Twenty years. One struggles to comprehend it. I revisited "V for Vendetta" the other evening and found it had lost none of its potency. If anything, it felt more immediate, more unsettling. Because one now possesses the unhappy benefit of hindsight. Those notions that once seemed the stuff of dystopian fancy have, in piecemeal fashion, crept into our daily existence. Not in totality, not as depicted, but in fragments. Here a little, there a little. James McTeigue, the director, has given an interview to mark the anniversary. He maintains the film was never intended as prophecy. Merely observation. We circle the same political drains, generation after generation. Thus the parallels remain. The tale of Miss Portman's shaved head remains the most delicious of anecdotes. She insisted upon verisimilitude. No trickery, no prosthetic. McTeigue, having observed her dedication on the set of "Attack of the Clones," knew better than to argue. He nonetheless positioned three cameras and kept her hairdresser at the ready. One must be prudent. All proceeded without incident. The true chaos erupted afterwards. That same weekend, "Revenge of the Sith" was being unveiled at Cannes. Miss Portman arrived upon the Croisette entirely bald. The town, one might say, lost its collective composure. "The finest publicity we could have hoped for," McTeigue reflects now, with evident amusement.
Mr Hugo Weaving performed his entire role concealed behind a mask. On set, he relied upon his physicality, his posture, the manner of his movement. Yet the true sorcery occurred later, during post-synchronisation. They would select the most emotionally resonant take, and Mr Weaving would re-record the entirety. Occasionally he discovered entirely new tonalities that proved even more effective. When one's visage remains forever hidden, the voice becomes one's sole instrument. Mr Weaving understood this with every fibre of his being. One may read further of his craft here:
Mr Weaving and the Art of the Invisible Performance. For myself, it was the music that first seized my attention. Upon my initial viewing, Mr Dario Marianelli's score proved quite overwhelming. That utilisation of "Cry me a river" at the conclusion. Miss Evey standing in the rain — neither sorrowful nor joyful, but simply... true. Rain washing away years of accumulated dread. If one has experienced the film solely upon a laptop, one owes oneself a kindness: quality headphones, late at night, the volume raised. There are textures imperceptible upon first hearing. Layers Mr Marianelli wove like a second language. The orchestra breathes as a single vast instrument, composed of anguish and something approaching hope.
Mr McTeigue also offered observations upon the current state of comic book cinema. They have grown distressingly homogenous, he suggests. Excessive banter. Mr Nolan's Batman succeeded precisely because it diverged from the template. Marvel and DC, it seems, sense the shifting wind. Audiences weary. Yet "V for Vendetta" remains apart from all this. Twenty years, and it might have been filmed last week. Which is perhaps the most melancholy compliment one can pay a picture. For it suggests that nothing of substance has truly altered.
