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The Nice Storm Pleasantville starring Tobey Maguire, Jeff Daniels, Joan Allen, William H. Macy, J.T. Walsh, Don Knotts, Reese Witherspoon; written and directed by Gary Ross Reviewed by Mike Hertenstein
First, we visit the reality of the Fifties' family sitcom, embodied and parodied in what we are shown to be a true "classic" of the genre, Pleasantville. This reality offers a warm welcome to a kindler, gentler time and place, where "family values" await you in the Parker home: Dad aka George (played by William H. Macy), steps through the front door with his trademark greeting, "Honey, I'm home!", to receive a waiting martini from Mom, aka Betty (Joan Allen), who's been working hard all day in the kitchen, making cookies for Bud and Mary Sue. Life for the Parkers is clearly pleasant; the hardest of problems in this black and white world are solved when the smiling local firemen rescue a kitty from a tree.
But then there's Reality Number Two -- the Nineties, and not just on television, and in black and white, but in the "real", full-colored, world. The problems here only begin with ozone depletion, rampant HIV, and joblessness. And the concept of "family" barely exists in this world in any identifiable fashion. No wonder David Wagner (Tobey Maguire) escapes the second reality into the first whenever he can, to vicariously experience family life with the happy Parkers. David is himself a throwback to your "classic" Fifties sitcom kid. He shyly stands back and pines in vain for the dream girl he knows he could never get -- while everybody else in his "reality" is having great and constant sex, including David's self-described "slut" sister, Jennifer (Reese Witherspoon), and their own mother, who abandons her children for what promises to be a wild weekend with her much-younger boyfriend. Quickly, Jennifer takes advantage of that situation to invite over a hot hunky date for MTV viewing and wherever else the music takes them. Meanwhile, David has his heart set on keeping their tv tuned to the Pleasantville marathon on a "Nick-At-Night" clone channel.
Thus, the stage is set for that conflict of innocence versus a cruel world which screenwriter Gary Ross (showing a deft touch here in his first outing as director) has already marked as his territory in his scripts for Big and Dave. In Pleasantville, as in Ross's earlier fables, the action is set in motion by a fairy-tale twist: when Jennifer and David tussle over the tv-remote (and after the further intervention of a mysterious television repairman, played by Don Knotts) they are transported right into TV-Land, to Pleasantville, to a world of black and white. "What the hell is going on?" demands David of the repairman, still visible on the tv in the living room at their new location. "You can't talk like that here," comes the reply.
No, indeed, for they have truly entered a different world: one of high-fat diets and all those kindler, gentler, family values. David and Jennifer suddenly find themselves Parkers, in place of Bud and Mary Sue. For David, this miracle is a dream come true. Suddenly, his vast knowledge of Pleasantville trivia is vital information, enabling him to fit right in. Jennifer, on the other hand, is lost, out-of-place and miserable ("We're like stuck in Nerdville!") -- until a hunk in a hotrod provides a familiar reference point. "Who's that?" she asks "Bud", who replies, "Skip Hunter, captain of the basketball team." Smiling and waving back at Skip, Jennifer decides to temporarily table her objections to TV-Land reality.
Certainly Jennifer isn't buying that argument, and she becomes a wrench in the Pleasantville works. She cuts off Skip in his Wally Cleaveresque Gee Whizzing and takes him straight to Lover's Lane for some great sex. This is a big moment in Pleasantville, where all the Moms and Dads sleep in separate beds. In fact, on his way home that night, the dazed Skip notices a flower in a rosebush is no longer black and white, but red. The next day, Skip describes his experience to his teammates and they all start missing baskets. "You don't understand," David tells Jennifer, "you're messing with their whole universe." Her reply is pert: "Maybe it needs to be messed with." Ultimately, even Bud can't help spreading the contagion. His suggestion to Mr. Johnson to try doing things differently in the diner opens his till-then predictable boss to the possibility of possibilities; later Mr. Johnson's gaze meets and holds that of Bud's mom, and we get a clue just how far those options might increase. "What goes on at that Lover's Lane?" Mom queries "Mary Sue", who bluntly explains. "What's sex?" replies Mom, and Jennifer goes into greater detail.
Sexual pleasure, then, becomes the transformative experience, an act of rebellion against the black and white world which allows the citizens of Pleasantville to enter the world of color. After hearing about the birds and the bees, Betty's response is "Your father would never do anything like that" -- so Mary Sue clues her in on certain other options. Soon Mom is experimenting, and sure enough, her world bursts into color, as the black and white tree in the Parker's black and white yard bursts into bright yellow flame. Of course, there's never been a fire in Pleasantville before. Bud has to holler "Cat!" in a crowded firehouse in order to get the guys moving, then has to show them exactly what to do. Later, the kids at the diner are amazed. At their urging, Bud recounts other lore of the world outside Pleasantville, fueling their own internal flames, and increasing the number of options on everyone's personal palette. Mr. Johnson, an artist, is soon expressing himself in most vibrant manner with a few more colors of the wind, a including a red-hot purple-passion involving Bud's Mom, Mrs. Betty Parker.
The black and white to color effect is very nicely done, and most effective. Of course, it is
true that plenty of great films have been shot entirely in black and white. It's also true that the mere application of color to such films isn't an improvement, but closer to an act of artistic vandalism -- like adding sound to a silent film, or focus to an impressionist painting. And yet, when used as a metaphor for the experience of achieving a richer, fuller life, the effect is quite powerful. The classic example would be the first time it was done, in The Wizard of Oz (where the ending, when Dorothy -- who had experienced the full color of Oz, settles for the black and white of Kansas -- seems a betrayal of the fullness of life.) The central impulse of all Romantic art, which includes most film, is to provoke an innate sense of human longing, to draw attention to what we lack by giving give us a glimpse of that elusive missing piece. Conveying the possibility of being able to finally realize a new dimension of experience, as in the case of the Flatlander who comes to understand the world of 3D, has universal appeal; it is to touch a deep chord in all of us, it is the stuff that myth is made of.
In Pleasantville, that chord of universal longing is surely struck, for example, at those moments when Mom realizes her limited (i.e. black and white) world is becoming larger, when she herself begins to turn into a multi-hued human being. Such moments present the very "truth-in-the-moment" the film's director told an audience at the Chicago International Film Festival he sought to convey in his otherwise fantastic setting.
And so much the more reason the viewer should take care. For "truth-in-the-moment" can be pressed into the service of the Big Lie. One example is the Nazi propaganda film, Triumph of the Will, which we introduce not to raise the level of the discussion to hysterics, but because Pleasantville director Gary Ross himself dropped the name of that notorious film's director, Leni Reifenstahl, in talking about certain allusions he made in a few scenes in his own film. "Truth-in-the-moment" in Triumph of the Will, we recall, included the undeniable truth of the breathtaking power of images of power -- of choreographed marching soldiers, banners and lights, pressed into service to glorify the Nazi state, to win converts to a dubious cause.
The real reason such talk of fascism and manipulation is appropriate to this discussion is because the director of Pleasantville has already introduced those topics himself. In the film, as the color diffuses through that previously black and white town, the enemies of such blossoming diversity are depicted, surprise, as fascist. The burning of books from the Pleasantville library (which are suddenly no longer blank) and the trashing of Mr. Johnson's diner after he begins painting in color are indeed evocative of Nazi book burnings and Kristallnacht, the infamous rampage against Jewish businesses early in the history of the Nazi regime. The Pleasantville logo, a pair of clasped hands, shot from low-angle behind Mayor "Big Bob" (J.T. Walsh) becomes as fascist a symbol as a swastika. Another low-angle shot of the mayor denouncing the invasion of "coloreds" was admittedly swiped by the director from George C. Scott's God Bless America speech in Patton, the one delivered in front of a huge American flag. What is most ironic here is that Pleasantville, a film which makes much of turning a black and white world into full color, reduces the complexities of freedom and order, and of individual and community, into battles of "Us" versus "Them". And in a world so neatly divided, of course, anybody who so much as raises a question about the wisdom of dispensing with any and all social restrictions risks being dubbed a "fascist."
But, of course, this is not the case. Pleasantville is just as pleasant as ever, only now it's in full color. During a Q and A session following the premiere of the film at the Chicago Film Festival, a member of the audience asked director Gary Ross if he thought he might have "pulled some punches" with such an ending.
ROSS: What do you mean there's no negative stuff? David's Mom makes the comment that her own life is all f***ed up.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: But she wasn't in Pleasantville when she made that comment, but the "real world". What happened to all those negative consequences of living in the "real world" after Pleasantville broke out into full color? Don't you think you might have been pulling some punches there?
ROSS: You don't call book-burning and Kristallnachtnegative? If you don't think that's negative, then I apologize.
In other words, a film which presumes to explode a myth actually imposes one: i.e. "Welcome Pleasureville, where the geography of reality is limited to the intersection of Sex and Fun." But if the citizen's of Gary Ross' world don't know what lies beyond its imaginary borders, other people know only too well. Indeed, a more truthful, and multi-hued, depiction of the consequences of sexual revolution can be seen in film that uses a different weather metaphor, The Ice Storm. By coincidence, Tobey Maguire and Joan Allen also play a mother and her son in that devastating 1997 film version of Rick Moody's novel about the Sixties' loosening of sexual taboos and the consequences that followed for families and individuals, and especially children. The world depicted here is far from colorful, in fact, but rather one grown a uniform shade of grey from the chilly breath of "freedom". The Ice Storm and Pleasantville will make a fascinating double-feature for some future Tobey Maguire and/or Joan Allen film festival.
Meanwhile, for a guy who would introduce viewers to a fuller way of seeing, Gary Ross seems to have a blind spot concerning the tricky relation between innocence and carnal knowledge. His otherwise charming script for Big hits a sour note when the child-in-the-adult-body has a sexual experience (the same sour note struck in Forest Gump). Virginity or chastity may be "fascist" ideas for many people these days, but only until we bring children into the equation: go rent The Ice Storm if you have trouble understanding that notion. Sexual awakening marks the end of childhood, introducing all sorts of painful complications into life. This truth has led some to conclude that "the Fall", the loss of Paradise in the Garden of Eden story, had to do with the introduction of sex. But, of course, that's not the way The Fall happened if you go back and read the original text. Nor, if you examine the text of recent history, will you discover that the smashing of sexual taboos was responsible for bringing about a return to the Garden.
It is true that facing and assimilating sexual complexities is big part of growing up. Much, indeed, may be gained, but you're a liar if you say that nothing whatsoever is lost in that translation. Likewise, many would argue that much was gained by the social revolution of the Sixties; but something else was indeed lost, something our culture clearly wishes, like Marty McFly, we could go back and fix. Part of what was lost was the idea of a transcendent and moral order, "fascism" to those who equate any authority or restrictions on behavior with tyranny, but without which the sense of community we are drawn to in those old movies and television shows would not have been possible.
That "possibility" is really the main one moviegoers will be seeking when they visit Pleasantville, just like David Wagner did in the early part of the film. When David returns to the "real world" at the end of the film, however, the lesson he brings from his Pleasantville experience is that a harsh reality is better than a pleasant fantasy. He tells his mom, who laments the way her life is going, that there is no "supposed to be" which we can't help but feel we keep falling short of. In other words, the down side of losing that sense of moral order is that our sense of community dissolves; the bright side is that we can do whatever we want.
This is an entirely hypocritical sentiment coming from a film that is chock full of "supposed to be": Ross clearly wants us to know that we're not "supposed" to burn books, that women are not "supposed" to stay at home, that a common notion of moral order is not "supposed" to restrict any individual whim of the moment. And Ross's script for Dave was even more loaded with Gee Whiz optimism and a sense of "supposed to be" than Pleasantville. As with many who presume to preach the up side of freedom from a moral order, "supposed to be" nevertheless keeps showing up in Ross's Pleasantville -- just like the color that keeps breaking through on Mom's face, despite her initial efforts to hide it behind black and white make-up.
Life may not "supposed to be" like Fifties' sitcoms; but it is "supposed to
be" like something -- something it definitely is not in "the real
world." It is glimpses of "supposed to be" that draw us to watch all those
Fifties sitcoms; ironically, the same thing that will draw people to watch
Pleasantville. |
We are torn between the best of times and the worst of times in this fairy tale of two cities -- or, more precisely, of two realities.
A day at Pleasantville High, though, is an education for them both. They learn the pleasant life means everybody always gets along, and nobody on the basketball team ever misses a shot. But this world is also limited to the intersection of Main and Elm; when Mary Sue raises the question of "What's outside Pleasantville?", she provokes stares as blank as the pages of the books in the school library. Further, the ecology of Utopia turns out to be rather fragile: when Bud tries to dissuade Skip from asking Mary Sue out for a date, Skip is deeply disturbed, and -- gasp! -- starts missing baskets. Bud's boss at the diner, Mr. Johnson (Jeff Daniels), is likewise easily befuddled by anything that disturbs his regular daily routine. David cautions his sister: "If you don't go out with [Skip], their whole universe could get thrown out of whack." As in Back to the Future, the "Or Else" factor involves messing with "Normal Life" -- which in this case is imaginary, so the case for non-interference doesn't seem nearly as strong.
AND YET ONE MUST ALWAYS BE CAREFUL with myth. For an artist who plucks a universal chord and then, while our hearts are still ringing, nudges us toward a particular ideology has entered the realm of manipulation, of propaganda. One can easily imagine the very effective gimmick of Pleasantville employed in the service of virtually any idea. That's why the safest and truest way to do a fairy story is often to set it "once upon a time," in "a land far, far away". Actual history, combined with myth, can make for a dangerous potion; Stalinist filmmakers, for example, could have utilized the gimmick to depict a black and white capitalist world, suddenly blossoming into color as the "higher truth" of Communism spread. So could cigarette or deodorant advertisers: "Try Pleasant cigarettes/deodorant and your world will transform from dreary black and white into living color!"
The "Us" vs "Them" conflict of Pleasantville climaxes in a Show Trial modeled on that of To Kill A Mockingbird, with the "coloreds" segregated in the balcony, and the bigoted citizenry down below. The climax of the climax is modeled, however, on Pollyana, when passionate speechifying by "Bud" brings around all the town meanies in one dramatic moment. And then the back doors of the courtroom open and somebody shouts, "Hey, look at this...!" One half-expects the shouting voice to continue, "The ozone's depleted! HIV is rampant! Joblessness, too!" One also half-expects the street to recall the contemporary street in Back to the Future, with police helicopters, the dilapidated buildings of a dead downtown, a few wandering homeless people, the old-fashioned movie theater now turned into a seedy porno house.