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The Man Who Would Be King (1975)

Let the King Sing

"If a king can't sing, it ain't worth bein' king."
--Sean Connery, The Man Who Would Be King


I wish that I could use the word "swashbuckling" without conjuring up images of prissy men sporting goatees, jumping around in tights, brandishing swords, and speaking in clipped English phrases. But I can't: "swashbuckling" is a dated term that calls to mind a distant time, an era before computers and cell phones, when travel involved boats, trains, and horses, when the English empire was the foremost power of its day, and when narrators, like kings and presidents, had voices that could be trusted.

These days, our politicians test out plastic platitudes on focus groups, and tell us what polls prove we want to hear. In literary fiction, the idea of a good, old-fashioned reliable narrator--a witty, wry, entertaining storyteller--seems not only quaint, but also unimaginative. In both books and films today, the top talents dizzy us with stylish tricks (eg. Run Lola Run) and dazzle us with clever acknowledgements of the self-consciousness of their art (eg. David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest).

The Man Who Would Be King, a film made in the undeniably robust spirit of nineteenth-century colonialism, is a wonderful corrective to the teflon-like texture of modern life. Don't get me wrong--the film has its problems, most of them related to its treatment of race--but, thanks to John Huston's direction, it bristles with energy. Whether the camera reveals a group of native women performing an intricate dance, or focuses on a ruby the size of a grapefruit, the film breathes snap and excitement at every turn. The Man Who Would Be King is the kind of grand adventure story that, had you seen it when you were young, would have convinced you to become an explorer when you grew up.

The film, adapted from a Rudyard Kipling tale, was a twenty-year labor of love for John Huston (The Maltese Falcon). The narrative is framed by scenes in which Kipling, played by Christopher Plummer, is visited by an old acquaintance. As the film begins, Kipling sits at his writing table, and slowly becomes aware that someone has entered his room. The intruder, who proceeds with a deliberate limp, an ominous thump-thump thump-thump, turns out to be Peachy Carnehan (Michael Caine). Peachy has been grotesquely scarred by his travels--he looks like the pitiful man in "Old Pew," N.C. Wyeth's illustration for Treasure Island. As he starts to explain to Kipling how he became so disfigured, the film goes back to the time a few years earlier, when the two characters first met.

When we first see Peachy as a younger man standing in a train station, he leans against a post, having just stolen a pocket watch from a fellow traveler. After he notices a Masonic symbol on the stolen goods, however, he curses and sets out to return the watch to its owner, who turns out to be Kipling. Masonry is a running joke throughout the film--it saves Peachy and his cohort, Daniel Dravot (Sean Connery), from death numerous times. The film posits masonry, and "the brotherhood of man," as a kind of kooky, but ultimately pragmatic, belief system.

Peachy ends up joining Kipling in his train cabin, and it's here that the most unfortunate scene of the film occurs. As the two travel on the train, a big, fat Indian carrying--get this--an enormous watermelon enters their cabin. The Indian is portrayed as a crass, sniveling, unmannered boor. He carves up his watermelon in front of Peachy, chows down, and spits seeds on the floor. When the sophisticated Peachy can watch the brutish native no longer, he throws him off of the speeding train. The Indian shouts a groveling "Thank you, sir" as he falls. The scene is so obvious in its racism that you desperately want it to be a parody. That makes it even worse when you realize that it's simply played for cheap laughs.

Peachy befriends Kipling by returning his watch to him and explaining that the Indian had tried to steal it. In one of my favorite lines of the movie, Peachy demonstrates his educated taste by identifying Kipling's whiskey after taking a swig: "Glenlivet, 12 years old" (I don't know why it's one of my favorite lines--but it either has something to do with Caine's accent as he says it, or with 12 year-old Glenlivet whiskey).

Peachy and Dravot later tell Kipling about their grand plan: they intend to go to Kafiristan, where they will use their wits and some tried-and-true British battle tactics to take over the country, and to become kings of Kafiristan. The rest of the film follows their treacherous journey, and their rise to power in that distant land.

The setup is a classic parable of colonialism: white British men travel to a third-world country and try to seize power and wealth by subjugating the natives. But it is also a subversive example of colonialism, since it's clear from the start that the British men in question are con artists. The film suggests that Peachy and Dravot--schemers, thieves, and scoundrels who are motivated purely by self-interest--really do epitomize colonial authority.

Caine has said that this is the role that he will be remembered for, and I have to agree with him--his performance is magnificent. His Peachy is a crafty, cultured man who is unable to resist his mischievous side. It's obvious from the outset that Peachy is the brains behind the operation--Caine conveys his intelligence as an actor in every scene. His performance is a tour-de-force.

The same can't be said for Connery, who is a bit out of his league during the first half of the film. When he joins Caine in trying to convince the Kipling character of their plan, Connery is too obviously acting--his eyes pop wide and he delivers lines overzealously. But once Connery becomes king--once he's got the license to act regal--he begins to shine. He's much better at playing a man with power than a man trying to live on his wits alone.

One of the most wonderful scenes of the film occurs while Peachy and Dravot are travelling to Kafiristan. After a difficult journey in the middle of the winter, they reach a gorge that they cannot cross. But they can't turn back because the snowy path they had followed no longer exists. They take refuge in a cave and, facing certain death, talk about what might have been. As their tales get taller and taller, they begin to laugh. Suddenly, they hear a loud rumbling. They soon discover that their laughter has triggered an avalanche, which created a path on which they can move forward. By laughing death in the face, the two men live to see another day.

But the film doesn't stop to acknowledge this moment with sentimental words. Instead, the two characters travel onward toward their destiny--a destiny they could only talk about, until they decided to stop talking and start acting. And acting--great acting--is what this film is all about.

2/2/00

© Matthew K. Gold 2000-2001

The Man Who Would Be King (1975) 5.0/5.0
Directed by John Huston
Written by Gladys Hill and John Huston
Adapted from a story by Rudyard Kipling
Starring Sean Connery (Daniel Dravot), Michael Caine (Peachy Carnehan), Christopher Plummer (Rudyard Kipling), Saeed Jaffrey (Billy Fish)
Cinematography by Oswald Morris
Film Editing by Russell Lloyd
Casting by Boaty Boatwright
Produced by John Foreman
For the complete cast and credits, click here.