Patricia Highsmith’s enigmatic Tom Ripley has been very well served by the movies — Alain Delon in Purple Noon, Matt Damon in The Talented Mr. Ripley, John Malkovich as an older version in Ripley’s Game — so do we really need another Tom Ripley? After watching the story unfold over eight hours of beautifully produced television in Showtime’s “Ripley,” the answer is a resounding yes. This is both the most faithful adaptation of Highsmith’s character and the most visually unique.
Andrew Scott stars as the title con artist who is sent to Italy on an all-expenses-paid trip from a worried father (played by great director Kenneth Lonergan) hoping to bring his bohemian son home. Ripley, who has been living parasitically in the proverbial gutters of New York City, forging checks and hiding out from the law, jumps at the opportunity and will let nothing stand in his way.
It is a slow series, methodical in its depiction of Ripley, Italy and what truly constitutes a life of crime. It spends entire episodes having Ripley carefully — sometimes clumsily — clean up after his own crimes. If you have patience for it, it is so much more rewarding than your usual crime series.
Ripley heads to Italy where he awkwardly inserts himself into Dickie Greenleaf’s (Johnny Flynn) life and that of his girlfriend Marge (Dakota Fanning), with no intention of bringing Dickie back to his father. He sees how these lackadaisical rich kids live and wants it for himself. He looks down on them with equal parts envy and contempt — they want to be artists in Europe but they’re talentless Americans kidding themselves. But if there is one recognizable human emotion within Ripley, it’s pride: He believes he is more talented than anyone else around him, and his small crimes grow bigger as if daring the world to prove him wrong.
Andrew Scott is an interesting choice to play Tom Ripley, and ultimately gives a fantastic, very physical performance. The soulful and charming man from “Fleabag” and “All of Us Strangers” is gone here — only to peak out in ugly, artificial ways when Ripley is pretending to be “good” or “normal.” The closest analogous role he’s had would be criminal genius Moriarty in “Sherlock,” but even that character seemed quite pleased with himself for being bad. There is not much joy in Scott’s performance, which makes it all the more unsettling. Self-satisfaction comes through every now and again, when Ripley feels like he has outsmarted everyone else and gotten away with it. That’s what he seems to live for.
Ripley is at ease only when he’s lying or deceiving; he is purposeful only when he’s plotting or covering up a plot. The show takes its time with these, sometimes dryly humorous at the ridiculous lengths Ripley will (or is made to) go, jokes about disposing of a dead body or sinking a ship becoming long, awkward comedy of errors. It’s very real. He’s not superhuman; his crimes are almost justified after the fact. He acts like a predator and thinks his way out of it. The creators’ methodicalness in depicting all this is again mesmerizing.
No one was really sure what to make of Ripley, but it looked like prestige television from some of the most skilled artists in the industry. Every episode is written and directed by Steven Zaillian, who won an Oscar for writing Schindler’s List — though if you think that’s strange for the guy who wrote Hannibal (2001), American Gangster (2007), and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011), remember that those movies were also cat-and-mouse thrillers. This series, like his last TV show run, The Night Of, was better than any of them.
Zaillian has assembled an all-star team here; his ace in the hole being cinematographer Robert Elswit (P.T.’s director of photography on There Will Be Blood and Boogie Nights, who also did wonders with Syriana, Michael Clayton, Nightcrawler, two Mission Impossible films). Brilliant composer/musician Jeff Russo (Legion, Fargo) works beautifully with Elswit to create a lovely synchonrization between sound and image.
The irony here is that these fine artists are working to drain life from what’s typically been presented as sensual and sweaty suspense. Ripley is still tense with suspense but not because it leans into hot Italy sexiness or colorful Italy sexiness or Italy at all. It’s presented in cold black-and-white and conversation is sparse, using its sublime talent not to glorify and beautify Highsmith’s story but to tell it through the icy and amoral gaze of Ripley himself. Still gorgeous, but lonely and haunting, stripped of zest and zeal. Ripley’s Rome is a ghost town and he is an apparition. It’s a far cry from other versions, more honest to Ripley’s headspace.
This may make some find Ripley too emotionless and droll for a crime thriller; even the supporting characters can come off as indifferent or without affect. The point is that this adaptation is an illustration of Ripley’s world and worldview — some life is sparked by the detective on his case (Inspector Ravini), mainly because actor Maurizio Lombardi (of The Young Pope and The New Pope) is so charismatic and delightful in the role, like John Malkovich himself showing up near the end in an interesting twist, like a delicious cherry on top of this frosty milkshake of a show.
In Ripley, Malkovich’s character—and others too—plays into what is one of the most fascinating elements of the show: that there is a sixth sense for evil; an underground crime radar might be hiding just below polite society. Criminals see right through him — only other criminals and con artists can really tell who Tom Ripley is. Game recognizes game. That’s another chilling thought from Ripley: that it’s not just Tom, that devils are best disguised, that it takes one to know one.
