Film review

  • Wonderstruck

    Todd Haynes (2017)

    A few minutes into Wonderstruck, young Ben (Oakes Fegley) pleads with his mother Elaine to tell him who his father was.  ‘Was he an astronaut?’ asks Ben, ‘is that why I’m fascinated by the stars and space travel?’   The following conversation between them makes clear that Ben has asked the question before and that Elaine has always fobbed him off, as she does now, by saying it isn’t the right time.   Since today is Ben’s twelfth birthday he’s understandably baffled and frustrated by his mother’s continuing reticence.  What’s more, this was his last chance to break it.  The birthday scene is a flashback:  Elaine has recently died in a car crash and orphan Ben is now living with another family.   (It’s all the more regrettable that Elaine vanishes from the picture so soon because she’s played by Michelle Williams.)  We never find out more about her personality or why she was so secretive about Ben’s father.  We can only assume she didn’t want to give the film’s ending away.

    These early sequences take place in Gunflint Lake, Minnesota in 1977.  Then black-and-white replaces colour and Todd Haynes puts up a new signpost – Hoboken, New Jersey, 1927.  Rose (Millicent Simmonds), about the same age as Ben, lives with her cold, cruel father (James Urbaniak).   There’s no sign of her mother.  Rose is very unhappy:  beside a lake, she writes ‘Help me’ on a piece of paper, which she folds into a yacht and sends onto the water.  She takes refuge from her grim home life in a cinema, absorbed by tear-jerking silent melodramas starring Lillian Mayhew.  (The Gishy connections extend beyond a shared first name:  the movie currently playing is called ‘Daughter of the Storm’.)  When Rose reads in a magazine that Lillian (Julianne Moore) is appearing in a Broadway play, she resolves to seek her out in New York.  Ben, meanwhile, has found a marker in one of his mother’s books, on which a message to her is inscribed and signed, Ben feels sure, by his father.  The marker bears the address of Kincaid’s, a Manhattan bookshop.  Ben embarks on a much longer journey to the same destination as Rose.

    For the next hour or so, the narrative moves between the two children’s experiences in New York, accumulating points of similarity between them.  Rose is congenitally deaf; Ben, in the time between Elaine’s death and his departure for the Big Apple, loses his hearing, thanks to a freak accident during an electrical storm.  Ben’s on a quest for his father.  Rose, it’s soon revealed, is mad about Lillian Mayhew because she’s actually her mother.  (When Rose arrives to interrupt her play rehearsal, Lillian falls well short of the maternal devotion that seems to be her speciality on screen.)  Both children make their way to the American Museum of Natural History in Central Park, where they touch a meteorite, Ben makes friends with another boy (Jaden Michael) and Rose finds her kindly elder brother Walter (Cory Michael Smith, who, as in his small part in Carol, is engagingly animated).  But although the twin stories rhyme they don’t ramify or deepen.  You just sit waiting for the connection between the children to be explained and so it is eventually – and unsurprisingly.  The proprietor of Kincaid’s bookshop in 1977 is the elderly Walter (Tom Noonan).  Rose is Ben’s grandmother.  His mystery father was her son, who died young of a heart condition.   In the course of the half-century between her childhood and Ben’s, Rose has become the spitting image of her mother:  unlike Michelle Williams, Julianne Moore is in the film for more than a cameo.

    Wonderstruck has a screenplay by Brian Selznick, adapted from his own 2011 young adult novel.  (Selznick also wrote the book on which Martin Scorsese’s Hugo was based.)  The screenplay eschews voiceover.  With two deaf protagonists, Todd Haynes may have liked the idea of extending the silent movie aspect beyond ‘Daughter of the Storm’ – there’s barely any dialogue for a long stretch of the film.  This puts a lot of responsibility, however,  on Haynes’s two young leads and on Carter Burwell’s score.  The Rose sequences work better than the Ben ones because the silence is more thoroughgoing (Rose is deaf and mute, Ben can’t hear but can speak) and because Millicent Simmonds (who‘s herself deaf) is more appealing and expressive than Oakes Fegley.   You seem to see in her features the lineaments of a much older woman’s face.  Julianne Moore is eloquent as the older Rose – her signing has something of the urgency that Sally Hawkins brought to The Shape of Water.  Yet it’s disappointing that Millicent Simmonds’s unusual looks turn into a face as familiar as Moore’s.

    Carter Burwell’s music is pleasant but, since there’s a lot of it, a bit tedious – which is a fair description of Wonderstruck as a whole.  The soundtrack also includes ‘Space Oddity’ and Deodato’s arrangement of ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’ aka 2001 though it turns out Ben’s father wasn’t an astronaut.  All too aptly for this film, he was a designer – a talent inherited from Rose, who graduated from paper yachts to an amazingly detailed miniature model of New York City, which she hand-made for the World’s Fair there in 1964.  Admirers of the film have found much more in it than this viewer was able to.   David Rooney in the Hollywood Reporter, for example, experienced ‘an uncommonly grownup film about children, communication, connection and memory’.  For me, Selznick’s story shares Hugo‘s self-conscious magic-of-childhood quality and Todd Haynes’s ambitions don’t seem to extend beyond wrapping it up neatly and tying it with ribbon.  He shows more curiosity in objects – books, museum objects, dioramas – than people.  Ben’s sudden loss of hearing means he hasn’t had time to learn sign language.  This necessitates plenty of handwritten notes.  Rather than adding suspense to Wonderstruck, they slow things up.

    11 April 2018

  • Girl with Green Eyes

    Desmond Davis (1964)

    In March 1966, Manny Farber, in his monthly column for Cavalier magazine, wrote a memorably brutal piece, entitled ‘Pish-Tush’, a broadside against particular exemplars of contemporary film acting.  They included Jeanne Moreau and Giulietta Masina but Farber reserved his harshest, most extensive criticism for Rita Tushingham – the ‘Tush’ of the title.  His preferred actors and acting styles tend to be very different from mine[1] but not in this case.  The toughest thing about ‘Pish-Tush’ is that, although it’s very unkind about its foremost target, it’s not unjust.

    Rita Tushingham plays the title character in Girl with Green Eyes, Desmond Davis’s debut feature – based, like Davis’s second film I Was Happy Here (1966), on Edna O’Brien material.  O’Brien wrote the screenplay, adapted from her 1962 novel The Lonely Girl.  In a sense, the end of the first film is virtually the starting point of the second.  In I Was Happy Here, the young heroine played by Sarah Miles is disenchanted with life in London and returns to the fishing village in Ireland where she grew up.  In Girl with Green Eyes, Tushingham’s Kate Brady, from a small rural community, experiences first love shortly after coming to work in Dublin.  At the end of the affair and the film, she crosses the Irish Sea and starts a new life in London.

    In Dublin, Kate and her friend and flatmate Baba Brennan (Lynn Redgrave) are convent school girls enjoying their first taste of freedom and independence.  Kate works in a grocer’s shop and Baba is training to be a secretary.  After a chance meeting, followed by another chance meeting, with Eugene Gaillard (Peter Finch), Kate and he become close friends and, after a while, lovers.   The urbane, sophisticated Eugene is a writer, separated from his wife and daughter, who are now in America.   The film is no more than moderately engaging until Kate’s father (Arthur O’Sullivan) gets wind of the affair and comes to the big city to retrieve her.  Kate is back on the family farm only briefly before she escapes to Dublin again.  This time, her father and his rustic posse come banging on Eugene’s door.  When he lets them in, the men rough him up.  Eugene’s no-nonsense housekeeper Josie (Marie Kean) makes a timely appearance to threaten them with a shotgun and send them packing.

    There’s an age gap of twenty-six years between the two main actors but if you’ve had qualms that Eugene is exploiting Kate’s naïvete, the Brady bunch dispels them.  They and their behaviour are so unpleasant and the prospect of Kate’s virtual imprisonment in the country is so grim that whatever happens with Eugene seems bound to be a preferable alternative.  After provoking this burst of strong feeling, Desmond Davis’s narrative reverts to its previous, underpowered mode and the trajectory of the remaining story is predictable.  Kate moves in with Eugene and they live for a while as man and wife.  He buys her a ‘wedding’ ring – as a token of their love as well as for appearances’ sake – though he also treats her patronisingly and as a semi-skivvy (it’s not clear what happened to gun-toting Josie).  Kate still wants to go to mass on Sundays.  Eugene, although he lets her, clearly despises her religion.  She feels foolish in the company of Eugene’s culture-vulture friends (Julian Glover and Yolande Turner).  She’s increasingly jealous of his wife, with whom he’s still in contact.

    The relationship with Eugene founders.  Just before it ends, he tells Kate that, when they first met, he was attracted to her because she seemed such a simple girl; but that he now realises she was never that.  Their second meeting is in a bookshop, where Eugene discovers that Kate is an F Scott Fitzgerald fan.   It’s frustrating that this aspect of her – which isn’t proof of high intelligence but doesn’t fit with anything else in the story – isn’t further explored.  The lack of layering in Rita Tushingham’s portrait of Kate probably doesn’t help.  Tushingham’s better here than in the same year’s The Leather Boys or the following year’s The Knack … but she presents her character’s changing moods and feelings so deliberately and with such lack of nuance that, thanks also to her extraordinary face, the result often verges on cartoonish.  Desmond Davis puts up a succession of photographs of Tushingham during the film’s opening credits:  it’s striking that, still by still, she’s more interestingly photogenic than she is in acting action.  Eugene’s world-weary melancholy comes almost too easily to Peter Finch (though it may not have seemed so at the time the film appeared, with Sunday Bloody Sunday several years in the future).  But at least Finch’s expert underplaying complements (sort of) his co-star’s in-your-faceness.  (‘It’s not that Tushingham hogs the screen exactly’, wrote Manny Farber, ‘but she does chew her way through another actor’s scene with bulldog incisors’.)  Finch doesn’t need words to convey Eugene’s mixture of desire, affection and unease as he pursues the affair with Kate.

    The presence that’s hardest to ignore after Tushingham’s is that of John Addison’s incessant music.  He’d written an effective score for Tom Jones the previous year but Addison regresses here to the same kind of hyper-explanation that disfigured A Taste of Honey two years before that.   Among the supporting players, Lynn Redgrave is obvious but entertaining as Baba.  Julian Glover, who went on to succeed against the odds with his role in I Was Happy Here, is stiffly uncomfortable here.  The brilliantly eccentric David Kelly registers in a five-second appearance as a ticket collector.

    9 April 2018

    [1] One particular sentence in ‘Pish-Tush’ gives a flavour of these preferences:  ‘A good actor is usually one who has picked up the tricks that made Lee Tracy better than Spencer:  a talent for (1) retreating into a scene, (2) creating an effect of space, and (3) becoming a combination of fantasy figure and the outside world, but always a fragmental blur’.

Posts navigation