“They all lived in a kind of hieroglyphics world. The real thing was never said or done or even thought; but, only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.”
These words spoken by the narrator in Martin Scorsese’s 1993 period piece The Age of Innocence (adapted from the novel by Edith Wharton) set up one of the film’s key components – the overarching influence of New York society in the 1870s. This stodgy setting is the stifling and interconnected stage where our story is portrayed. The story is about a man caught between what he wants and what is expected of him.
That man is Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis). Newland is a young lawyer who is well-known in New York high society. He is engaged to May Welland (Winona Ryder), who is well-thought-of by the New York elite. They do what is expected of them, and everyone expects them to get married. Everything changes upon the arrival of May’s cousin, Countess Ellen Olenska (Michelle Pfeiffer).
“In The Age of Innocence, Scorsese trades the violence of blood and brutality for the violence of knowing glances and whispered rumors.”
Ellen is completely unconventional in all she does. She is estranged from her husband, and her life is the fodder for all the quiet whisperings on the edges of New York’s elite parties. Yet, Newland cannot deny he is attracted to her. His attraction is not purely physical, but also due to her complete rejection of the rules of conformity. Whether she doesn’t know them or she willingly disregards them, Ellen seems to take no care for the laws that govern this sheltered community.
It is that unpacking of a particular community that brings this film into congruity with the rest of Scorsese’s filmography. Here, New York’s high society is the replacement for the mob families of the New York in which Scorsese grew up. However, the rules are the same. There are expectations and ordering principles. And the punishment for breaking these rules is the same – the taking of one’s life. It is only the process of punishment that changes.
In The Age of Innocence, Scorsese trades the violence of blood and brutality for the violence of knowing glances and whispered rumors. It is the violence of living life by the whims and fancies of others. By the end of the film, we see a Newland Archer who has gone from young and vibrant to old and withered. This has not happened from aging alone but also from the weight of carried expectations.
This idea will be familiar to many of us even if we have never been around the New York elite or even mobsters, for that matter. We all know what it’s like to live amid the expectations of a particular community. For me, it was growing up in the culture of a small church. News spreads and appearances must be kept. Thankfully, the community in which I grew up was not quite as cutthroat as the one in which Newland lives, but the parallels were apparent to me, nonetheless.
“Some of the well-known Scorsese camera movements are here including a few of the best iris and overhead shots in his filmography.”
In many ways, Newland Archer is not so dissimilar from the other famous leading men in Scorsese’s dramas – Travis Bickle, Henry Hill, Rupert Pupkin, Jake LaMotta, and even Father Rodrigues. He is isolated from the world around him. It is Newland’s reaction to that isolation that differs from some of Scorsese’s past characters.
On a technical level, if like me you are normally averse to period pieces, it is Scorsese’s visual flair that will draw you into the story. Some of the well-known Scorsese camera movements are here including a few of the best iris and overhead shots in his filmography. That is thanks to the work of legendary cinematographer Michael Ballhaus. Here, the two titans of cinema combine to create a striking visual story that supports the narrative.
I must also commend the music of the film, created by the legendary Elmer Bernstein. At times it is sweeping and at others heartbreaking. The music, along with the compelling visual storytelling, draws us deeper and deeper into the story.
One recurring visual motif is that of fire. It is an example of how Scorsese is a master of visual storytelling. Fire as a metaphor contains both the heat of passion and the pain of destruction. Newland’s attraction to Ellen contains both as well. Here we see a slow smoldering that begins to flame. But will the fire consume or be snuffed out?
“The screenplay from Scorsese and Jay Cocks is very respectful of its source material.”
I found this to be one Scorsese’s most heartbreaking creations. Surely much of that is due to the source material from Edith Wharton. Though I have not read the book, those that have say the screenplay from Scorsese and Jay Cocks is very respectful of its source material. Here you wonder how a man will consume himself with the thoughts and concerns of others and still continue to live?
Is one touch of the hand of the woman Newland truly loves really enough to tide him over a year of life lived under the crushing expectations of the world around him? As we look into his eyes near the end of the film, we see the considerations of a man who chose one path and left another drift off on the sea like a wayward sailboat.
Memories and daydreams are powerful, but they are not the fully embodied reality of the present. There are a few moving moments where Scorsese uses another common visual trick of his – playing a scene as imagined reality. In one, Ellen puts her arms around Newland before a quick cut reveals that the moment was a dream. We see the pain wash over Newland’s face when he makes the same realization we just did. Does Newland make the “right” choice? He certainly makes the appropriate one.
By staying with May, he does what is expected of him. But there were other choices that came before his decision to stay faithful to his betrothed. I wonder if, along the way, he may end up making the most harmful choice of all – to cauterize his real life until it, too, becomes an arbitrary hieroglyphic. The vitality is gone. What is left is only a representation.
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