Ismail Merchant and James Ivory did not invent the tasteful costume drama, but they did perfect it. Over the course of half a century and 44 feature films, the producer and director specialized in literary adaptations that nearly invited parody – “Merchant/Ivory” became early shorthand for “Oscar Bait” – and yet their films could contain more turmoil and drama than their contemporaries in any genre. The new documentary Merchant Ivory is not the definitive account of this partnership, and it is not entirely for newbies, either. Instead, director Stephen Soucy has made a great film about making movies, a detailed account of the film production process that also finds room for biography and dishy gossip.
Unlike many documentaries about filmmakers, Soucy does not follow the traditional chronological arc. With a freewheeling approach, he jumps around to various time periods and key figures, devoting long stretches not just to Merchant and Ivory but their two key collaborators: the novelist and screenwriter writer Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, along with composer Richard Robbins. As the production company began, Soucy gives a sense of the clash between independence and financial stability. Longtime collaborators like Vanessa Redgrave and Emma Thompson are not shy about Merchant’s shortcomings. Charming and effusive, Merchant’s tactics as a producer were just above that of a con man, finding money from unlikely sources and frequently not paying many of his collaborators. Like a show that must go on, however, he and Ivory always found a way to deliver.
At age 96, Ivory is the only major collaborator who is still alive. He is still witty and lucid, although he remains hard-pressed to explain just how Merchant made all the money work. Ivory is much more comfortable in talking about the films themselves. Unsurprisingly, Soucy devotes most of his attention to the pair’s greatest hits: A Room With a View, Howard’s End, and The Remains of the Day. These sections are maybe the most pleasurable in the film, since Soucy cuts to those who worked on the film – whether they are actors, costume designers, or editors – to help illuminate why everyone worked hard for so little money. Maybe Ivory is too modest to say it, but the “family” he created by repeat collaborations, along with his gentle approach as a director, made him a delight.
Soucy correctly realizes that you cannot talk about Merchant/Ivory Productions without discussing the personal relationships at its center. Ivory and Merchant were romantic and creative partners, although Ivory remains cagey about key details, even today, and their friends are at a loss to explain all the contours of their romance. At times, Merchant Ivory suggests all kinds of configurations, and not just because the pair had their closest friends all work and live together in upstate New York. Soucy pushes Ivory, who comes from an entirely different generation and was gay when the word was rarely even spoken, leaving their somewhat combative back-and-forth in the film (most documentaries decline to include the uncomfortable part of talking head interviews). Soucy finally relents, and instead finds more insight in the films, particularly Maurice, which was about a gay romance that was frank about homosexuality in a period when it was still somewhat taboo.
It is quite a coincidence that the release of Merchant Ivory coincides with Made in England, a documentary about Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, another fascinating filmmaking partnership. Whereas Made in England is from an outsider’s perspective – Martin Scorsese “presents” the film and approaches Powell/Pressburger as a fan/scholar – Soucy tries to bring the audience into the fold. There are plenty of talking heads in Merchant Ivory, and with it an opportunity for tangents that leaves less room for scene-by-scene analysis (the only exception is the climax of Remains of the Day, a sublime scene of repressed erotic longing). With an emphasis on collaboration and above all the filmmaking process, Merchant Ivory is an unlikely companion to Making Movies, the great book about film production by the director by Sidney Lumet. To watch this film is to be a given practical advice on how to make a film, almost like a manual. Soucy could have easily made his material too didactic, and yet the charm of the talking heads, Ivory in particular, stop the material from being too dry or academic.
After Merchant died from complications in surgery in 2005, Ivory was understandably grief-stricken. The documentary handles this period delicately, and the respectful distance gives the material a poignance that eludes many biographical documentaries, which can veer toward hagiography. Maybe Soucy learned that delicate understatement from Ivory, a director who made a career out depicting complex characters who are too smart and self-assured to reveal exactly how they feel. While many Merchant/Ivory productions ended with accolades, Ivory’s Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Call Me by Your Name is a fitting a capstone to a brilliant career (Ivory is also the oldest person to ever receive an Oscar). On one hand, Soucy’s film argues that a conflation of personalities and good fortune led to the success of this singular company, and yet the film also finds room to suggest that an openness and sensitivity, not just luck, is what led Ivory and others to immorality. A triumphant combination of the personal and professional, Merchant Ivory is about as good as this kind of nonfiction cinema can get.
Photo courtesy of Cohen Media Group
The post Merchant Ivory appeared first on Spectrum Culture.