If
we wanted to criticise there would be a few points we could make. Despite
boasting a formidable cast of some of Britain's finest elder statesmen
of theatre, including Sir John Gielgud, Sir John Mills and Edward Fox,
their characters are not afforded full development. This runs in contrast
to the fact that the film is extraordinary long and certainly lends
itself to ‘a bit of padding out’. Geraldine James, in particular,
is tragically under-used, in fact her entire presence in the film is
explained in barely two sentences, therefore we have only the vaguest
grasp of how their friendship came about.
Yet
for all its realistic honesty and pure dedication to the truth of the
life and times of this amazing man, the films strength does not come
from its script, nor from really from its direction. Attenborough as
I have already mentioned does an excellent job; but both script and
camera serve only as a canvas upon which the masterful Ben Kingsley
paints a touchingly lifelike picture of one of the greatest men in history.
One
could argue that Kingsley was born to be Ghandi, similarity this is
reminiscent of Gregory Peck playing Lincoln or Sir Michael Redgrave
playing Barnes Wallace, sometimes in rare sparkles of brilliance actors
become the characters they are playing – it happens here.
Gandhi
was a private and humble man, a thing which Kingsley reflects with tender
care. His dialogue is not extensive, nor does he engage in long, rambling
speeches. His eyes speak humility, his movements speak love. He is the
embodiment of everything Gandhi was, or was supposed to have been, without
the need for showy displays of acting talent or loudly proclaimed diatribes.