Ryan's Daughter (1970)
Directed by David Lean

Film Review

So adverse was the critical reaction to Ryan's Daughter on its first release in 1970 that its director David Lean vowed to give up filmmaking for good; indeed it would be more than a decade before he was inclined to blow the dust off his clapperboard and resume his career, bowing out in style with A Passage to India (1984).  Perversely, whilst the critics loathed the film, it was not a commercial failure; in fact it was one of the most commercially successful British films of the year.  The film was nominated for four Oscars, and won two awards, in the categories of Best Supporting Actor (John Mills) and Best Cinematography (Freddie Young).  Since Lean's death in 1991, many of his films have undergone a fresh appraisal, and the one film to have benefited most from this is Ryan's Daughter, which is now considered by many to be on a par with the director's other great accomplishments.

Loosely inspired by Gustave Flaubert's novel Madame Bovary, Ryan's Daughter offers a familiar tale of frustrated passions set against the imposing backdrop of Ireland's struggle for independence during the First World War.  The small human dramas appear dwarfed both by the momentous events taking place outside the close-knit community and the raw power of the elements, particularly the gigantic waves that smash onto the coast in the oft repeating storms.  The film has as much of the visual spectacle of Lean's previous blockbuster epics but it marks a return to the intimacy of his early films, his romantic dramas Brief Encounter (1945), The Passionate Friends (1949) and Madeleine (1950).  The personal crises of the protagonists are as sensitively rendered, and as skilfully played, as in any other David Lean film, and the only thing we can reproach the director for is by trying to paint these onto too grand a canvas.  Lean's cinematic ambitions are perhaps too much for the narrative to support, and so the film appears ludicrously overblown at times, weakening its humanity and dramatic impact.

Ryan's Daughter is not only one of the most visually striking of David Lean's films - Freddie Young's photography of the Irish landscape is breathtaking in its majesty and lyrical potency - it is also one of his best scripted.  Robert Bolt's screenplay effortlessly knits together the small human dramas and sets them within the context of the period without diluting their impact.  Some of the casting decisions would appear, at first sight, to be a little eccentric, but on balance the ensemble of established A-listers and rising stars proves to be an inspired mix, the performances as moving and enjoyable as in any other David Lean film.  Trevor Howard and John Mills, the stars of the director's early masterpieces Brief Encounter (1945) and Great Expectations (1946), prove to be shameless scene-stealers, the one playing a fiercely moralistic Catholic priest, the other a deformed idiot who is badly in need of a dentist and speech therapist, but neither manages to eclipse the magnificent Sarah Miles, who turns in the best performance of her career as the eponymous wayward heroine, or Robert Mitchum, who is surprisingly effective in a far more fragile and introspective role than he is known for.  Although Lean lived to regret casting Christopher Jones (not liking his high-pitched voice, he was forced to dub him with another actor) the latter's brooding presence and haunted visage bring the appropriate melancholic touch to the film's memorably bleak ending.  Leo McKern is equally superb as the treacherous landlord, particularly in the sequence in which he cannot bring himself to save his daughter from a public lynching.  On both the acting and scripting front, the film could hardly be improved upon.

With its three hour and fifteen minute runtime, Ryan's Daughter demands a huge commitment from its spectator, but this it just about manages to repay with its stunning visuals and a well-crafted story of conflict and desire which Lean weaves with his customary cinematic mastery.  Even the most fervent admirers of Lean's work will have to admit that the film is a tad over-long and too grand for the story it has to tell, that it might have been far more impressive if the director had had the discipline to rein in his ambitions a little (he did in fact shave around 25 minutes off the original 220 minute cut after a negative preview to improve the pacing).  Whilst it is not as perfectly hewn as Lean's other great films, Ryan's Daughter is eminently watchable, and bears absolutely no resemblance to the cinematic monstrosity which the critics thought they saw when it was first screened.  The moral: never believe a film critic.

Film Synopsis

At the time of the First World War, Rosy Ryan lives a bored, unfilled life in an isolated little village on the Dingle Peninsula on the southwest coast of Ireland.  She is the daughter of the local publican, Thomas Ryan, who appears committed to Ireland's struggle for independence from the British, but he is in fact an informer.  The villagers are insular and fervently nationalistic; they taunt both the spoiled Rosy and her closest admirer, a deformed village idiot named Michael.  Father Hugh Collins, the most respected member of the community, has an uphill struggle trying to keep the villagers in order, but he understands their anger: unemployment has robbed the menfolk of their dignity and plunged their families into abject poverty.  Rosy is in love with the village schoolmaster, Charles Shaughnessy, and persuades him to marry her, although the marriage soon proves to be a disappointment.  Rosy turns her attention to Major Randolph Doryan, a shellshocked, badly injured British army officer who has just arrived to take command of a nearby army base.  Rosy's affair with the major is noticed not only by her husband, who bides his time, hoping it will burn itself out, but also by the villagers, who turn against her.  When Doryan shoots and captures Tim O'Leary, the leader of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the villagers decide to take their revenge on Rosy...