“Falling in that lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lies buried. Falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living, and the dead.”

Despite being one of the most acclaimed and admired authors in the history of the English language, James Joyce has proven to be impenetrable when it comes to film adaptations, with very few filmmakers being able to capture the spirit of his work in a way that feels authentic and honest, with the focus being more on the idiosyncracies of his characters than it is the depth of his writing, which is not always entirely cinematic, since so much of it depends on the way he constructs his prose. Yet, his influence is still felt in contemporary literature, specifically the quiet, tender nature of his prose that reflects something much deeper about human existence. One of the few directors that managed to make a faithful adaptation, both in terms of style and narrative nuance, is the incredible John Huston, who crafted a beautiful adaptation of The Dead, taken from the short story of the same title, which is contained within the author’s magnum opus Dubliners, and tells the story of interweaving lives as a family gathers in a quaint Dublin home during the festive season at some point in the early 20th century, celebrating the New Year while looking back on the past, the formal pleasantries soon being replaced by a sense of grief as they long for the past and the people who defined it. A poignant and melancholy drama that served as Huston’s final directorial outing (and thus brought with it an entirely additional layer of melancholy), and which is undeniably one of the greatest swan songs in the history of the medium. Faithful to the original text in a way that is extremely rare (Huston understanding that when working from a source as rich and evocative as Joyce’s writing, there is very little that should be changed), while still being a work that demonstrates his remarkable gifts as a visual stylist and his ability to infuse his writing with such complexity and nuance, The Dead is one of Huston’s greatest achievements, even if it has taken some time for it to receive the acclaim as one of his most important works, a reputation it now proudly carries as perhaps the defining tribute to the author’s timeless legacy.

Much like several of his contemporaries, Joyce is a writer who spent his life telling stories that carry deeper meanings, and despite being set in specific places and periods of time, they hold an astonishing amount of relevance to modern life, since the setting may be outdated, but the themes contained within are timeless. This particular collection of stories – and “The Dead” in particular – have persisted as one of the most influential texts in English literature, and it is not a mystery why Huston would be intent on adapting one of these stories. In his personal life, he had a long and storied romance with Ireland, a country in which he held some parentage, and spent several years exploring its landscapes in his personal capacity, and occasionally infusing some of this knowledge into his work. However, The Dead proves to be, amongst other elements, his tribute to his Irish heritage, particularly that of his forefathers, who were descended from the same stock as Joyce, and thus connecting the two artists by some invisible but meaningful tether that he beautifully examines throughout this film. At the fundamental level, this is a story about reflecting on the past – the characters gather in this home to celebrate the New Year, but as conversation turns from high society ramblings to more personal matters, each one of the characters begin to plumb the emotional depths of their personal histories, whether they involve the people who are present or those who have departed, either temporarily or in a more permanent capacity. Huston engages directly with Joyce’s text to create this spirited, rich glimpse into the past, which entails attempting to replicate the period (particularly since these stories were set at roughly the same time as when Joyce wrote them, making them contemporaneous for him, but a period piece for Huston), which he does through some of the most gorgeous, intricately-woven filmmaking we have seen from the director. His attention to detail as both a writer and director is well-established throughout his career, but there is something even more poetic about this simple approach that is both lavish and intimate in scope and style that gives The Dead even more resonance, and allows it to pierce through a social and cultural boundary that very few filmmakers have been able to even come close to approaching in such an elegant, heartfelt manner.

As with every story in the collection, “The Dead” is an ensemble-piece, and rather than taking the more logical (but far less interesting) step of choosing a character or two to serve as the focal point, Huston chooses to retain the same narrative structure, introducing us to a bevy of fascinating individuals as they gradually arrive at this home (and then eventually leave in much the same way, each one departing in a memorable and meaningful manner), following their interweaving conversations that piece together a tapestry of life in Ireland in the early 20th century, and which still carries resonance based on the extent to which he prioritizes authenticity. There are over a dozen distinct characters who serve as the focus at different points, and each one of them is unforgettable, not only for what they represent, but also for how Huston brings them to life. He enlists a large cast of exceptional actors, most of whom were plucked from the Irish film and theatre industry, giving it a sense of authenticity that was as integral to the film as the underlying themes. The anchors are Helena Carroll and Cathleen Delany, as the elderly spinsters who serve as the hosts for the evening and act as the binding element between all the gathered guests and who drive the narrative in the earliest portions, before Donal McCann and Anjelica Huston (in her second collaboration with her father, delivering maybe her finest performance) take the helm and begin to steer the story to a far deeper, profound place. The ensemble is uniformly excellent, and there is not a weak link amongst this cast. There are many tremendous skills that Huston learned over his lengthy career, but understanding that an ensemble is only as strong as its weakest link is one of the most important, and something he implements into every moment of this film, which is driven entirely by the actors, who shape the narrative and give him the raw material to shape this incredible narrative around their spirited, complex performances that come together to form this beautifully poetic, compelling narrative that serves as a truly extraordinary humanistic statement.

At a glance, Huston choosing to end his career with The Dead seems somewhat peculiar (and based on what we know about its production, it’s safe to assume he knew this would be his final film), until we peer beneath the surface and see the extent to which this material spoke to him and both his personal and professional interests. He was committed to fighting through health issues garnered as a result of his advanced age to tell this story – and while it is a decidedly more intimate production, taking place primarily in a single location and not requiring much in terms of a sprawling scope, there is still something profoundly complex about how he puts this film together that hints at the deeper meaning. As difficult as it is to say, The Dead is essentially a film in which one of the greatest directors in the history of the medium was bidding farewell to both the medium he adored and the people involved. This is a heartbreaking elegy to the past, handcrafted by a director who knew he was in his final stages of life, and choosing to adapt one of the most melancholic short stories written by an author who understood the human condition and the depths of suffering many endure in their lives seemed like an intentional decision. Huston is reflecting on the past – the setting of this film may predate his own birth, and take place in a country from which he only distantly originates, but every frame resounds with a kind of intensity that feels entirely genuine. The tenderness with which he carves this story is incredible, and it feels like the final fleeting moments of artistic genius from a truly incredible storyteller, someone who pieces together simple ideas in such a way that they come across as extraordinarily ethereal and earnest. The Dead is Huston’s attempts at a spiritual homecoming – he was notably adverse to religious belief, and this is the closest he came to addressing his own personal beliefs, which is particularly resonant considering it was intended to be his swan song, and an opportunity to tie up any existential loose ends he may have had before his departure, which is a difficult subject to put into words, but one that nonetheless propels this film forward and allows it to flourish into an incredibly poignant work of heartbreakingly honest storytelling.

The Dead is a film where even the most simple of utterances are delivered with the majesty and poignancy of a hymn, and where even the slightest of gestures contains multitudes of meanings, each one impactful in telling this poetic and earnest story about the epiphanies and tragedies that exist through all of our lives. It’s a remarkably simple film, constructed with such incredible grandeur by a director who chose to end his career on a smaller, more intimate production, but one that is nonetheless teeming with complexities that become definitive of the entire experience. Huston was a true master, a fact that no one can argue based on his exceptional body of work – a prolific director and a master of writing that helped lay the groundwork for the Golden Age of Hollywood, while remaining active within it until well into a later era, proving that his artistry was one of the strongest anchors of the system that he helped create over the years. The Dead may seem simple and unfurnished at the start, and it does time some time for it to build the underlying momentum as more than just a slice-of-life drama about life at the turn of the 20th century, but once it begins to take shape and develops into a heartwrenching examination of love and grief (which Joyce argues are two sides of the same proverbial coin, both requiring an abundance of emotional bandwidth and a true passion), based around about a dozen wayward souls that seem to believe that they have their lives in order, which they maintain until the very moment when they realize that this is not necessarily the case. A poetic ode to the human spirit and its various intricacies, constructed through gentle but steadfast storytelling that reveals deeper ideas that linger beneath the surface. There aren’t many words that can precisely capture the true essence of this film, other than it plays on every one of our emotions in a way that is genuine and devastating, and serves as the perfect parting letter from a filmmaker who redefined the industry, and left it having made a true masterwork which remains as beautiful today as it was when it was first experienced.