Critic's Grade: B+

I am not the person to review this movie. As a general newcomer to the art of reviewing and understanding movies, I must admit that I'm rather ill-equipped to partake of the various complexities and hidden trinkets offered in Robert Altman's "Gosford Park," my first venture into the famed director's world of ensemble casting, nuanced plot, and dazzling visual aura. Until now, the closest experience I've had with the director is the spin-off television series of his hit film "M*A*S*H," just so you have an idea of where I'm coming from.

As an outsider, I've heard nothing but praise for the movie, a heralding along the likes of which the great movies of the past almost always garner. Now, having immersed myself into this world of murder, mystery, and intrigue, I have to admit the movie accomplished what it set out to do, but overall I think I acknowledge its authoritative stature more than I actually enjoy it.

The movie is a new take on that most delicious of all movie genres: the British murder mystery where a large gathering of people is disrupted by a killing, the likes of which stirs up all sorts of gossip, controversy, and melodrama. The year is 1932, in a gloomy November, and Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon) has invited a plethora of family members and acquaintances for a ripping stay at his country estate for some shooting and good-natured elitist fun, the type of gathering where everyone is someone, and no one is without suspicion once things get out of hand.

There's McCordle's wife, Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas), who married wealthy to survive and now pays for it with despondency. Among their guests are Lady Constance Trentham (Maggie Smith), who receives a comely allowance which William threatens to revoke; Sylvia's sisters, Louisa (Geraldine Somerville), wife of Raymond Stockbridge (Charles Dance), and Lavinia (Natasha Wightman), married to Commander Anthony Meredith (Tom Hollander); the maid-less Mabel Nesbitt (Claudie Blakely) and her husband, Freddie (James Wilby), who is insistent that the McCordle's daughter, Isobel (Camilla Rutherford), ask her father about a job for him, lest he should inform him of his offspring's less-than-reputable undertakings. Then there is the Hollywood producer, Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban), actor Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam), and Weissman's valet, Henry Denton (Ryan Phillipe), who acts as a servant for the first half of their stay.

We're also introduced to the servants of the McCordle house, as well as those who have accompanied the guests on their trip. There's the housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren), who seems strangely drawn to one of the newly-arrived valets, Robert Parks (Clive Owen), who secludes himself from the others by choice; the cook, Mrs. Croft (Eileen Atkins); the all-seeing maid, Elsie (Emily Watson); Lady Trentham's lady-in-waiting, Mary Maceachran (Kelly Macdonald); the sinister-looking footman George (Richard E. Grant), and the butler, Jennings (Alan Bates), who takes pride in his work.

Altman weaves in between these two worlds as they were in two completely different places that coalesce in mere instances, keeping our attention not only on the characters, but also on their mannerisms, their apparel, and their settings. The look of "Gosford Park" is astounding, a beautifully-rendered depiction of Britain in between the two World Wars as it has never looked before. The upstairs dwellings are, appropriately lavish and extremely well-detailed, but an equal amount of attention has been devoted to making the downstairs quarters for the servants look not decrepit and run-down, but possessive of a certain kind of hominess, a kind of cold comfort whose meaning can be found in Mrs. Wilson's statement, "I am the perfect servant; I have no life."

And then there is the cast, to each of whom Altman devotes a good deal of screentime, leaving no one without suspicion or intrigue. Of the upstairs characters, Smith's Lady Trentham is the most wickedly, devilishly funny portrayal of the upper-class snobbery that permeates this genre, and Gambon supplies the wealthy McCordle with enough distrust and corruption to keep us questioning his outward charm. Downstairs, Watson's sardonic tone makes Elsie the ultimate and trustworthy source of insider information on the haughty minds above, while Macdonald's Mary becomes the focal point of uncovering the mystery, the light to which we adhere once she begins making her own discoveries.

The traditional mystery is, without a doubt, interesting without being suspenseful. This is not the type of genre where edge-of-your-seat tactics are maliciously inflicted upon the audience, and Altman has done well to keep us involved through the interlocking stories of his diverse collection of characters. He throws us into overlapping conversations, keeps the camera on certain people at certain times, makes us aware of the backstory between the person murdered and those who had dealings with him, all of which keeps everything at a silent feverpitch as we begin to formulate our own hypotheses and theories. Above all else in the film, I liked the mystery, the sense that anything is possible, anyone can be guilty, and almost nothing is what it seems to be when it comes to solving the puzzle.

So what is it about "Gosford Park" that annoyed me? Nothing, really. The film is well-made and acceptably slow-moving, and interesting without being truly unforgettable. I suppose one has to be further acquainted with the past works of Robert Altman to truly capture the effect of his efforts seen here; on a closing note, I think I respect the hard work that went into it without actually loving the overall experience.

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