Les Miserables review: or, I squeal over Anne Hathaway

A word of warning: don't go to Les Miserables unless you have plenty of food and water. Oh, and make sure you've peed first. At almost three hours, Tom Hooper's epic musical is one of the longest films I've ever seen in the cinema, but thankfully it's (more or less) worth it. Based on the 1987 musical, Les Miserables is all singing. I mean it. There are about twenty lines of spoken dialogue, almost like opera. If you don't think you can hack this, avoid it at all costs. However, if you can hack this, please go see this wonderful movie!

Set in Paris in the midst of revolution, the film looks absolutely gorgeous -- it rivals the stunning Life of Pi. Like I've said before, I'm no expert, but I know enough to know when something looks good. By god, does Les Mis look good. Shot in beiges and blues, it only makes the vivid reds of the revolutionary's flags look brighter. Amazing, but overblown. Any film that opens with a stretch of prisoners pulling a ship into a dry dock is guaranteed to be overblown, but Hooper takes Les Mis into almost Baz Luhrmann-esque territory. Not that this is a bad thing: musicals are made to be overblown. They are overblown by their very nature and that's why I love them. I loved Les Mis -- despite knowing two songs and no characters except for Fantine, Anne Hathaway's shorn, doomed prostitute.

Can we talk about Anne Hathaway's role in this film? I don't want to spoil anything for anyone: but fuck. The woman spent about thirty minutes on screen and completely steals the show. Her rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" had me in tears about thirty seconds in. To be honest, I wouldn't recommend listening to it unless you can see her. Hathaway breaks down during her performance. Seriously. It's terrifying to watch and without doubt the highlight of the film. Watching her practically scream "So different from this hell I'm living..." with tears in her eyes is almost unbearably intense, and Hooper direction doesn't help. Almost from the moment Hathaway opens her mouth, the camera is on her: no-one and nothing else. There's no escape for the viewer: we're forced to feel her agony and shed some tears along with her. Christ. I'm not sure I'll ever get over that scene.

Less depressing, thankfully, is the rest of the film. No, actually. That's a lie. Les Mis will break your heart about ten times. Eddie Reymayne will break your heart with his adorable performance as Marius, lovestruck, semi-revolutionary, freckled heartthrob. How is it fair that someone that good-looking can sing and act? I was surprised at how adept he was at both. In fact, the entire cast is worthy of praise, particualry Hugh Jackman, who at times carries the whole film on his shoulders and (YES THANK CHRIST) Sacha Baron Chen and Helena Bonham Carter provide some splendid comic relief. Yes, some of the actors can't sing: Amanda Seyfried's birdlike trill gets on my nerves no end. But the rest of the cast left me starry eyed, playing their roles with such intensity that you can't help be spellbound.

One could complain that Les Mis is overlong, and no, it doesn't have enough of a plot to warrant three hours. It is dull in parts if you don't find singing entertaining. But the thing about musicals is that we're not there for the plot. We're there for another world, where people sing before battle, sing when they fall in love and even sing as they die. In terms of another world, Les Mis delivers. In spades. Bring the tissues.