Take a Drink: for every creepy visage
Take a Drink: whenever the devil’s name is invoked
Take a Drink: for every Sherlock Holmesian turn of phrase by Connery
Take a Drink: for Ron Perlman. Just every scene with Ron Perlman.
Take a Drink: for each Revelations-themed/black fingered murder
Do a Shot: for the stake
By: Henry J. Fromage (Three Beers) –
My High School Economics teacher showed us The Name of the Rose for some reason that I can’t identify, and I remember precisely two things about it, Sean Connery (because he’s awesome) and … boobies (because of course).
Boobies… up to 3x more effective than a Neuralyzer
After a rewatch with my wife, I have a little better handle on the plot. It follows a detective –like Franciscan monk (Connery) who visits a monastery with his young apprentice (Christian Slater) to take part in an important religious summit. What he finds, though, is a murder, then another, then another. Is it the devil’s work, or is there a much more conventional mystery behind them?
After rewatching this film I came to the conclusion that there’s not enough Sean Connery in my life. That Scottish brogue coupled with his medieval Father Brown character are reason enough to watch the film all by itself, as it’s simply a joy to see him Sherlock Holmes his way through the evidence and play off of the considerably more ignorant clergymen around him.
Who’s the monk now, dog?
Elsewhere on the acting front, Slater is funny to see as such a young whippersnapper, and the frightened look on his face throughout the sex scene is hilarious. Also great is Ron Perlman, who has to be about the most perfect demented hunchback casting in history.
All the surgeries came after.
The Name of the Rose is also beautifully shot and designed. Director Jean-Jacques Annaud and his production team create a convincing, lived in, and utterly filthy medieval world for these characters to inhabit, and DP Tonino Delli Colli lenses it with vigor, while James Horner’s scorre provides the perfect backdrop. The Name of the Rose is grotesque, gothic, and gory, not just as a story, but as an experience.
This movie could not have a lower opinion of its characters, playing them as bizarre caricatures, naïve/doddering fools, or one-note villains. Honestly, the only character with even a hint of depth is Connery, and even he’s a bit of an asshole with his obsessiveness.
Scowl, Grrr, Me Bad Guy!
On that front, its ignorance of Christianity (Sarah laughed… but monks can’t?), history, and human sexuality (well, I guess that mighta been hysteria…) soon make it obvious that this is a work of fantasy with a historical veneer. I haven’t read the source material, so I’m not sure if it’s more Umberto Eco’s fault or Annaud’s, but facts is facts.
This is more pulp than prestige, but a plenty enjoyable medieval-set lowbrow mystery all the same.