During my Catholic education I was instructed in morals and I have always remembered the lesson we had on coveting.  "Coveting is the root of many evils," our instructor told us. "Once you covet," he continued, " you begin to work your mind around the obstacles which stand in your way of obtaining what is not yours, and what God has decided it is best that you not have at this point in your life."  Tom Ripley, the unlikely hero of Patricia Highsmith's crime novels, is a being whose whole existence is a demonstration of that lesson.  Ripley, played by Matt Damon in the new film version of the novel, is not a bad person to start out with, just a simple liar.  He is one of those people who probably gives you about 90% lies when they talk to you.  Why do they do it?  Well, we all experience those brief instances where we are in an uncomfortable spot and it just may be easier to tell an untruth, but people like Tom Ripley do it all the time.  Whenever he is the least bit uncomfortable, (or if it might gain him something for just a brief moment,) he will fabricate a story.  He has an inner view of himself that does not at all coincide with the reality that goes on around him.  Tom is a musician, a piano player, and he ushers at Carnegie Hall in New York. We see him staying late and playing the Grand Piano to the massive, empty house, perhaps dreaming that he is performing to an enthralled crowd.  A janitor enters and flips the lights on, running him off like a scared mouse, and throughout the rest of the film we hold our breath waiting for somebody to flip the lights onto Ripley's more insidious and dangerous schemes.

The interest we have in Ripley's success or failure is interesting in that he is not only the hero of the film, but he is also the villain.  We immediately take a liking to him and his droopy posture, clumsy stutter-step, and nervous-nellie attitude.   Tom borrows a Princeton jacket from a friend to play piano at a party in the home of shipping baron Herbert Greenleaf.  Mr. Greenleaf and his wife immediately take Tom as somebody who knew their son Dickie, who has also graduated from Princeton.  It seems Dickie has gone off to live a carefree life in Europe, and Daddy now wants him to give up the foolishness and come home.  A deal is struck, and Tom finds himself heading for Italy (on Greenleaf's money) to try and convince Dickie to come home.  We, as well as Tom, think it sounds like a great deal, but then we remember that Tom did not go to Princeton and he doesn't have the faintest idea who Dickie Greenleaf is.  It is this kind of involvement that drives the picture through its almost three hour running time.   At the same time, Tom is realizing holes in his schemes, we are realizing them, and with only a precious amount of time to think of escape plans, he cons or claws his way to safety just moments before we can figure something out.  We gain a very strange respect for him, which frighteningly seems to excuse his acts of sheer criminality.

Another thing dulling the edge off despicableness is the fact that his victims are not always the most likeable people in film history. Herbert Greenleaf is an arrogant, pompous man, with no reservations about using Dickie's friends to manipulate his wayward son back home.   We actually kind of relish seeing Tom, the underdog, live the good life on the jerk's tab. Dickie Greenleaf, played by the dashing young Jude Law, is a great personality and an exciting presence, but an absolutely terrible friend. His girlfriend Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow) laments, "when Dickie is shining on you, you feel like you are the only person in his world, and so when the light turns away..."   To Dickie, people are like playthings which he tosses aside when he is through amusing himself.   We know Tom's days as Dickie's buddy are numbered, but he is able to hang in there for quite a long time through his sheer determination to be accepted.   His skill at adapting and manipulating is not as natural as we might expect.  We watch him practice listening to jazz records for hours until he can identify them in the first few notes.  You see, Dickie loves jazz, and Tom sets up one of his special coincidences to introduce the subject.  Jazz records, dropped on the floor by "accident," spark a conversation and an invitation to Dickie's inner circle.  However, as Ripley gets drawn in deeper and deeper into his covetous nature, his skills at manufacturing these chance meetings (or avoidances) become more polished, and any apprehensions he may have had about lying disappear. 

A few characters have got Ripley's number though.  Freddy Miles, an arrogant Princeton grad and friend of Dickie, can smell poor and disingenuous from a mile away.  Played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman, in a letter-perfect performance, Freddy is the anti-Ripley in that he is loud, brash, tasteless and sexually comfortable.  He catches Tom peeking in on a tryst between Marge and Dickie and playfully teases him in an almost whisper,  "Tommy, how's the peeping?"   As disgusting as Freddie is, he is an original, and he doesn't have time for people who aren't.  Ripley is not. If there is anybody we want to see get his comeuppance it is Freddy, but, and here is the strange part of this film, it is Tom Ripley who is the criminal, who is lying, and who is forging an identity.  Freddy is just being himself, as obnoxious as that is,  and there is even a nice moment when we realize that Freddy too has suffered Dickie's fickle friendship over the years. In fact, he may even harbor some jealousy of Tom, who has been so fortunate to be the recent apple of Dickie's eye. 

We watch as Damon's nerdy outsider smoothly transitions into another identity all together, getting more sure of himself, and liking the fact that he is.  He cannot have Dickie, so he actually becomes what he covets so much.  The identity he is taking on is that of Dickie Greenleaf, and he does it to such a point that he has everybody fooled,  except those who know him as Tom Ripley.  He has run into an interesting problem in that he is finding it very easy to be Dickie, but not that easy to be both Dickie and Tom.  By three quarters through the film Damon's successful con-artist can barely remember when to put on or take off his glasses.  The social circle into which he has squirmed is so limited that everybody he meets knows or has heard of Dickie.  The Greenleaf's just assume Tom, somebody wearing a Princeton jacket, knows their son.   Cate Blanchette's gawky, new-rich socialite meets Tom on board ship and  introduces herself.  "Meredith Logue."  She, not realizing Tom has no idea who she is, smiles and nods her head , "that's right, the furniture Logue's."  Everybody in this elite realm is either known by everybody else, or at least thinks they should be known by everybody else.  Ripley doesn't really have a problem with the people who know Dickie, he just has a problem with the people who know Tom also. The more Tom tries to run, the tighter the circle closes, and unlike the little mouse of man we see being run off the Carnegie Hall stage by the janitor in the beginning, the Tom we are left with by the end of the film is a rat who will lash out, without remorse.

There is very little one can elaborate upon when reviewing a film like this because the developments are so interesting and suspenseful to watch unfold that one wouldn't want to tip the hand.  Anthony Minghella improves upon his style which won him acclaim for The English Patient,  and it is nice to see his narrative structure tightened down while still maintaining the use of lovely, open vistas as a backdrop for tales of inner human anguish. Where Patient dragged its feet, Ripley skips lightly.  Beauty and lightness aside, an undeniable creepiness seeps into the proceedings though, mostly aided on its way by Ripley's cold personality, and watchful stare.  In fact, it is tough to think of the film working without the incredible talents it has in its fold.  The film's themes and secrets must be handled with skill, because its moral seems too preachy and simplistic, and its plot is basic crime thriller (almost slasher film mentality).  It is a concept played out to its extreme, but logical end.  Despite its ability to charm us with its young, beautiful cast and its gorgeous settings, this movie succeeds in making us realize that we are watching the birth of a sociopath.  It is a stern morality lesson masquerading as a sumptuous thriller, and it is also one of the best films of the year.

Reviewed by Art Hennessey 1/10/2000