There is a moment nearly halfway through director Joe Wright’s masterful Cyrano (2021) in which the central trio are at the height of their passions. The song, “Every Letter,” is presented in a mesmerizing collage, finding the characters entering and exiting frames almost like ciphers, ideas in another’s mind. The music, composed by The National, booms with yearning as each reveals their most intimate of secrets. It’s an erotic scene, so full of sensuous fervor that one could be forgiven for not remembering that all that’s being done is reading letters. Still, somewhere in the prose is a greater emotion being expressed… finally. This is a climax of sorts, where Wright’s greater vision begins to tip into something unique in the movie musical world. This isn’t just any period piece. It’s one with such impeccable attention to detail that it enters the pantheon of something greater. This is, undoubtedly, the best produced musical of the 21st century so far.
Not since Atonement (2007) has Wright created something this lived in, where every frame feels delicately designed. For a story exploring the struggle to find beauty in everyday life, it doesn’t waste a single second creating a stunning and immersive experience. Cyrano is a world where every background character brings their own personality, finding Roxanne’s (Haley Bennet) trip to the theater running into many spectators having their own side conversations and flamboyantly opening fans. Outside her carriage window, there’s momentary dives into the dreamworld, where actors rise from the earth as if abducted by some deeper passion. It’s the thing Roxanne is most dreaming of. She wants to find real emotion when surrounded by artifice, even seeing theater that is all about playing characters.
It makes sense then that this is where Cyrano de Bergerac (Peter Dinklage) makes his entrance. Like a renegade he slides down a rope in the cheap seats to confront an actor, paying off the theater to not show this perceived monstrosity. In one of the more jarring songs “When I Was Born,” he performs a swordfight while giving us his origin. Gone is the nose of Edmond Rostand’s original and in its place is dwarfism, a man defending his life literally and verbally. He can’t be insulted because he knows all of them. It’s the type of bravado that makes him a compelling antihero, standing out in more ways than one.
But there’s a reason that this song has such a brash, unrealistic tone with the rest of the music. Despite claiming authenticity, this isn’t the Cyrano the audience will come to know. He hides behind the rugged exterior because it’s all that he knows. Nobody has loved him, so how could he hope to love anyone? He thinks of his childhood friend Roxanne. He writes to her, desiring to have his sensitive side reciprocated. There is an incredible yearning as Cyrano’s musical motifs become more minimalist, pondering a life defined by fear. When contrasted with Roxanne’s waltz-like desire for love or the simpler and direct language of Christian’s (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) ballads, it swirls into something wholly satisfying. Despite all having similar drives, Wright has a gift for making them all feel vulnerable in their own unique ways.
This is a story of love through dishonesty, itself a tragedy that can be seen weighing on Cyrano. Even as he spends intimate hours with Roxanne in a bread shop reading prose, there is difficulty expressing oneself in a way that breaks free of artifice. That is partially why Cyrano chooses Christian as his stand-in, somebody that Roxanne loves “for his body” but not “for his soul.” Christian’s limited vocabulary makes it difficult for her to lustfully fling herself at him, imagining a future rooted in this grand romantic fantasy. The ability to fulfill this goal gives Cyrano a voyeuristic view of normalcy, standing behind a wall as Christian pitches woo to her balcony window. Even then, his heartbreaks, realizing that even being one degree removed from actual emotion isn’t the same as experiencing it for oneself.
Dinklage’s performance has an impressive amount of desire, finding him always looking up in hope that he can break free of his own insecurities. Despite his initially off-putting nature, he comes to have this complex portrayal of loneliness, embodying someone who was invalidated their whole life, serving as the grand cautionary story of the 19th century. For those who get annoyed that he simply doesn’t express himself, it’s difficult to appreciate the pain of potentially being rejected by someone you’ve adored for years from afar. For those who notice the psychological impacts, it becomes eviscerating. Every montage cuts across the three actors trying to align in a manner that connects them to pure euphoria. The tragedy is that none of them get there... or at least until it’s too late.
This is a bittersweet masterpiece, managing to be everything that’s been sorely missing from the genre. Even in montages, there is an effort to break free of artifice, to find what is holding everyone back and enter a dreamlike joy. With that said, these are the moments where the film is often at its best with Wright’s decades of experience in costume dramas coming in handy. Every actor looks radiant, but more importantly, the Italian backdrops are splendorous, expertly shot in ways that emphasize their beauty. In “Someone to Say (Reprise),’’ Wright creates one of his greatest visual set pieces as Christian sings his heart out while walking around men practicing swordfights. As the song builds, they turn into something more tender and balletic, twirling with this desire of wooing Roxanne. Even the aerial shots have this grace to them that makes you believe in the delicacy not only of Christian’s emotional state, but of the world around him. Somewhere outside the towering walls that hide espionage is a free and open space that offers so much optimism. If only they could get there.
Erica Schmidt’s phenomenal adaptation of her 2018 stage musical is a work of art. While the songs lack the traditional polish, they perfectly complement a more European approach to the genre. There’s endless amazing vistas, a sense of history. This is a story transported into a different time altogether, where every interior leads to a momentary pause. Whereas most musicals feel designed to emphasize sets and over the top production values, Cyrano embraces something more akin to classic drama, making the feel of the story more epic. Even at a little over a tight two hours, there is so much emotion packed into it, and a lot of that is credited to impeccable costume design and Wright’s ability to make the simple choreography feel breathtaking.
In a year where musicals were front and center, Cyrano stands out not only because it’s one of the few Pre-20th Century stories, but also in how much it feels attached to a different era altogether. This isn’t a terribly complex story, and yet Wright knows how to elevate the emotion, making the music work to its full effect. It wallows in the beauty of architecture, of the surroundings that have their own delightful distractions. It’s the type of story that delivers its sentiments heavily until the very end. By that point, the emotions are so high that the final embrace of intimacy comes to have this greater tension, this sense of regret and revelation of what a life unlived can do to a person. The photography grows smaller, quieter, the motifs breaking down to their very essence. It’s a beautiful, quiet conclusion the likes of which are bold yet necessary. The simmer leaves a moment of reflection, noticing the reasons that “Cyrano de Bergerac” as a text is so much more than a literary genius with a funny nose. It’s about the unseen weight our actions have on each other.
It is true that The National’s songbook may not immediately make the soundtrack as accessible as Encanto (2021), but there is something mature and patient about it. Those who can become entranced by the slow, ponderous lyrics will find so much to embrace. It’s an embodiment of longing that is unlike any love song released in the past few years. Cyrano is a film whose delicacy is important. This is about pushing beyond the fantasies that the genre often gives us and finding something more organic and real. In that way it’s a great deconstruction, finding characters asking the value of their disguises through song, noticing that they could never be the cipher that is sold to audiences at the start.
If there’s anything unfortunate about Cyrano, it’s the bizarre late February release. While it managed to nab a deserved Oscar nomination for Best Costume Design, it’s the type of film that musical lovers will appreciate. Still, it got buried against the competition, almost thrown to the wayside for flashier and more upbeat productions. Considering that this is also Wright’s greatest film since Anna Karenina (2012), it’s a shame that there isn’t more celebration around what is happening here. At long last, he has created a musical that feels so alive and new, taking risks that most counterparts didn’t. There is so much passion oozing out of every frame. This is arguably among the most shamelessly romantic musicals conceived in years, and it deserves a bit more attention. For now, it’s a reputation fitting of Cyrano himself: brilliant yet ignored. Here’s hoping that the film can achieve validation that its protagonist couldn’t in his own lifetime.
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