The Count of Monte Cristo

The Count of Monte Cristo is one of those four inch-thick books that you feel you should read because it's a Ôclassic' - but you never get around to it. Now the movie's here so that you can be spared your guilt.

Not that the Count of Monte Cristo is a classic in the sense that it's dull and depressing, Rather, it's one of those adventure stories that sound like they're plotted by a five year-old: 'And then you're put in prison, and then you escape, and then you join the smugglers, and then you find the treasure, and then you turn into the Count of Monte Cristo, and then you find the bad guy and then you get revenge!'

The whole thing starts with some good old-fashioned jealousy, as Fernand (Guy Pearce) lusts after Mercedes - this is pre-1900, so Mercedes is a gorgeous-looking (but tongue-twistingly named) Dagmara Domincyzk, rather than a pretty car. Of course, Fernand is the bad guy, not just horny but insanely jealous of the man Mercedes is engaged to, our hero Edmund (Jim Caviezel). Things proceed from there in a fairly predictable manner until the final revenge at the end.

Except that the film isn't a cliche-ridden yawn fest. The story is mythic in its simplicity, appealing to the adventurer in everybody: you know you really want to make miraculous esapes from prison and death, be fantastically rich, win swordfights in a swashbuckling way that would make Errol Flynn envious, and do the villain in. The Count of Monte Cristo has these things in spades, and you'll find it difficult to keep a grin off your face.

Just how the actors managed to get through filming without grinning is a difficult thing to imagine. Pearce has a ball as the mad bad guy, so maybe after Memento and this, we can stop thinking about him as Mike from Neighbours. Caviezel does a very good once-naive-now-brooding-on-revenge act; but the main thing to note is not that they're both really good performances - they are, but that's not the point: the point is that they both make really good eye candy. if you're not interested in them, there's always Miss Domincyzk, along with a bit of mild sauciness that might keep your attention.

The Count of Monte Cristo is like a technicolour daydream: everything looks good, everything's stylish and the plot races along with barely a pause for breath. It's a classic in every way that matters.

Iphegenia Bright