By Amy Nicholson
By Amy Nicholson
By Heather Baysa
By Calum Marsh
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Simon Abrams
By Alan Scherstuhl
The suggestion, in Greene's book and in the film, that Americans acting on behalf of their government could be complicit in terrorism is explosive stuff in today's post-9/11 climate, and for that, Noyce's long-delayed film is bound to be anathema in some political circles. The atmosphere is not as nasty as Greene's original fiction, but the film is far more inflammatory than Joseph L. Mankiewicz's sanitized 1958 version, in which Audie Murphy's Alden Pyle was retooled as a heroic U.S. diplomat fighting the good fight against Communism.
The sources of Greene's vision include admirable skill as a novelist (his masterpieces include The Heart of the Matter, Brighton Rock, and The End of the Affair), his conversion to Catholicism, his service during World War II as an agent for British intelligence, and a lifelong scorn for almost all things American, from the cut of our suits to the presumptions of our foreign policy. Pyle is not just a character but a symbol of Yank chicanery, steeped in raw, self-righteous innocence.
But neither Greene nor Noyce is concerned wholly with politics, and neither is willing to segregate good from evil. Those familiar with that region of the soul that literary critics have long called "Greeneland" -- a spiritual purgatory where the obligations of faith and the nature of sin always come into question -- will find themselves uncomfortably at home with these characters and in Noyce's steamy, beguiling Saigon. Like Greene's Haiti or his prerevolutionary Cuba, it is a place of back-alley deceptions, opium-scented decadence, and sudden violence: a netherworld visitors never quite grasp, despite their addiction to it.
Among the inhabitants, or intruders, we meet one Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine), a world-weary British journalist who has detached himself not only from the dangerous, simmering politics he writes about but from his own emotions. A classic Greene type, played to cynical perfection by one of the world's great actors, Fowler soon finds himself in the kind of spiritual tug of war he always seeks to avoid. A married man who's in love with a beautiful Vietnamese girl called Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen), Fowler soon discovers he has a rival for his mistress' affections. It is, of course, the ever-eager Pyle, who woos Phuong with the same blind sincerity with which he pursues the secretive American mission in Saigon. Leave it to Greene, Noyce, and screenwriter Christopher Hampton (Dangerous Liaisons) to paint this intrigue in moral ambiguity as well. Like Vietnam itself, Phuong is a seductress who declines to be won. She is a force of nature who suffers abuse but endures, unchanged.
For Noyce, The Quiet American and Rabbit-Proof Fence, his affecting drama about half-caste aboriginal girls fleeing government captivity, represent a startling return to form. Once considered a leading light on the Aussie independent scene, he took the cash to make Hollywood potboilers like Patriot Games and The Saint, so the intense emotions and highly personal style of his two new films come as a happy surprise. As for Fraser, whose résumé is littered with dumbed-down credits like Encino Man and George of the Jungle, American gives him his first opportunity since Gods and Monsters to show off some real acting chops. If the conservatives don't now stone him to death for portraying Greene's meddlesome spook, he'll probably attract some more worthy offers.
While Brendan waits by the phone, we have the chance to behold this unsettling, morally complex, and timely view of American power abroad. Many will find it courageous, and some, no doubt, will absolutely revile it, but no one is likely to look away from the screen. Greene, who died in 1991, would likely welcome the ensuing arguments.
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