Miss Fisher, in the midst of nowhere, going nowhere.
Whether or not you’re a fan of the Miss Fisher Murder Mysteries TV series or not, you’ll not want to see the first movie deriving from the series, Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020).
The problems start with the script, which has a myriad of mistakes. For example, the movie starts with a sort-of exciting prison break of a young woman in Jerusalem, which ends in Miss Fisher facing being scraped off a train as it speeds into a rough-hewn tunnel. Soon, her former compatriots receive the news of her death, and a memorial service to be held in England. Of course, she shows up as an aviatrix, shrugs off the fact that everyone has been grief stricken for months while claiming she wasn’t aware of the news, all the while not explaining how she can be showing up in England – a long ways from Jerusalem – at the estate hosting her memorial service.
It’s Just Crap.
The theme seems to be “Isn’t Phryne Fisher cool?” Such a lightweight theme requires heavy support from the other elements of the film, and, frankly, they were not there. Only two other characters, other than Miss Fisher, make it to the movie. Love interest Detective Robinson simply pouts his way throughout, exuding a repulsive miasma of frustrated moralism, and Aunt Prudence is not afforded the scope necessary to contribute whatever it is she usually contributes. Other characters? Purely characters-of-convenience, obviously present to smooth Miss Fisher’s path to success, and while there’s an attempt to make it appear they have separate lives, perhaps only the Assistant Police Superintendent manages to get there, riding his facial hair to success.
I’m not kidding.
There’s a dose of idiotic supernatural malarkey, a medley of cheap, poorly made costumes and bad make up (in contrast to the lovely costumes and make up in the series, observed my Arts Editor, who’s a fan), a dearth of characteristically clever lines, and shoddy CGI effects. I mean, look, the train had a certain charm, but it was obviously CGI, and the rest of the effects were also obviously CGI – a little too clear, etc. It was apparent that the movie makers hired a third-rate firm to do the work – or did it themselves on some hyped up home computers.
OK, so I’ve rubbished the film. You don’t want to see this. But, hey, my conscience is barking at me: What about Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)? It has at least some of the elements of Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, doesn’t it?
Well, sure, but it handles them far better. Consider the supernatural element. Dr. Jones is quite determinedly agnostic, even an atheist, right up to climactic scene in which a divine power reaches down and saves his bacon – accidentally, as it happens. Only when faced with hard evidence – a giant vacuum cleaner sucking up the Nazis that happens to loosen the ropes binding him and Marion – is he at least forced to acknowledge there may be something out there.
Miss Fisher? Mention some nonsense about a curse associated with seven solar eclipses and a monstrous emerald, and her eyes roll back in her head, she nods vacantly, her brain slips out of her ear and crawls away, and we’re merrily off to some buried town in the Arabian desert to put the emerald back. For a woman who’s supposed to oh-so-clever, her credulousness measurement is right off the scale.
I need to talk to the Director about this scene!
And let’s talk about Dr. Jones. Part of the charm of this classic flick is that nothing really comes easy – except maybe the ladies – to our battling archaeologist. Think of the scene in which his arch-competitor, Belloq, has trapped him in the buried temple and taken possession of the Ark – and then the Nazi commander tosses Marion, his love interest, in after Jones, who’s trying to keep an army of poisonous snakes from overwhelming him. Aaaaand … he’s snake-phobic.
But he battles his way out. And that’s not even the worst. Think of Marion’s death in the exploding car.
Miss Fisher? Her worst conundrum is figuring out which guy at the Church is the one she’s supposed to meet. Well. Let’s not get too mussed, eh?
This is a script that needed two more drafts. The first is to insert the setbacks that permit Miss Fisher, and even her companions, to demonstrate their persistence and cleverness, and thus build credibility with the audience – and even a theme.
The second? To begin the conversation with the audience. Look, story tellers have the privilege of directing your attention one way or another, and visual story tellers have a slight advantage over literary storytellers in that it’s easier to present a cornucopia to the eye. This is the conversation.
But this doesn’t have to be an honest conversation. I’m not talking profoundly dishonest, but there are at least two possible conversations: the one where the audience sinks into their Barcaloungers with a vacant look and their brain in idle, or the one where the audience is on the edge of their seat, evaluating everything they see, and trying to figure out what’s going on. Raiders of the Lost Ark is one example of the latter, another would be the instant classic The Usual Suspects (1995). As for the former? I can’t think of any. They’re usually drek.
So here’s how Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears might have better started in terms of conversation. The movie opens in the dusty streets of Jerusalem, looking like any stereotypical Arab city – buildings made of big rocks, lumpy roadway, everyone in robes. Along comes a woman in colorful blue robe, face covered.
At this early juncture, my Arts Editor said, “That’s Miss Fisher!” And, indeed, she was right.
But she shouldn’t have been. It should have been a collection of beautifully clad women, perhaps dancing through the streets in some impromptu performance, silently screaming We’re Miss Fisher!, and as the attention of the guards of the prison (remember, prison break?) is distracted, a dusty old woman in the dull robe of a worker woman darts into the entrance of the prison, secures the door, and begins the process of saving the pretty young woman who’s facing unjust death. Hello, Miss Fisher!
The audience is clued in that not everything is as it seems, and gets them out of their damn loungers.
As it is, Miss Fisher displays minimal cleverness, and made this into a vast waste of our time and the producers’ money.
And their fencing scene was mercifully short, because neither of them had a clue. They might as well have been seals balancing the foils on their heads.
