearted, virtuous Dantes (Caviezel) never even suspects the misfortune that is about to befall him. After all, his best friend, Fernand Mondego, is played by Memento’s Guy Pearce at his oiliest. Noble scion Mondego can barely conceal his contempt for his lower born chum or his lust for Dantes’ woman, Mercedes (Dagmara Dominczyk). Mondego even warns his trusting pal that his own intentions aren’t always honorable when he says, “It’s a pity the adventurous can’t always be friends.” And one would think that even an illiterate sailor like Dantes would realize that accepting a letter from the exiled Napoleon just might get him into trouble. Ah, well, without Dantes’ gullibility, there is no story.

The outlines of the tale will be familiar to most moviegoers, and Reynolds wastes no time in plunging us into Dantes’ hell. When he’s caught with Napoleon’s missive after Mondego and jealous first mate Danglars (Albie Woodington) squeal on him, Dantes is sentenced to a life of torture and deprivation on the island prison of Chateau D’If by Marseilles’ corrupt prosecutor, Villefort (James Frain).

Thirteen years later, with the help of fellow detainee Abbe Faria (Richard Harris) and equipped with a map leading to buried treasure, Dantes makes like Houdini and escapes. Reinventing himself as the elegant Count of Monte Cristo, he could just enjoy his new money, as his faithful factotum Jacopo (Traffic’s Luis Guzman) implores. But with his three enemies thriving (and Mondego adding salt to the wound by marrying Mercedes), the only thing Dantes is truly interested in purchasing is revenge.

Caviezel is perfectly cast as Dantes, he’s charming as a guileless youth, smoldering but magnetic as the embittered count. He’s matched well by both Harris, who adds just the right paternal touch as the priest who encourages Dantes’ survival, and Pearce, who plays Mondego with such sneering superciliousness that he makes Dantes’ mad vendetta seem reasonable. From rubbing his many affairs in Mercedes’ face to his casual dismissal of his teenage son Albert (Henry Cavill), Mondego is a scoundrel that begs for punishment.

In the later scenes, Dantes is wrapped in emblems of his immense wealth palatial estates, garments in silk and brocade, a posh party to introduce him to Paris where he symbolically places himself above the gathered gentry by making an unforgettable entrance in a hot air balloon. At the same time, neither Dantes nor the audience is allowed to forget the horrors he suffered as Jacopo finds the count asleep on the cold marble floor unable to bear the softness of a bed after the years spent sleeping on hard stones in prison.

For the most part, screenwriter Jay Wolpert does a witty and admirable job in condensing the immense original novel. Dumas’ idea of revenge was Byzantine to an extreme, and Wolpert, recognizing the limitations of the film’s two-hour running time, simplifies Dantes’ plans in a way that works to the movie’s advantage. The schemes are more direct, providing Dantes with immediate gratification and the film with some much appreciated dark humor.

Wolpert’s one misstep is in making some of the dialogue and some of the characters notably the Chateau D’If warden, Dorleac (Michael Wincott), and Jacopo too modern. It’s jarring in a period piece to hear Jacopo tell Dantes on procuring a boat, “A nice little skiff we couldn’t afford a sloop. Got a really good deal.” The normally terrific Guzman doesn’t help by modeling Jacopo’s voice on Mike Tyson’s high pitched squeak.

Combining Andrew Dunn’s gorgeous cinematography (which emphasizes the blue of sea, sky, and Caviezel’s eyes) with opulent locations and pacing that ensures that the action never lags for too long, Reynolds delivers a tasty diversion. True, the sword fights could have been better staged particularly the final showdown between Dantes and Mondego, which is shot more like a music video for the attention deficit generation than a grand duel between two bitter rivals but this lackluster clash can’t dissipate the grandeur that came before it. The Count of Monte Cristo may not be the meatiest entertainment, but it satisfies that hunger for escapism.

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