Literary adaptations are often considered the bread-and-butter of the film industry – most of the earliest works of silent cinema were based on novels or cherished stories, and it has always been seen as an honour to be able to take a beloved work and adapt it to film, and the more successful a filmmaker is in this endeavour, the further they can take advantage of a system that seems to reward those who find the perfect balance between honouring the text and making it their own since it is very rarely effective to make a film that is completely faithful to the source material. However, the more famous the text, the bigger the challenge, and in terms of French literature, few works are as intimidating as Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo (French: Le Comte de Monte-Cristo), in which he tells the story of a rambunctious young man who is falsely imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, and upon his escape from prison, he emerges as an enigmatic nobleman, using his wealth and connections to seek revenge on the three men responsible for stealing his freedom for nearly a decade, driven by the desire to get retributions on those who decided he was too much of a threat to exist within decent society. There have been many attempts to adapt this novel over the years, some more notable than others – but we were long overdue for a definitive retelling of this story, which comes on behalf of Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patellière, who had previously written the recent adaptation of Dumas’ other masterpiece, The Three Musketeers, and were therefore solid choices to helm another adaptation of the esteemed author’s work (despite it being only their third directorial outing, and the first that wasn’t a small, intimate character study), with their implicit understanding of the author’s writing and the way he told stories being wonderfully reflected in every frame of this terrific film. A sprawling blend of historical drama and adventure, The Count of Monte Cristo is a tremendously entertaining endeavour that accomplishes something that not many adaptations can boast: it is definitive, and while it may be extremely polished and detailed, there’s still a grit to this film that is certainly appreciated, and which makes it such a wholehearted delight in both style and structure.

The appeal of The Count of Monte Cristo is quite clear, and despite having been published in 1844, it remains a timeless story about a man seeking retribution against those who decided to take advantage, not realizing that he is a vengeful spirit who is willing to sacrifice anything for the satisfaction of seeing his enemies meeting their inevitable fate. Perhaps the most effective piece of dialogue is also the most simple when the character of Edmond Dantès boldly states “This isn’t revenge – its justice”, which I believe is a sentiment to which we can all relate. Dumas’ wrote a genuinely compelling novel, and while the directors knew they were never going to be able to entirely recreate the majesty of his compositions when adapting it to the screen, they did put in enough effort to make it a solid and reliable retelling of this classic story. Like any successful adaptation, the key to this film is finding the qualities that speak to the viewer, and then carefully crafting the rest of the film around these themes, rather than trying to encapsulate the entirety of the source material, which is a fool’s errand in terms of both the storyline and how it is brought to life on screen. In the case of this film, the most appealing qualities are based on its simplicity – there isn’t a labyrinthine premise that the audience has to strain to understand, but rather a relatively straightforward story of a man seeking revenge, told in mostly chronological order and following a very clear pattern, ensuring there isn’t an ounce of unintended ambiguity to be found anywhere in this story. Revenge is something that we can all comprehend, since there is a universality to wanting to see those who stand in our way or who commit misdeeds against us getting their comeuppance, and that is essentially what has drawn audiences to this story, and which Delaporte and de La Patellière beautifully encapsulate throughout this wonderful film. Added onto this, we find The Count of Monte Cristo is one of the most thorough texts on the subject of French society in the 19th century, being a detailed account of the trials and tribulations of those who occupy different segments of the class system – and the film effectively transposes many of these conversations and details to the screen, creating a fully-immersive historical epic that is both entertaining and insightful.

Delaporte and de La Patellière are keenly aware of Dumas’ status as one of the great storytellers of his generation, so there was a concerted effort to tell this story in a way that honoured his legacy while also being extraordinarily entertaining. The marvel of The Count of Monte Cristo is how the directors bring it to life – this could have been yet another instance of taking a classic work of literature and adapting it to be a stuffy, didactic period drama, but this would essentially invalidate the entire spirit of the author’s writing, and do a major disservice to one of the most purely entertaining novels ever written. There is as much focus on the execution as there is the underlying thematic content (if not even more), which allows for the film to be as visually daring as it is narratively compelling, an essential component for any such adaptation, but especially one marketed as such a daring piece of cinema. We find that just about anything that can be done to make this film genuinely entertaining is accomplished – the visual design is incredible, and we can certainly tell why this is the most expensive French film to date, with every frame being filled to the brim with the most lavish, striking imagery, and everything from the costumes to the production design evokes the era and feels extremely accurate as far as we can tell. However, it’s not the splendour of the film that makes The Count of Monte Cristo so compelling, but rather what it does with these elements – despite running three hours, the time barely registers, primarily because the entire film is told with such rapid-fire consistency, we are never once bored for a moment, which once again proves that a longer film can be perfectly justified if it is telling a story that keeps the audience interested and immersed, which is certainly the case here. Ultimately, the film sets out to evoke the classical epics in which there weren’t any deeper meanings behind a particular narrative, and it could instead focus on being purely entertaining, taking the audience on a journey through the past and allowing us to get a glimpse into the broader historical context without needing to become too overwrought. It’s exceptionally well-made, and Delaporte and de La Patellière put a lot of effort into adapting the novel to be as faithful as it can be, while also appealing to 21st-century viewers.

The Count of Monte Cristo has many fascinating elements, but one of the most prominent is that it houses the character of Edmond Dantès, one of the great literary creations of its era, and a figure that is so exceptionally complex, we start to wonder how much of the character was based in reality, since quite a substantial amount of the novel finds Dumas drawing inspiration from real-world events. Pierre Niney is the actor recruited to play the role and essentially act as the primary focus of the film, and while he may not always be the strongest actor, he does fare relatively well enough in playing the part, which proves to be a major challenge that required quite a clear, concise vision to be realized. Niney is a solid actor, and this performance allows him to showcase a number of his skills, including both his dramatic abilities as well as his comedic timing since the character is a larger-than-life eccentric with a penchant for chaos, which is well-represented under his solid portrayal. However, it’s not surprising that the best performances come on behalf of those in the supporting parts – Laurent Lafitte plays yet another deceptively charming villain whose slightly sinister demeanour conceals a cruelty that only a truly valiant hero can overcome. Anamaria Vartolomei continues her steady march to the epicentre of the French film industry, delivering yet another beguiling but substantial performance as the ill-fated young Haydée, who becomes complicit in the protagonist’s plans towards revenge, and who ultimately faces an unexpectedly significant loss as a result of her involvement. Anaïs Demoustier is also very good and does her best to colour in the somewhat ambigious characteristics of Dantès’ long-lost lover who struggles to comprehend his return. There’s also a wonderful but sadly quite small performance from the always reliable Pierfrancesco Favino, unrecognizable under layers of facial hair and grimy makeup, playing the part of the wise older prisoner who inspires the protagonist to not settle for what he has been given, and instead imparts his wisdom and allows him to muster up the courage to make his escape. It’s an excellent cast, anchored by some extraordinary performances that are just as good as the surrounding film, and which contribute massively to its success.

If there is any justice (or frankly just logic), The Count of Monte Cristo will be used as a blueprint for forthcoming literary adaptations, since it represents all the qualities we should expect from such a film, as well as a few additional elements that feel oddly quite prescient considering the age of the novel and how closely this veers to the same tropes we would expect, but still finds fascinating ways to deconstruct these patterns, rendering them as something unique. As far as the story is concerned, it’s relatively traditional, albeit in a way that feels like merit, since it uses classical narrative patterns as a guideline rather than a crutch, which prevents it from becoming lazy or complacent, and allows it to be quite inventive where it is required. It’s very well-crafted and is driven by a genuine sense of commitment to the material, which feels like a major step forward for a genre that is no longer in style but is gradually returning to the mainstream as a result of these well-crafted, beautifully designed period dramas that are not excessive just for the sake of it, and instead have something to say, even if it is only to be wholeheartedly entertaining. Delaporte and de La Patellière are not newcomers to the industry, but this does feel like their biggest step forward in terms of wider recognition, and whether or not they intend to continue making this very precise kind of historical drama, or will venture off in another direction, they have essentially carved themselves a career that will immediately draw attention to their wonderful work, regardless of what they do next. The Count of Monte Cristo is exceptionally entertaining and keeps us engaged for every minute of its running time, allowing us to become immersed in this story and truly engage with the abundance of fascinating themes scattered throughout this brisk, enjoyable voyage through the past.