Near-Misses: The Legend of 1900

The Missus roamed the aisles of the video store a few nights ago, not looking for anything in particular. (Which is to say, she’d ceased looking for anything in particular: it was one of those in-between times when all the “new releases” on our must-see list had already been claimed by renters with more disciplined calendars  and schedules.)

Knowing me to be a fan of director Giuseppe Tornatore’s Cinema Paradiso, she brought home his 1998 English-language debut, The Legend of 1900. Which we (well, I) watched last night.

What an interesting premise, with all sorts of opportunities for metaphor and sentiment:

In the year 1900, a baby is abandoned aboard an ocean liner, the Virginian. Discovered in a cradle of sorts — a lemon crate, stenciled “T.D. Lemons” — atop a grand piano in the ballroom, the infant boy is adopted by a worker in the ship’s engine room. The worker, Danny Boodman, names him Danny Boodmann T.D. Lemon 1900 (a simple “Jr.” not sufficient); over time, his name is shortened to simply “1900.” (Some people, hoping to curry favor with him, address him as “19” or even “Mr. 19.”)

Name aside, so far this is all fairly conventional. But then the twists set in.

Early on, 1900 (played, as an adult, by Tim Roth) shows a prodigious talent for the piano. He becomes the featured performer in the Virginian‘s ballroom, starting sometime in the years between World Wars I and II. And he never leaves the ship — not for all the decades of its continued existence afloat, into the post-war era.

The film is told in flashback, mostly — narrated by and with more recent scenes featuring 1900’s friend Max Tooney (Pruitt Taylor Vince). Ashore, many years after the last time he saw 1900, Max discovers the master disc of the only recording 1900 ever made; he tells the whole 1900 story to a series of other characters he encounters.

(I’ve tried carefully in this plot summary to avoid any spoilers, in case you’d like to see it yourself.)

Why is The Legend of 1900 just a near-miss? It’s hard to say, exactly.The cinematography, score, and set/art decoration are amazing; the film received awards for them all, and was nominated in those and other categories. And as I said above, the premise is fraught with all sorts of potential. Even the reliably decisive Roger Ebert seems confused:

[The film] never quite develops the conviction we expect. What does it think of this man? Is he crazy or heroic? Nice or narcissistic? At the end we are left with Max the trumpet player, treasuring the sound of an old recording and assuring the antiques dealer that this was some kinduva guy. Yes, but what kinduva guy? And why?

[Ebert’s full review here — but watch out for spoilers!]

I did, in fact, start to fall asleep early on and wasn’t sure I’d make it through to the end. But the action picked up for me when 1900… well, let’s just say there’s a scene where 1900 faces down a real-life jazz pianist of high regard. That woke me up for good, and I’m glad I stayed with it.

An unexpected bonus to the film was the haunting, Leonard Cohen-esque song “Lost Boys Calling,” written by Roger Waters and performed by Waters and “Edward” Van Halen, which plays over the closing credits (lyrics below):

Lyrics:

Lost Boys Calling
(by Roger Waters;
performed by Roger Waters and Eddie Van Halen)

Come hold me now
I am not gone
I would not leave you here alone
In this dead calm beneath the waves
I can still hear those lost boys calling

You could not speak
You were afraid
To take the risk of being left again
And so you tipped your hat and waved and then
You turned back up the gangway of that steel tomb again

And in Mott street in July
When I hear those seabirds cry
I hold the child
The child in the man
The child that we leave behind

And in Mott street in July
When I hear those seabirds cry
I hold the child
The child in the man
The child that we leave behind

The spotlight fades
The boys disband
The final notes lie mute upon the sand
And in the silence of the grave
I can still hear those lost boys calling

We left them there
When they were young
The men were gone until the west was won
And now there’s nothing left but time to kill
You never took us fishin’ dad and now you never will

And in Mott street in July
When I hear the seabirds cry
I hold the child
The child in the man
The child that we leave behind

P.S. A little something extra for writers: a quote from the narrator Max:

You’re never really done for, as long as you’ve got a good story and someone to tell it to.