An innocent banker named Andy Dufresne

Is fingered for two vengeful murders in Maine,

Imprisoned for life for the death of his wife,

As well as her lover, life sentences twain.

 

Behind the cold fences and walls of Shawshank,

With vice and corruption unseen at his bank,

Browbeaten and humbled, Dufresne might have crumbled

And yet he shares kindness with no need to thank.

 

Befriending “the man who can get things” named Red,

Dufresne carves a niche in this prison instead.

The warden devout has no scruples about

Employing Dufresne in the scams he has led.

 

The years of routine pass without a parole,

And those who receive it are no longer whole.

Dufresne has the time and the patience sublime

To build a library, a high-minded goal.

 

With nineteen years gone, Dufresne starkly can see

The warden’s obtuseness to one simple plea.

His reason to stay is then taken away,

And Andy is ready to visit the sea.

For Andy Dufresne, hope was never in vain;

Redemption and justice at last set him free.

__________________

 

When I first saw The Shawshank Redemption, I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. It’s one of the more brutal films on my list, filled with the kind of profanity and savagery I tend to avoid. Yet, without the objectionable content, it is such a moving story and so powerfully told that I couldn’t help but join the myriad critics who have praised it.

As Andy Dufresne, Tim Robbins has that “icy and remorseless” quality that makes Andy seem like the prime suspect for a double homicide, balanced with a detached intelligence and latent mischief only fully appreciated by his fellow inmates. Though Red was intended as a white character, Morgan Freeman makes the role his own with an Oscar-nominated performance and a candid and profound voice-over that marked him as the ultimate narrator. As released “lifer” Brooks, James Whitmore complements the film’s most poignant scene, a touching example of acting, music, and direction illustrating a sad and terminal point. Bob Gunson gets surprisingly dark as Warden Norton, forever making me hesitate to use the word “obtuse.” There’s something chilling about how he hums “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” after having murdered and manipulated to protect his money laundering, and he succeeds in creating one of the few religious villains who are clearly revealed and condemned as hypocrites without condemning the faith they obviously have not taken to heart. Also (the inevitable Lost alert), hard-core guard Byron Hadley is played by character and voice actor Clancy Brown, who appeared as Kelvin on my favorite show.

Despite the gloomy, callous atmosphere of the prison, the film boasts numerous scenes of beauty and hope which are able to balance out the dark elements. Sweeping overhead shots of the prison yard are contrasted with the confined prison quarters, and the use of repeated scenes (Norton stepping from the darkness, Brooks’s farewell, Andy’s end-of-night business routine) is employed brilliantly. Though I had been previously exposed to parodies of the climactic reveal (such as Hey Arnold: The Movie), it still was a surprise for me and remains a satisfying illustration of cinematic sleight of hand. Director Frank Darabont was definitely the right fit for adapting Stephen King’s novella, and he must have enjoyed the experience, later adapting other King books like The Green Mile and The Mist, though not quite with the same skill as his first Oscar nominee.

One probable reason that I so admire the film is that it is what I would consider a “meet-‘em-and-move-on” story. Though not typical of that subgenre since Andy and Red remain static for the most part, the way in which various characters float in and out of their lives (abusive Bogs, institutionalized Brooks, tragic Tommy) is not unlike other members of the genre. Plus, all such films are marked by some kind of potentially tear-inducing consummation or reunion, and this is no exception. Despite much foul language, the film is an exquisite paean to hope, which will live on as a modern classic, because “hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

Best line: (Red, when Andy is playing a snatch of opera for the inmates) “I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I’d like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can’t be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free.” (For the record, they were actually singing about revealing a man’s love affair.)

 

Rank: 60 out of 60

 

© 2015 S. G. Liput

283 Followers and Counting

(Spoiler alert)

 

Two black girls in Georgia are never a bother,

But both are still coveted by their own father.

Young Celie’s delivered two children already,

And her only solace is dear sister Nettie.

 

When one Mr. Johnson comes seeking a wife,

It’s Celie he’s given, a servant for life.

He beats her, insults her, and treats her like dirt;

It’s Nettie he wants, and he’s eager to flirt.

 

When she still refuses, he sends her away,

But she swears to write, every night, every day.

The years pass in silence as Mister’s kids grow,

And some brash Sofia espouses Harpo.

 

She proves too high-strung to remain as his wife,

But he builds a juke joint for music and strife.

When Mister’s own prostitute stays for a while,

Shug bonds with Miss Celie and gets her to smile.

 

A word from the mayor’s wife quickly upsets

Sofia, who gives just as good as she gets.

This sends her to jail, crushing spirit and soul,

And twelve years locked up take a terrible toll.

 

When Shug visits them, Celie finds, when compelled,

The letters from Nettie that Mister withheld.

She stands up to him and insists she depart,

Which leaves him dumb-struck, and Sofia takes heart.

 

From then on, Miss Celie, though ugly and fraught,

Has luck on her side, whereas Mister does not.

As if God is trying to help them along,

Shug also makes up with her father in song.

 

At last, Mister sees all the pain he’s caused Celie

And sends her a gift given slyly and freely.

A tearful reunion, a long-hoped surprise

Fills Celie with joy that no pain can disguise.

___________________

 

The Color Purple, based on Alice Walker’s Pulitzer-winning novel, was a huge departure for Steven Spielberg, known for action and sci-fi blockbusters rather than emotional period dramas.  It proved how diversified his filmography could become and how skilled he is at coaxing powerful performances from his actors.

Whoopi Goldberg in particular, up to then strictly a comedienne, exhibits one of the most astounding transitions to drama imaginable, portraying Miss Celie in all her vulnerability and long-suffering shyness. Danny Glover as Mister delivers such a brutally despicable performance that it’s sometimes hard to imagine him as a good guy in films like Lethal Weapon and Silverado.  Margaret Avery plays Shug with both crudity and tenderness, and other up-and-coming African-American actors are well-cast, including Rae Dawn Chong and a young Laurence Fishburne (credited as Larry Fishburne).  However, the most moving performance for me comes from debuting Oprah Winfrey as Sofia, a woman forced to fight for her independence, who ends up fighting too hard.  I’m hardly a fan of Oprah, but she most certainly deserved the Best Supporting Actress Oscar (she lost to Angelica Huston for Prizzi’s Honor).

As inspiring as The Color Purple is in the end, it is also an unbearably sad portrait of cruelty and a downtrodden life.  Sad is the simplest way to describe all the pain in this film.  It’s sad that nearly every male character treats a woman as a thing to be ordered, beaten, and used.  It’s sad that Mister shamelessly prepares for his mistress in full view of and assisted by his own wife.  It’s sad that the bonds of marriage and parenthood mean nothing and that Celie has a dejectedly ignorant idea of what love is.  It’s sad that Shug’s moral choices alienate her preacher father and that one lapse in judgment ruins Sofia’s life.

Yet the final half hour is full of heartfelt reconciliations and reunions that make all the suffering bearable, if not worthwhile. I first viewed The Color Purple after I entered my current state of rarely if ever crying, but had I seen it when younger, I surely would have bawled multiple times with tears of both sorrow and joy.  My VC still chokes up at the end after multiple viewings.

Sad movies can be tricky. Some attempt social commentary that leaves me feeling manipulated and depressed (The Bicycle Thief, When the Wind Blows); others like The Color Purple balance the misery with moments of kindness and light that ultimately leave viewers satisfied. (Grave of the Fireflies may lean more to the former side, but there’s enough of the latter to win me over.  It’s still the only film that can get my lacrimal glands working.)

Though it failed to win any of its eleven Oscar nominations (being overshadowed by Sydney Pollack’s Out of Africa), The Color Purple is a masterpiece, one of those films that makes critics wax philosophical about the triumph of the human spirit.  Well done, Mr. Spielberg.

Best line: (Sofia) “Set in that jail, I set in that jail till I near about done rot to death. I know what it like, Miss Celie, wanna go somewhere and can’t. I know what it like to wanna sing… and have it beat out ‘ya. I want to thank you, Miss Celie, for everything you done for me. I ‘members that day, I’s in the store with Miss Millie; I’s feelin’ real down, I’s feelin’ mighty bad. And when I seed you…I knowed there is a God. I knowed there is a God. And one day I’s gonna get to come home.”

 

Rank: 55 out of 60

 

© 2014 S. G. Liput

241 Followers and Counting

 

Miss Jane is one hundred and ten years old,

And one writer asks for her story untold.

As Civil Rights tensions are rising nearby,

She tells of her life with a glistening eye.

 

She grew up a slave and remembered the day

When freedom was hers once the Blue beat the Gray.

She tried heading north amid unfriendliness

And gained a young boy but made little progress.

 

Adopting this Ned as her own, they both grew,

And Ned dreamed of teaching, displeasing a slew

Of dangerous Kluxes. Not wanting to grieve,

His mother convinced him to finally leave.

 

As further years passed, Jane found romance with Joe,

A horse trainer killed when he would not lie low.

When Ned returned home with a family as well,

He would not mince words, and by shotgun he fell.

 

Some decades went by, which she does recollect,

And Jane’s age and wisdom demanded respect.

The spellbound reporter can’t help but admire

This well-seasoned woman and her life entire.

 

When she hears of close violence, wholly improper,

She goes into town, and no one can stop her.

She drinks from the fountain reserved just for whites,

Achieving a final stand for civil rights.

__________________

 

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman is a landmark film, one of the first television movies to focus on history from the perspective of black Americans, coming three years before the more well-known miniseries Roots. Cicely Tyson gives a double-Emmy-winning performance as Miss Jane, both as a young woman and a scratchy-voiced 110-year-old elder, and the scenes involving the departure and return of her son are especially touching. Stan Winston and Rick Baker, known for creature effects in Star Wars and Men in Black, created the Emmy-winning make-up, which convincingly transforms the 40-year-old Tyson into a believable relic of a bygone century. (Interesting fact: Thalmus Rasulala plays the older version of Tyson’s adoptive son Ned, but, when both of them starred in Roots three years later, they were married, playing Kunta Kinte’s African parents.)

The film is somewhat similar to another meet-‘em-and-move-on film, 1970’s Little Big Man, in detailing the extended, frequently sad life story of a make-up-laden interviewee, but it depicts the struggles of postbellum African-Americans rather than Native Americans. Jane meets a number of influential people, a kind Union soldier who bestows on her a freed name, a difficult plantation owner bent on keeping her husband close by, an accented acquaintance willing to murder anyone. These rather short character moments heighten the sense of realism since life is so much more than just the big connections (parent, husband, child, etc.) Sadly, all of these relationships end in heartache, since Jane foresees the arrival of grief but is powerless to stop it, lamely pleading for her loved ones to listen without giving any explanation why.

The highlight of the film that makes everything before worthwhile is the final and most famous scene at the water fountain. Miss Jane makes a wordless demonstration, and even if the officers glaring at her are probably unaware of the full extent of her sorrows, it’s clear that her long life had earned her this one boon, this one silent and peaceful protest, this one chance to lead, however brief. It’s a small but extraordinarily triumphant moment.

Between Cicely Tyson’s emotional performance and the realistic make-up, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman is a sometimes mournful, sometimes inspiring meet-‘em-and-move-on that proves the power made-for-television films can carry.

Best line: (the aged Miss Jane, to the reporter, perhaps comparing herself to the tree) “But an old oak like this one here, that’s been here all these years and knows more than you’ll ever know, it ain’t craziness, son; it’s just the nobility you respects.”

 

Artistry: 8

Characters/Actors: 10

Entertainment: 7

Visual Effects: 10

Originality: 8

Watchability: 6

 

TOTAL: 49 out of 60

 

Next: #127 – Ghostbusters

© 2014 S. G. Liput

197 Followers and Counting

 

The young Oskar Schell, a peculiar, smart lad,

Enjoyed all the puzzles made up by his dad,

Unique expeditions, inventive and witty,

That forced him to question and search New York City.

 

He loved his dad dearly but came home one day

To find Dad’s phone messages trying to say

That something had happened, unknown to his son,

September 11 in 2001.

 

He hid those six messages Mom couldn’t hear,

And kept them in secret for nearly a year.

He can’t understand why his father is dead,

And drifts from his mom after cruel things he said.

 

He finds in a closet a blue vase that breaks,

Revealing a key which sets up the stakes.

He thinks the name “Black” is a dubious clue

To something his dad wanted him to pursue.

 

He sets up a system, obsessive and thorough,

To find every person named Black in each borough.

The first, Abby Black, doesn’t know of the key,

And every Black after can’t help Oskar’s plea.

 

At one point, he meets his old grandmother’s Renter,

Who can’t seem to speak but lets Oskar be venter.

He offers through notes to assist Oskar’s quest

And joins him on trips as a reticent guest.

 

The quiet old man’s both a blessing and bother,

And Oskar believes he must be his grandfather.

They meet many Blacks, but no progress is made,

And both have their doubts about this whole crusade.

 

When Oskar tries playing the answering machine,

The Renter can’t take it and stops their routine.

He’s simply enabling Oskar’s obsession

And chooses to leave, sparking Oskar’s aggression.

 

A circled phone number leads Oskar right back

To where it all started, to sad Abby Black.

Late one night, she takes Oskar over to see

Her unseen ex-husband, who knows of the key.

 

This William Black says that the vase he gave Schell

Was a gift from his father, who’s dead now as well.

He too made a search for the key that he had,

Which holds no great secrets from Oskar’s own dad.

 

The boy then admits that, the day Dad did die,

He could have picked up but was too scared to try.

He flees for a tantrum from all of these shocks,

Unwilling to see what the Black key unlocks.

 

His mother calms him by assuring her son

She followed his efforts since when he’d begun.

She too met the Blacks while preparing his way

And knew where he’d be on his every search day.

 

He starts to find closure and not feel as bad

When he solves the last puzzle left by his dad.

His grandfather comes back, and woefulness clears

As Oskar at last learns to conquer his fears.

____________________

 

I wasn’t sure at first if I could consider Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close a “meet ‘em and move on” movie, but this latest viewing confirmed it to me. It features a journey, a driving relationship, a revisiting of many of those encountered toward the end, and perhaps the most literal portrayal of the words “meet ‘em and move on,” since Oskar allows only six minutes for every Black on his list and then tries to move on. Based on the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, the film’s powerful story lends itself to this often emotional sub-genre.

The film’s reception truly bewildered me since several critics insisted it was terrible and decried its Oscar nomination for Best Picture. It remains one of the only Best Picture nominees with a “rotten” score on Rotten Tomatoes (46%). What they saw as syrupy and sentimental, I saw as heartfelt and heart-breaking. Its plot is also presented in a unique way through insightful voiceovers and frequent flashbacks. I tend to think it somehow became the “in” thing to criticize the film, just as American Hustle earned overrated accolades it didn’t necessarily deserve.

Most still agreed, though, on the impressive performance of young Thomas Horn, who earned the role after being noticed when he won Kids “Jeopardy!” Though he is sometimes rather irritating, Horn gives Oskar both his precociousness and vulnerability, and it’s hard not to feel sorry for him as he tries to make sense of something that doesn’t. True to its tagline, the film isn’t about 9/11 but every day after, and Oskar and his mother embody all the pain and confusion left in the wake of the “worst day.”

Sandra Bullock evokes the grief of Oskar’s mother even better than in Gravity, and though much of the film leads you to believe she is a neglectful parent to let her son wander New York in search of strangers every Saturday, her love and involvement are made clear by the end. While this makes her more admirable, I still think she should have gone with him.

Max von Sydow gives an Oscar-nominated performance as the Renter without speaking a single word. His notes are a unique form of communication but are often difficult to read. Tom Hanks is skillfully likable as usual as Oskar’s dead father, who tows the line between potential puzzle-making genius and concerned parent trying to keep his son active and unafraid. Viola Davis (The Help, Won’t Back Down) and Jeffrey Wright (Casino Royale, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire) also prove their acting chops as the estranged Blacks who hold the answers that disappoint Oskar, though their roles aren’t completely fleshed out, and there are still questions left unanswered about the key.

Unlike the book, the film explains some of Oskar’s odd behavior as the result of potential Asperger’s syndrome, a point which, combined with the trauma of 9/11, also clarifies why he becomes so focused on his key quest. Though all the other Blacks he meets don’t hold the answers for which he is searching and are seen too quickly to have much development as characters, they offer snapshots of life that make them seem like real and diverse people. In addition, many (certainly not all) offer thoughtful little touches—hugs, drawings, prayers—that aren’t what Oskar wants but in some ways may be what he needs.

In the end, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is a very serious movie about a serious subject, death and grief and learning to move on. It’s a film that is at once sad and hopeful and one deserving of much more appreciation than it received.

Best line (there are a lot of good ones, but this one helps to sum up some of what I love about “meet ‘em and move on” films): (Oskar Schell, monologuing) “I started with a simple problem… a key with no lock… and I designed a system I thought fit the problem. I broke everything down in the smallest parts… and tried to think of each person as a number… in a gigantic equation.  [next monologue] But it wasn’t working… because people aren’t like numbers. They’re more like letters… and those letters want to become stories… and Dad said that stories need to be shared.”

 

Artistry: 9

Characters/Actors: 9

Entertainment: 7

Visual Effects: 9

Originality: 8

Watchability: 6

Other (language): -2

 

TOTAL: 46 out of 60

 

Next: #166 – The Dark Knight trilogy

© 2014 S. G. Liput

164 Followers and Counting