As always, alphabetical order and only first time viewings.

Accident (Losey, 1967)

The Champ (Vidor, 1931)

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (Richardson, 1962)

Other Men’s Women (Wellman, 1931)

Pursued (Walsh, 1947)

Director: Bryan Forbes

Screenwriters: Keith Waterhouse & Willis Hall (Based on the novel by Mary Hayley Bell)

Cast:

Hayley Mills, Bernard Lee, Alan Bates, Alan Barnes, Diane Holgate & Elsie Wagstaff

“Who is it?”

“Jesus Christ!”

A surprising film that transcends it’s Christian roots, the film is very much about the childhood struggle to understand the world they live in. Young Kathy (played by the rather brilliant Hayley Mills) finds a man staying in her barn, and when she asks him who he is, he curses “Jesus Christ”, before fainting from injuries he sustained during some kind of robbery. The young girl, however, believes him to be the son and God, and along with her two younger siblings she attempts to protect and hide him from the world of adults. The story itself is ripe for the “precious” appreciation of childhood faith, but the film delves deeper than youthful belief. It explores how children feel alienated from adults, as they seem both self-absorbed and careless to the emotions of their childhood world. This premise is set-up as one of their father’s employees has been sent to drown kittens of the family cat, against the wishes of the three kids. They save them, and keep them in the barn where they will find later their messiah. When they do find Jesus, he is a broken man, tired and injured, the children nurse him back to health knowing that only they will understand the “truth”. Their distrust of adults is understandable, and even in moments of despair when they reach out to them, they are met with idle threats and little concern. “Jesus” himself does little to help them, but he represents a symbolic bridge between the world of child and adulthood. It reveals, what I see, as a very potent source of childhood faith. The belief in an adult who is as compassionate and trusting as they are, who also holds the answers to all their questions. His presence and understandable aloofness, motivates the children to find their own answers, and come to their own conclusions about the world. Alan Bates plays the criminal on the run mistaken for the son of God, and he brings an interesting dimension to what could easily have been a thinly drawn character, with an even more thinly drawn arc. He is never quite cruel to the children, though of course, anyone taking advantage of the good will of a few children based on their belief that you are Jesus, is morally dubious. I don’t think he is transformed by the idea of God in the end, but rather the children’s love for him. Their youthful and earnest declaration of their adoration and belief forces him into a sort of personal crisis of faith and life, as he struggles with saving his own life at the risk of dashing the world of these children forever. It’s an interesting sacrifice, a simple one, but extremely sincere nonetheless. Bates makes it seem difficult and even painful, though eventually resigned, it is never an easy decision for him, which makes it even more heartfelt.

Saw about 25 films this month, give or take. Quite a few rewatches too. I’ve been pretty busy working lately and my computer problem not having cleared up has put dark cloud over my enthusiasm for updating/responding to comments, but I promise to get back on board ASAP. I actually saw a lot of really amazing films in May, and hope June shows similar promise. It was actually extremely difficult to just narrow it down to five, so I hope you appreciate my efforts!

Dead Ringers (Cronenberg, 1988)

Drag me to Hell (Raimi, 2009)

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (Meyer, 1965)

Up (Pete Docter, 2009)

Raise the Red Lantern (Yimou, 1991)

Many of the novels’ fans unjustly malign the film adaptation, because Catch-22 is without a doubt one of the most accomplished and biting film adaptations there is. The novel as is, is almost unconvertible to the big screen, and Buck Henry organizes a series of vignettes and character stories in order to best explore comedy, the absurdity of war, and the dangers of capitalism.

The film’s structure is difficult to describe, at first dream-like and fragmented, it soon becomes clear that there is a natural comedic and thematic progression of each scene. The comedy begins lightly, slight absurdum, obvious jokes about sex, and the crucial, and ironically humour explanation of the Catch-22. However, with each progressive scene, it becomes more difficult to laugh. The audience is presented with a scenario that begins as little more than a sketch, but dissolves into tragedy or horror, putting a very strange taint on the audience’s understanding of the situation. This is thematically crucial, as one of the film’s main thesis’ is about the higher-ups and capitally motivated industries understanding of war, and how they perceive soldiers to be expendable.

There is a series of scenes towards the mid range of the film, that is perhaps the most beautifully orchestrated I’ve ever seen in cinema. It begins with the longest comedic beat in film history (I can only assume), as Orson Welles stands shocked, in awe and bewilderment as the naked Yossarian stands before him waiting for his medal for bombing the Mediterranean. This for Yossarian is rock bottom, and beyond this point, the film quickly becomes a strange pastiche of quick vignettes and strange nightmare like sequences bringing the ideas of corruption, capital and absurdity to well… absurd heights. With a very deft match-cut (nearly every scene transition in the film is a rather clever match-cut using sound or imagery, somehow it never gets old and is always quite amusing), the scene cuts to Yossarian in bed with the beautiful Luciana. Their scenes together are an incredible joy, the most human genesis of the absurd nature of human relationships and compromise. They argue playfully in bed about getting married, and come back to the idea of the catch-22. It’s very clever, and always sweet. The light and romantic nature almost seems out of place, but at the same time, it’s almost miraculous how much chemistry and affection exists between Arkin and Carlisi, that a later scene where she becomes a part of the syndicate, becomes so much colder and painful. All the warmth of humanity has evaporated, and of course, the scene that follows that is chilling. Back to them in bed, this match-cuts to Nately and his whore, and the old man who explains why Italy is the strongest nation of all. It’s one of the most incredible monologues in cinema. Not only potent in it’s writing, but the delivery, almost delirious, drunk on life and humour is awe-inspiring. As frightening as it is amusing.

The film’s final act, is a strange and detached world, where Milo’s syndicate has finally taken over. War is no longer about ideals and fighting for one’s country (was it ever about that? A question both the novel and the film ask), but about making as much money as possible. Human life is expandable, not only physically but emotionally and psychologically as well. There is the incredibly evocative and disturbing scene where they blow up their own base, as they made a deal with the Germans to get that job done, as long as the Germans take the cotton off of Milo’s hands. It ends up costing one soldier his life (for the “greater good”), which is handled with an almost too on the nose sequence, where Milo explains the money will be sent to the man’s family (Yossarian answers, he’s too young to have started a family!), to which Milo says, well to his parents then! (Yossarian answers, they’re already rich!) and without a blink, Milo answers “they will understand then”. There is also Milo’s brothel, taking in the whores and women from the street in a sort of mechanical set-up to be as efficient as possible. It drives one man to murder, but it’s a necessary risk, and there is no perceived crime, only damaged collateral.

Catch-22 is actually one of my very favourite films. I suppose I’ve explained in part why, the delicious comedy, the biting satire and the ruthless criticism of capitalism, but beyond that, I find something comforting in Yossarian himself. A man who is beyond just a little neurotic and crazy, surrounded by people who are so much more insane than he is. He has simple desires, he doesn’t want to die, he wants love and happiness, but mostly… he doesn’t want to die. It’s something that’s difficult not to relate to. He’s been called annoying and off-base from the novel, but I think his reactions are on the money, and you have those scenes with characters like Luciana that reveal he is anything but a broad caricature. He just seems to see things more clearly than everyone else (well nearly everyone), though ironically it is his need for self-preservation that prevents him from being truly saved. Somehow, I find both his crazed paranoia, and confused clarity incredibly endearing, and I’d even say comforting. It’s a strange film to watch to make you feel at ease, but it somehow works for me, I’d say largely due to his presence.

Beyond that, nearly everyone and everything comes together just right to make this film work, from the impeccable casting, to Buck Henry’s knowing and spot on screenplay, to Nichols’ careful direction. The film is also unnecessarily beautiful, it almost seems like an act of pure vanity on the filmmaker’s part to make it look so good, though I shouldn’t really complain about that! I don’t think I could really name something about this film I dislike, though I’m sure it has it’s faults, I just don’t care about them.

So, Lymelife is a good movie, just falls short from being anything special. It doesn’t hit any wrong chords, there isn’t much I can criticize it for. It pulls a rather strange premise, about two family’s falling apart because of the effects of lyme disease on one husband, and the paranoia, pain and adultery that ensues because of crumbling family units. It doesn’t bring a lot of new ideas to the “American dream is a scam” kind of films, but it does approach the subject matter with far more honesty than something like American Beauty. It’s truthful, painful and appropriately absurd.

The film really benefits from great casting, Alec Baldwin is perfect (as always) as the alpha male jerk, who shows a surprising amount of depth and tenderness as the father of our “hero” (Scott), who is cheating on his wife. I will be very frank, and admit, a lot of the maleness of this film is elusive to me, and perhaps that’s why I find it fascinating. I understand that he is missing something from his relationship with his wife, but I don’t understand what it is. They’ve fallen apart, that’s for sure, but beyond that his criticisms seems shallow, or at least veiled, while hers are far more pointed and true. There is another moment in the film too, when the younger brother insults the older one (not playfully) for just being a radar guy in the army, calling him a pussy. It struck something painful, a harsh tearing down of his masculinity, but I don’t understand why it’s even something to be ashamed of? I clearly just don’t understand men.

What I do understand, is for the kids, there is some shame in being feminine or not constantly assuring masculinity. These are ordinary kids, not really bullies or macho, but there seems to be this fear of agreeing with the mother, even being like her in any way… as if her qualities as a woman will somehow destroy them. There is a kind of opening up to this later, and it allows Scott to open up to the girl he’s been crushing on since forever. It’s only in allowing the good either of his parents offer, instead of just one, that he is able to find happiness in his life and relationships. The girl is similar in this regard, and through their mutual understanding and affection, they seem to break the cycle that plagues both of their families.

The film takes a calculated amount of risks, though the film never feels quite daring or particularly fresh. It has many sweet, endearing and emotional moments, but they do feel a little calculated and insincere. I can’t quite put my finger on why the film isn’t truly great, but it’s certainly worth seeing.

Though a lesser Russ Meyer film, Lorna is still a grade above most b-movies. It’s stylish, well made and clever, fitting well within Meyer’s oeuvre. The story of a sexually frustrated housewife, the film begins with a strange and ironic “man of God”, telling us to be careful not to judge, because it is not our place to condemn. Those who indulge in this behaviour, will be judged and condemned far harsher than those who remain passive, and live for themselves and for God. The buxom Lorna has been married one year to her husband, who is shy, and has never satisfied her sexually. She cannot ask him to change, because he never listens, or is just too timid to discuss sex. One day while he is at work, she meets a stranger (who she is not aware has just escaped from prison), who tries to rape her, but she ends up relenting to his advances and enjoying the experience. Being so suddenly awaken sexually, she hangs onto the stranger, helping him, feeding him and sheltering him… all with the hopes that she will feel the bliss of orgasm again. Meanwhile, at work, her husband is being teased unrelentingly by his co-workers over his lacklustre sexual appetite, and suggest that his wife is having an affair.

Like many of Meyer’s films, Lorna deals with hypocrisy and the connection between sex and violence. It’s hardly his most accomplished film in this regard, though it hints at greater ideas that he explores with more skill in his best work. The touch on religion is introduced in the beginning and the end, first offering the peaceful though warning, words of God, to his final return as he condemns Lorna for her actions. The irony is obvious, though it does require a bit of thoughtfulness on the audience’s part, remembering his message from the onset right until the end and how it has transformed over the course of the narrative. Though in many of Meyer’s films, his women meet untimely ends, it’s rarely with any kind of joy… but a sort of wink at our society’s unforgiving and repressive attitudes about sex, especially when it comes to women. The sex and violence come together through both the husband and the escaped convict, the former being sexually meek, but physically able, while the former being sexually powerful, as well as violent and sadistic. What becomes difficult, is how to differentiate their sexual attitudes, the husband is not an accomplished lover and doesn’t even attempt to rectify the situation. He seems to love his wife, but he sees his sexual needs above hers, even though he would sacrifice a great deal in order to make her happy. The convict is an escaped criminal, up for murder and robbery, he has no conscious, and yet he is very willing and able to satisfy Lorna. It seems just as motivated by ego and need however, the need to satisfy both his sexual urges, as well as controlling and earning compliments/praise from Lorna. It’s also important to re-iterate that he did first try to rape her, her enjoyment was a lucky chance, not something he had ever expected or even perhaps wanted.

The best part of the film are as Lorna recounts the last year or two before the current situation. An interesting montage of churches, water, and clothes create a very sensual and evocative experience. The film’s major failure perhaps, is the lack of a strong female lead. Meyer’s best films have characters like Margo Winchester or Varla, and though appropriately busty, Lorna is a flat performer and rather uninteresting.

The Notorious Bettie Page is an unfortunately shallow interpretation of the “notorious” pin-up queen. Though, to be fair, it was not unexpected…the bio-pic is perhaps the most maligned and badly used “style” for filmmaking. Often making very few statements, opting for easy solutions and even easier filmmaking. There is little depth or true attempts to understand either Bettie, or the world that surrounds her, and in this modern age where pornography is quite literally at our fingertips it could have potentially been a truly thoughtful examination of what makes us tick. Even watching the film, I wondered if perhaps the point was to show how completely un-notorious Page was, but even if that was done well, what is the point?

What is fascinating (and again, never really explored) was Page’s religious inclination. She believed in Jesus, and was a “square” as many described her. And yet, the nature of her profession seemed contrary to that. She is asked by a photographer in one scene what she thinks God sees in her actions, and Gretchen Mol brings something tender and human to the scene, that the script didn’t really try to bring (again, unfortunately). There is no real hypocrisy in Page’s performance or life, though you would think that there would be. She is thoughtful of her actions, and reflective of the consequences, at least for her soul. Her inhibitions are admirable, she is completely free and unashamed. She isn’t into bondage or kinky sex, but she doesn’t see the harm in it. It’s progressive and accepting, more than can be said about the people who condemn her.

What saves this film is Gretchen Mol. She is an unfortunately underused actress, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the real Page. She brings that spunky vulnerability and innocence that was so needed for Harron’s vision (however shallow it may have been). She brings weight and an extremely apt knowledge and confidence in her sexuality that brought the character to life. Her open body expression made for a stunning screen presence, and a believable pin-up model. Her posing mannerisms were incredibly on the mark of what the real Page would do, especially the signature open mouthed smile. It’s truly unfortunate that such a dazzling performance is lost in an otherwise lacklustre film, perhaps even more so that her career never really took off. She even makes the expected “you can’t be a model forever” angle endearing and painful, in spite of Page’s seemingly immortal good looks. It’s so disappointing though, once again, that the film introduces all these ideas that we’ve heard time and time again, and doesn’t bring anything new or profound to the table.

Overall, I’d very mildly recommend this film if you’re interested in one great performance and in pin-up modelling. For the latter, you’ll hardly be introduced to anything revolutionary, but perhaps the only scenes that really succeed are as we watch Mol perform in front of two cameras, that of the photographer in the scene, and for that of the film director’s. They’re mostly wordless, and without any real attempt to be smart or depth, but they reveal more about Page than any other scenes in the film. It’s there that she is truly alive, and completely free of fear, insecurity and unhappiness.

Though I’ve always enjoyed the Cronenberg films I’ve seen (a grand total of six now), Dead Ringers strikes me as the greatest realization of a premise. Not only in that it lives up to, and manages to ground a rather strange and unbelievable story, but also in bringing  complex identities about sex, identity and machines to their utmost potential. It’s both a daring, and yet, remarkably reserved film about two gynaecologist twins who teeter off the edge of sanity with the introduction of Claire, an actress, who disrupts the chemistry and understanding of their relationship drastically.

I had a teacher in college, who once called Cronenberg amateurish, and little more than a poor-man’s David Lynch. I was too uninformed at the time to make an effective counter-argument, but right now, even the comparison seems weak. For one thing, Cronenberg while concerned about the psychological and mind, is first and foremost fascinated with the body. Though somewhat similar in storyline, at least in a divided mind, to Mulholland Dr. this film (as is most of Cronenberg’s films) are less concerned with the internalization of these effects but rather how the body reflects the inside. It’s almost deceptively simple or literal. Yet, we forget how complex and perfectly orchestrated the human body is. How much it defines us, how our anatomy, man or woman, or in  some cases somewhere in between shapes and moulds not only our movements and physical world, but the very understanding of the self. Though not as evident in this case, there is also the idea of how far we can push the human body so that it is no longer “human”. Cronenberg often fuses this with science fiction, machinery, or animal. Pushing the  very boundaries of how we perceive our own bodies, and in turn, our very identities.

Dead Ringers begins with an unusual situation in itself, the genesis of identical twins. It happens, these people exist, and are accepted readily by society, though often as an amusing kind of entity separate from ourselves. It’s no surprise studies show that identical twins have often created individual languages known only to each other, and feel and understand each other better than even the closest siblings could ever hope to. There is a strange bond between them, linked as much in the physical condition as it is in the psychological. Beverly and Elliot may be very different on the inside, but the similar nature of their appearance is enough to link their souls.

As Bev spirals out of control, rapidly due to a misunderstanding with Claire, he comes to be disturbed by the nature of his patients. He begins to notice “abnormalities” and “mutants” everywhere. People who look fine on the outside, but are all wrong on the inside. It reflects on his decline in sanity and well-being, but is an important talking point in the film’s themes and ideas. The nature of our psychological as defined by our physical state. Why gynaecologists? It’s women who are the mystery, so different, so frightening. Elliot can circumvent and woo them with ease, but they are still very much an other, while for Bev, they are quite frightening, and the “realization” that Claire is “mutant”, skews his understanding  of all women and sex. It becomes something unreal, something without feeling, physical or emotional. He has been freed from his inhibitions, but at the price of his understanding of them as being human. The scene at the operating table with his new “tools”, is most evident of this. The look on the female doctor’s face, her wide eyes, and confusion. His dismissal earlier of the other women’s pain as he examined her. The instruments were right, they were perfect, it was the body that was wrong. Humanity is imperfect, we cannot live up to our own creations, our own ideals. At one point in the film, there is a discussion on beauty, and one of the twin ponders why we can’t judge kidneys or spleens as we do faces or bodies hold them to similar standards of beauty. In the end, he comes to the conclusion that we are the freaks, only his strange, lifeless and cold instruments are perfect and beautiful.

The necessary severing of souls is frightening, as Bev takes ultimate control and destroys what has been holding him back this entire time. It’s painful, it’s organic, but it’s also so cold. The only life and humanity they understand is themselves, and even that is brief and cursory. They can look into each other and see and feel their own bodies at work, but they never bothered to understand why or how. The intervention of a woman, a woman Bev came to love, ruined a very careful harmony of ideas and relationship. The film’s true horror is in the illogical nature of perception. In how we perceive ourselves and those around us, and how quickly and easily it can be disruptive, only to have to watch everything we know crumble away until we are left with shells, “simple” bodies without any meaning.

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (Meyer, 1965)

Catapulted to my second favourite Meyer film with just one viewing, this film seems to be the definite example of his ideas, characters and visual style, even more so than BTOTD. It’s kitsch, but the humour is biting, the style self-conscious and the energy unrelenting. Underrated as both a stylist and a social commentator, it’s difficult to deny the kinetic obsession with physicality in this film. The adoration of the female form, the need for speed, and the crushing destruction of both spirit and body. The film is about being alive, but it’s characters only feel that when on the edge, the edge of death, violence and annihilation.

If you don’t believe me, listen to John Waters;

“…beyond a doubt, the best movie ever made. It is possibly better than any film that will be made in the future.”

Is this film exploitation? Probably, but there is also a strange kind of female wish fulfillment involved. The female characters have so much power, their bodies though ogled and porni-fied, are almost objects of violence and manipulation. The women use their bodies to gain ground over the men, and destroy them. There is nothing soft or sensual about their figures, they are hard, tough and in control.

Twilight (Catherine Hardwicke, 2008)

This film starts off much better than I thought it would, it actually raised my expectations that the film might not be nearly as bad as I would have thought. Kristen Stewart is perfectly cast, and gives a stunning performance in an absurd film, she brings weigh and emotion to something that is little more than a creepy Mormon masturbation fantasy. Up until the point Edward shows up, the film is quite good, though it quickly falls once the fantasy world is introduced. There are still some interesting, and dare I say, emotional moments in the later half of the film. Vampire baseball is pretty damn awesome, and there are some almost pretty cinematography that holds together some moments.

That being said, the film carries over all the problematic relationship issues from the novel, most of which are difficult, if not impossible to ignore. I was saying on another message board how I would personally have liked an opportunity to make the film, though it would hardly be called a straight adaptation. It unfortunately seems impossible that anyone could subvert the novel at this stage, though maybe 10-20 years down the line, the right filmmaker could come along and strip away the fantasy (in more than one way), and show the film as a brooding and rather disturbing story of lust and obsession, instead of the strangely romantic vision of abusive relationships that it is now.

Repast (Naruse, 1951)

My first Naruse, and though I couldn’t say with any honesty that this film is one of my favourites, it has piqued my interest in the rest of his work. And among the Japanese filmmakers I’ve seen so far, I have a feeling I will be most drawn into his work. Repast is about the compulsively unhappy Michiyo, who feels stuck in a marriage where she is little more than a slave to her husband and domestic life. There is a constant repetition of actions, scenes and scenarios. There is an endless monotony that she feels trapped by.

As the film progresses, she branches out beyond the home, though is still constantly pulled and reminded of that life. She goes out with friends, they tell her how beautiful and happy she looks, to which she responds puzzled. She is very unhappy, but realises that the world around her cannot, or perhaps will not understand how and why, as she is fulfilling her duties as a wife. It’s not even that there is no sympathy for her plight, but there is no precedent that she should or would be in this situation. It’s accepted that she is happy because she has achieved what has been set before her, but it’s wholly unsatisfying for her.

The film also hints at the difficulties that tough economic times have on relationships. The strain that divides couples, unable to have time together, because they are constantly working and managing. She realises she’s nagging, but there is little choice, there isn’t enough money, there isn’t enough food, therefore there isn’t enough freedom. Her husband, though fairly oblivious and selfish, isn’t exactly cruel or mean, just as unsympathetic as everyone else in her life.

The introduction of the niece reveals an interesting perspective on the story. Someone unaffected by the world, who the idea of working and suffering seems completely lost on. She sees herself as the center of the world and though that may divide her with most people, it serves her well. Her happiness above all others has brought her more peace of mind that anyone else, but it’s a life that Michiyo cannot, and does not want to live. She only becomes a burden.

Later, when Michiyo goes home to “think things over”, all she does is sleep. She’ called lazy, or her exhaustion is explained by her over working. No doubt, the latter is part of the problem, but in retrospect, depression or some other similar psychological disorder is just as likely the cause. It’s beyond just simple unhappiness, and it’s certainly not selfishness.

The film ends on a bittersweet note, as Michiyo seems to find comfort in returning to the life she left behind with a new understanding of her work. Is it a hopeful lie on her part? Or does she really believe in that change? It’s difficult to say.

Go, Go Second Time Virgin (Koji Wakamatsu, 1969)

I’m not sure exactly what to make of this film, I’m barely sure if I even like it. It’s certainly a puzzling portrait of violence and unhappiness. It’s unclear how much of it is fantasy, or if any of it is. The film begins with Poppo (the Girl) being raped on a rooftop. By her own account, this is the second time this has happened, and now she wants to die. Tsukio lives in the building, and followed the other boys up to the roof and watched, though he didn’t partake. When morning comes, he tries to dissuade the girl from both killing herself, or at least from staying on the roof forever.

Though just an hour, the film is filled to the rafters. Focusing particularly on sexual trauma and fear, both characters reveal to each other their own violent and traumatic sexual experiences. They’re both quite young, teens, and do not understand the situations that surround them. When The Girl asks to die, the boy asks her why. She cannot understand, she says it isn’t because she was raped, but something else. Her answers change and shift as the film goes on, as do her recollections of her past and family. Nothing seems certain, or real. She lives in a disturb and diluted world of violence and unhappiness.

Is this film about purity? The loss of innocence? It could be. The treatment and abuse of children as sex objects. Or perhaps, their own diluted understanding of events beyond their understanding. Skewed views of events and experiences that they were simply not ready for.

The violence is greatly affecting, and really quite difficult to watch. It’s difficult for me personally to come to terms with it… obviously, it’s not meant to be enjoyed, but I want to look away and block it off. Is it an expression of male rage? The falling back on violence, and “penetration”, a revenge in it’s purest right. The girl remains submissive, wishing away her pain through a sort of masochistic acceptance of her powerlessness. And yet, is she stronger? She does not seek revenge or violence, or in reality, she does. She gives many reasons why she wants to die, alll seem to be elusively skirting the truth, but finally she screams she wants to die because she wants to kill. A strong revelation, and one that I found to be quite powerful. She would not continue the cycle of violence, and though being completely resigned to her own destruction seems counter-intuitive, it was her way of engaging in a sort of moral pacifism that was motivated in part by fear, but more clearly by an inner strength.

The film finishes with the complete destruction of youth. There is nothing left for the characters but death.

Though Penn’s filmmaking, which is at times obtrusive, and often “artless”, prevents The Miracle Worker from being a truly great film, it still excels as a portrait of human strength through both Anne Sullivan and Helen Killer. The performances of these two characters have gone down as among the strongest in the American film tradition, and this is with good reason. Again though, there are very brief moment where Bancroft’s false apart, this is due completely to the heavy handed flashbacks’ put in place by the filmmaker. They are faded images upon the scene, we watch as Bancroft reaches out to her past, an obvious and tired visual associated with this kind of remembrance. It’s such a brief moment of compromise however, that it does little to undermine the rest of her work. The film works largely on a literal level, Helen Keller is blind and deaf, and her parents have done little to teach and care for her. At the end of their ropes, they entertain the idea of sending her to an institution, but first try one more teacher, the stubborn and crude, Anne Sullivan, who is just twenty years old. Though she can see a bit now, Sullivan was born blind. She had a difficult life, and is a born survivor. She cannot abide how Helen Keller has been spoiled and indulged, but never doubts that she will be able to teach her.

Though blind and death, Helen Keller is an intelligent child, she has no other disabilities or problems that impair her understanding. It’s only her lack of awareness of the world around her that prevent her from interracting with it. The film is a struggle for words, as Helen can mirror what she is taught, but never quite grasps what they mean. No one except Anne believes that she has the capacity to learn, and maintains patience and steadfastness throughout.

The screenplay, based on the play, adds an interesting theological level to both Anne’s character, and the play’s greater meaning. Even in the title, Anne is described as a “miracle worker”, and more than once her ambition is equated with that of God. Some doubt that it’s even God will’s that Helen will “see”, but Anne sees her will as being far more important. In a way, she puts herself in the position of God teaching Helen everything about the world. Opening her eyes and her soul to the world around her. There are even some interesting discussion between her and the Captain (Helen’s father), about obedience without will or understanding, being a kind of blindness and even an imprisonment. It’s an interesting commentary on human nature on a whole, and how Anne refuses to be blind and dumb to the world around her, and doesn’t allow Helen to be the same. Even the final moments, as everything comes together for Helen, the sky opens and the sun shines down on her.

Of course, not much more can be said for Patty Duke’s incredible turn as Helen. The only real problem with her work is that it may be too good, it’s difficult to not stand back and think how good she is. Her vocal performance especially is stirring.

It also has to be said, I remember watching this film in school as a child. I remember parts of it quite vividly, the opening scene especially remains ingrained in my mind. Even today it is an incredible frightening and disturbing scene, as the realization that her daughter cannot see or hear dawns on her mother. The surrounding darkness, coupled with the screaming of both parents is potent, and will no doubt stay with me for a long time to come.