Mondovino (2004)
Directed by Jonathan Nossiter

Film Review

Jonathan Nossiter's lifelong passion for wine shines through in this thoughtful, compelling and frankly unsettling documentary which exposes some unpalatable truths about the winemaking industry.  There are some moving contributions from traditional wine producers in France and Italy, for whom wine production is more a way of life than anything else, and they militate for the defence of their traditions with the passion and poetry of an idealist who is prepared to die for his cause.  These are apparently the good guys. Then there are the baddies, in the form of the US-based wine conglomerates such as Mondavi, winemaking gurus like the Michael Rolland and wine über-critic Robert Parker.  Boo, hiss.

If there is one fault with the film it is that, like the Michael Moore documentaries it occasionally resembles, it often feels too one-sided, and that a reasoned polemic is too strongly underminded by its maker's prejudices.  Nossiter includes things which support his thesis and conveniently omits things which might give a more balanced picture.  It presents all the negative aspects of globalisation - an increasing drive to homogeneity and standardisation - and is strangely muted about the possible benefits - an increased market, allowing smaller wine growers to have a sustainable business, affordable wine for a greater number of people, etc.  Although it's a good deal more subtle than a Michael Moore rant, there's still a nasty hint of anti-Americanism in this film.  Whether this is justified or not will depend on whether Nossiter's concerns turn out to be well-founded.  If he is right in suggesting that wine is going to end up just like any other supermarket commodity, then we should all be worried.  The likelihood is that many small vineyards will escape the bane of standardisation, but will be known by, and afforded by, only a very small number of wealthy connoisseurs, whilst the majority of people will have to be content with characterless branded plonk manufactured in bulk by a few multi-national corporations.

Nossiter's approach is certainly caricatured and a tad simplist.  Whilst the European family wine growers are portrayed as earnest, lovable traditionalists, appearing cultivated and soulful, their American counterparts are shown to be shallow money-hungry imperialists, whose idea of culture is to own a dining table that looks like something seen in one of the Godfather films.  Whilst this characterisation is perhaps a fair one - French wine growers are certainly less driven by commercial realities than their transatlantic cousins -  Nossiter does perhaps go a little too far, and in so doing weakens his case by appearing too prejudiced.

Yet none of this prevents the film from having an impact.  The most important point the film raises is the extent to which the wine industry is governed by the tastes and attitudes of a very small number of individuals.  This is the film's central message, although it is somewhat diluted by all the familiar anti-globalisation, anti-consumerist sentiment that Nossiter tries to hammer into the film.   What is most disturbing is the alleged collusion - accidental or otherwise - between a successful winemaking consultant and a famous wine critic.

Robert Parker has a worldwide reputation as a wine critic and has dedicated his career, if not his life, to championing the cause of fine wines.   Whilst he has undoubtedly done a lot of good, raising the profile of little known vineyards and increasing the public's interest in wine, his level of influence is a cause for concern.    The rating that Parker ascribes to a particular wine can make or break the career of its manufacturer or compel him to alter the composition of the wine to make it “acceptable”.  To survive, wine makers are obliged to rely on a small number of consultants who give advice on how to make a wine that meets Robert Parker's criteria for a good wine.    (This becomes particularly worrying when Nossiter shows us the inside of Parker's home - a kitsch nightmare in which the walls drip with stomach-churningly twee portraits of pet bulldogs. How can one take seriously the opinions of a man who has such an appalling taste in home decor?)    Even if Nossiter is exaggerating slightly the reality of the situation, it is certainly the case that commercial pressures and globalisation are compelling winemakers to choose between persevering with traditional wines for a limited market or to adulterate their wine to satisfy the taste of a larger market.  The danger is that those wines with an individual bouquet which is not to one bulldog-fancier's taste will be lost forever and we end up with a very limited range of wines.

One of the most intriguing things about this documentary is how Nossiter manages to make his case through the lips of the people whose attitudes and methods he obviously abhors.  There's an old saying that if you give a man enough rope he will hang himself.  Well, Nossiter most definitely has plenty of rope to offer, and there's certainly a great deal of metaphorical self-hanging going on.  The villains of the piece just can't help putting their necks in the noose, as they dismiss traditional vineyard owners as extreme communist peasants, bemoan the passing of Mussolini's fascism, treat their staff with lip-curling contempt, and show off of their luxurious multi-acre homesteads fashioned in the style of a Tuscan paradise.  Meanwhile, our hard-pressed heroes talk about family tradition, in language that seems to be inspired by Voltaire, Baudelaire and Zola.  You can't help making comparisons with Marcel Ophüls' WWII documentary Le Chagrin et la pitié (1971), in which the modesty and forbearance of honest peasant folk is contrasted with the bluster and sheer nastiness of Nazi supporting collaborators.

Despite its obvious bias, Mondovino is a fascinating, provocative and engaging documentary, offering some fresh insights on an industry which is seldom given the close scrutiny it deserves, and raising some important issues.   The jerky photography, filmed with a low-resolution digital video camera, suits the subject of the film and allows Nossiter to get closer to his “enemies” than they perhaps realise, but it is very off-putting for the spectator (particularly those who suffer from motion sickness).  This reviewer certainly felt mildly queasy after watching the film, leaving him with the impression that he had partaken of perhaps three too many beakers of the good stuff.    More unsettling than Nossiter's addiction to the "fast zoom" is his apparent obsession with animals - particularly those of the canine variety. At times, you could be forgiven for thinking that Mondovino is more a documentary about mad pets and their owners rather than the politics and economics of winemaking.    The author is probably making some subtle social statement here, but it's hard to find much significance in the gratuitous close-up shots of a dog's rear quarters.

The thing that is most likely to put off someone from watching the film is its length.  Originally, the film ran to 160 minutes, cut from an incredible 500 hours of material that Nossiter shot over four years, intended for a 10-part series (a labour of love or an obsession?).    Even in its re-edited version, running to 135 minutes, the film feels over-long, with numerous sections of marginal relevance that seem ripe for pruning.    Whilst these imperfections add character to the film (perhaps in the same way that a slightly unpleasant toxin adds body to a wine's bouquet), they also serve to diminish the film's thrust and make it less accessible.  In a more tightly edited version, Mondovino would have less character, but it would probably appeal to a larger number of spectators, hence allowing Nossiter to put his case more effectively to more people.  There's a strange parallel there with the very notion that Nossiter is addressing in the film.  Should an artist be compelled to sacrifice individual style in the pursuit of mass appeal and maximum impact?  The answer is probably "yes" if he is right in his beliefs and really wants to change things for the better.

Film Synopsis

Winemaking is a dying art, according to one French vineyard owner.  Commercial pressures are driving traditional winemakers to put quantity before quality, and, worse, to artificially alter the flavour of their wine to satisfy an increasingly standardised palate.  Technical consultants such as Michael Rolland give advice on how to make the wine more profitable, whilst fine wine critic Robert Parker has a reputation that enables him to make or break a wine producer with one stroke of his pen.   Will globalisation bring about the end of diversity in wine production?