Maybe you've seen the meme of Anthony Hopkins looking incredibly stiff in a tuxedo, or perhaps you just know it as "that sad butler movie." Honestly, that’s a tragedy. If you decide to watch The Remains of the Day, you aren't just sitting through a period piece about British manners. You’re watching a slow-motion car crash of the human soul. It is, without a doubt, one of the most devastating films ever made, but not because of explosions or histrionics. It hurts because of what doesn't happen.
James Stevens is the butler. He’s played by Hopkins in a performance that feels like a masterclass in holding your breath for two hours. He serves Lord Darlington. Darlington is a man who thinks he’s being noble by negotiating with Nazis in the 1930s. He’s wrong. Stevens sees this, or maybe he doesn't allow himself to see it, because his entire existence is defined by "dignity." To Stevens, dignity means being a vacuum. You enter a room, you clean, you serve, and you leave no trace that you were ever there.
The Cost of Stiff Upper Lips
It’s easy to dismiss this as a "prestige" film from the 90s. Merchant Ivory productions have that reputation—lots of linen, nice teapots, and rolling English hills. But underneath the silver polish, director James Ivory and screenwriter Ruth Prawer Jhabvala (adapting Kazuo Ishiguro’s Booker Prize-winning novel) are doing something much darker. They’re dissecting the British class system and the way it lobotomizes emotional intelligence.
Stevens is so committed to his job that when his father—who also works at the estate—is literally dying upstairs, Stevens keeps serving drinks to guests. He’s professional. He’s "dignified." It’s horrifying. You want to reach through the screen and shake him. You want him to cry, or scream, or just drop a tray. But he doesn't.
Then there’s Miss Kenton. Emma Thompson plays the housekeeper with this vibrant, frustrated energy that acts as the perfect foil to Stevens’ icy exterior. She loves him. It’s obvious to everyone except, perhaps, Stevens himself. Or maybe he knows and he’s just too terrified of what acknowledging that love would do to his carefully constructed world. When you watch The Remains of the Day, the scenes between these two are where the real tension lies. It's more suspenseful than a thriller. Every time they share a quiet moment in the pantry, you’re waiting for a confession that never quite arrives.
Why the Historical Context Still Stings
The movie spends a lot of time in the 1950s, with Stevens driving a car—a gift from the new American owner of Darlington Hall—to go visit Miss Kenton after years of separation. This "present day" framing (relative to the story) is where the regret starts to curdle. He’s looking back at the 1930s. He’s looking back at a time when his master, Lord Darlington, was hosting Ribbentrop and other German high-command types.
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Darlington isn't portrayed as a cartoon villain. That’s the scary part. James Fox plays him as a misguided, somewhat "decent" man who believes that Germany was treated too harshly after WWI. He thinks he’s a peacemaker. In reality, he’s a "useful idiot" for the Third Reich. Stevens watches all of this. He overhears the anti-Semitic remarks. He carries out the orders to fire two Jewish maids because it might "offend" the German guests.
He just does his job.
This raises a question that feels incredibly relevant even in 2026: What is the moral responsibility of the "help"? Not just butlers, but anyone working within a system that is drifting toward something evil. Stevens hides behind professionalism to avoid making a moral choice. He claims he’s just a butler and it’s not his place to judge his "betters." By the time the war is over and Darlington is disgraced, Stevens is left holding the bag of a wasted life dedicated to a man who wasn't worth the loyalty.
The Famous Library Scene
If you need one reason to watch The Remains of the Day, it’s the library scene. Miss Kenton finds Stevens reading a book. He tries to hide it. He’s incredibly defensive. She corners him, physically and emotionally, teasing him about what kind of "racy" material he might be hiding. She slowly pries his fingers off the book cover.
It’s a romance novel.
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It isn't pornographic. It isn't political. It’s just a simple story about people feeling things. Stevens is mortified. He explains that he reads it only to improve his "command of the English language." It’s the closest he ever gets to being "naked" in front of her. The intimacy in that scene—without a single touch or a kiss—is more intense than almost anything in modern cinema. It shows you exactly what he’s repressing. He wants the romance, but he only allows himself to experience it through the filter of "self-improvement."
A Lesson in What Not to Do With Your Life
People often ask if the movie is "slow."
Yeah. It is.
But it’s slow like a lit fuse. If you’re used to TikTok-paced editing, the first twenty minutes might feel like a test of patience. Stick with it. The payoff isn't a big explosion; it’s a realization. By the time Stevens reaches the pier in Weymouth and talks to a stranger about the "remains of the day"—the evening, the time when people should enjoy themselves—the weight of his wasted years hits you like a physical blow.
Christopher Reeve is also in this, by the way. He plays Mr. Lewis, the American congressman who sees through Darlington’s nonsense early on. He calls the British aristocrats "amateurs" playing at world politics while the professionals (the real power brokers) are moving pieces on a board they don't understand. It’s a great performance that often gets overshadowed by the Hopkins/Thompson powerhouse duo, but it provides the necessary outside perspective. It reminds the audience that the world Stevens inhabits isn't the only world. It’s just a very small, very suffocating one he chose to stay in.
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Misconceptions About the Ending
Some people watch this and think it’s a tragedy about missed love. It is, but only on the surface. The deeper tragedy is about the abdication of the self. Stevens didn't just lose the girl; he lost his soul. He gave it away to a house and a title. He thought he was being the "perfect" butler, but he ended up being a perfect nothing.
When you watch The Remains of the Day, pay attention to the bird trapped in the house at the very end. It’s a bit on the nose, sure, but it works. The window is open, but the bird keeps hitting the glass. It doesn't know how to be free. Stevens is that bird. Even when his "cage" (Darlington’s era) is gone, he doesn't know how to exist without the bars.
How to Approach This Movie Today
Don't watch this on a phone. Don't watch it while folding laundry. This is a movie that demands you look at the actors' eyes. Hopkins does more with a slight twitch of his mouth than most actors do with a five-minute monologue.
- Find the best transfer possible. The 4K restoration is stunning. The textures of the fabrics and the dust motes in the sunlight actually matter to the mood.
- Read the book afterward. Ishiguro’s prose is "unreliable narrator" perfection. The movie captures the spirit, but the book lets you sit inside Stevens’ delusional head.
- Watch for the "Three Lines." There’s a moment where Miss Kenton tells Stevens she’s getting married. Watch his face. He says nothing of substance, but you can see his entire heart shattering behind a wall of glass.
- Research the Cliveden Set. The movie’s depiction of pro-appeasement aristocrats is based on real history. Look up Nancy Astor and the people who actually sat in rooms like those, trying to make deals with the devil.
Honestly, it’s a heavy lift emotionally. But if you want to understand the "prestige" era of filmmaking—and why movies like this are so rare now—you have to see it. It’s a cautionary tale about the danger of "duty" when it’s stripped of humanity.
Next Steps for the Viewer:
After you finish the film, look up the interviews with Anthony Hopkins about how he researched the role. He actually met with a real-life retired butler to learn the "hovering" technique—how to stand in a way that makes you look ready to serve but also invisible. Then, compare this film to The White Lotus or Succession. It’s fascinating to see how our cinematic obsession with the "servant class" has shifted from the tragedy of the repressed butler to the cynical, survivalist energy of modern staff. If you’re feeling particularly brave, follow it up with a viewing of Howard's End to see the same creative team tackle a completely different side of British societal collapse.