More movies. Y'all know the drill.
I watched To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time just a few days before deciding to embark on this blog series, so what the heck, I'll give it the ol' first-time asterisk. And you know, I pretty much loved it. The story of To Kill a Mockingbird (both here and in the original Harper Lee novel) is simple enough that it should be easy to out-think. I've seen some critics try: the plot is naive, the morals are too neat, the racism is too clean, the black characters are thinly drawn despite being key in one of the focal threads, that mockingbird metaphor is, well, that mockingbird metaphor, and if we're talking about the movie specifically, the direction is kind of flat and unremarkable. So on and so on. I understand what they're saying, but try as I might, the sheer magnitude of the work's humanity just bowls over any reservations. There's an uncondescending sincerity about To Kill a Mockingbird that makes the film feel tender and real in a way that is super rare in movies. Plus, I think those criticisms are overlooking how the story is couched entirely in the perspective of an elementary-school-aged child. Our glimpses of the courtroom come from an eight-ish-year-old girl peering in through the door window and over the balcony-seat railings. Scout is a girl who, even at the film's end, is still in the process of coming of age, so the bits of the adult world that trickle down into her realm of understanding are of course a little simple. That the directing is so indistinct (the critics are right about that—Mulligan could sure learn some lessons from E.T. on how to shoot a child's POV) does kind of obscure this perspective, but it's a perspective nonetheless. I've been weirdly backhanded in my compliments in this response, so let me end on a note of strong positivity: this movie is beautiful, not in a flashy way but in an unpretentious way that makes the outgrowth of tragedy from both human depravity and decency in the film's final act all the more profound. High praise from this reviewer.
This is one of those movies that it's been a long time since I've seen. Like, a really long time; think family movie night ten-to-fifteen years ago. And yet, for all that distance between me now and my viewing of this movie, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington remains vivid in my memory, with little of the afterimage or detail distortion that sometimes plagues my movie watching even now. Some of that memorial vividness probably has to do with the fact that I watched way fewer movies back when I was in middle school than I do now, thus making my head less crowded with movies to blur together. But I'd guess the main reason it's stuck with me is the sheer winsomeness of the picture combined with the heft of its subject matter. Jimmy Stewart is charming as ever, but all that charm might come off as kind of smarmy on the movie's part if his performance weren't paired with such a bleak picture of our nation's politics. Not that it's a bleak movie; we're dealing with Frank Capra here. But it's a movie that is uncommonly successful at mixing optimism for the promise of our political system with cynicism at the reality of how things play out. I think Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is plenty aware of the fairy-tale-esque "man against the odds" plot that takes the titular Mr. Smith from small-town bumpkin to political white knight—those scenes with Mr. Smith first laying eyes on the dazzling monuments in Washington, D.C., are just a tad too rose-colored (especially when compared to the actual corruption in the movie's D.C.) to be read as completely sincere. Yet the film also seems to be saying that in some iteration of our government's reality, this plot could happen, if we all somehow did the right thing. It's a tricky line to walk, to be both cynical and optimistic, but Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is proof that when pulled off, it's a powerful combination.
Can one lousy song ruin an entire movie? Well, not really. I mean, I still like High Noon and everything. But "Do Not Forsake Me, O My Darlin'" sure does try its darnedest to spoil the whole thing. I mean, for crying out loud, what is the deal with "Do Not Forsake Me, O My Darlin'"?? First of all, it's dull as already-dried paint. I like old country music, but "Do Not Forsake Me, O My Darlin'" apparently found the exception to that rule. Second of all, the lyrics are just so heavy-handed. Do we really need a song that not only explicitly states the major and minor themes of the film but also recounts specific incidents from the film as evidence? I don't think so. Imagine if Spider-Man 2 (we're talking the Sam Raimi one, because they didn't make any more Spidey movies after that one, right?) had integrated the cartoon theme song into the most dramatic sections of its score instead of just making it a one-off joke in middle. That would be awful and cheesy and undercut a lot of the tension, right? High Noon, ladies and gentlemen. Listen, I get it that the technicalities of "Do Not Forsake Me, O My Darlin'" are pretty cool; the movie's score was pretty innovative in its seamless use of both mood music and a pop song. And look, High Noon is a great movie otherwise, a deceptively simple one-act drama with layers and layers of metaphorical meaning. But that song, y'all.
It's weird, but the hardest part of this series has turned out to be writing these stupid introductions/conclusions to bookend my responses to the movies. So, I'm sorry if the housekeeping perfunctoriness of these bits is getting lame. Really, though, I'm running out of ways to say "Here are three movies and my thoughts on them. See ya!" So, well... yeah. Let me know what you think about these movies. Until next time!
If you fancy a look back, you can read the previous post in the series, #s 22-24, here.
Update: Read ahead to the next post, #s 28-30, here.
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