Little Children

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Director Todd Field

Field with writer Tom Perrotta

Tom Perrotta

Kate Winslet and Patrick Wilson

LITTLE CHILDREN         A-                                                                                                       USA  (137 mi)  2006  ‘Scope  d: Todd Field

After all, what was adult life but one moment of weakness piled on top of another?  Most people just fell in line like obedient little children, doing exactly what society expected of them at any given moment, all the while pretending that they’d actually made some sort of choice.  —Little Children, by Tom Perrotta, 2004

A small understated gem of a film whose bold discomforting detachment and occasional mocking tone belies its aim to cut through the superficiality that strangely touches on our Puritan interests as a society, where we all have to huddle together in mass and feel like we’re cut from the same cloth, where everyone obviously must agree with us, as there’s simply no other point of view.  This image of pointing inwards toward ourselves becomes a small town portrait of a democratized America which has all but forgotten the meaning of the word freedom.  Unraveling like an icy and occasionally condescending fairy tale, this slumbering giant of a nation is portrayed with a sobering vision that at times resembles the unpleasant, slightly mischievous sarcasm of von Trier’s DOGVILLE (2003), with an omniscient narrator (Will Lyman) who reads his lines as if out of a book, accentuating the literary roots, routinely interrupting the story and intruding into the lives of the characters, effectively distancing us by placing the narrative in the immediate past, while at the same time offering vivid insight into their inner experiences.  Sounding oddly detached and outside the realm of the characters he’s commenting upon, this is an oddly oriented film that reaches the depths of our emotions with what appears to be “wrong” characters, as it certainly catches us by surprise when a man’s voice starts voicing the innermost thoughts of a female character, “Smiling politely to mask a familiar feeling of desperation, Sarah reminded herself to think like an anthropologist.  She was a researcher studying the behavior of typical suburban women.  She was not a typical suburban woman herself.”  Even the trailer is impressive, beautifully constructed and masterfully edited, Little Children - Trailer YouTube (1:42), envisioning the film as a train wreck, set to a ticking clock, heightening the anticipation of what we’re about to see.  Filmed mostly in Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island, the film is shot in Scope on Super 35mm by Antonio Calvache in a more adventurous manner than In the Bedroom, expressing more visual elegance, taking advantage of more diverse techniques and stylistic devices, perhaps envisioned by the director, who is himself an avid photographer.  This film, along with Spike Lee’s 25th Hour (2002), may be the two best films exploring the significantly altered post 9/11 world, cryptically asking what exactly is meant by Homeland Security?  Despite a larger budget, the film retains its small-scale approach, and was barely seen in theaters, only earning about half what it cost to make this film, yet this is a superbly written story, adapted by Field working together with author Tom Perrotta from his 2004 novel, which was set in the summer of 2001, while Field sets the film after 9/11, bringing elements that were not in the novel into the film.  Capturing the hilarious yet nauseatingly mundane rhythms of daily routine that pointedly challenge our growing complacency, this literally scolds our preconceived notions as being without foresight or merit, making us go back to the drawing board and ask ourselves what kind of a world do we wish to live in, and what part are we going to play in it?  In her groundbreaking 1963 book, The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan examined the homemaker role of women in the drab suburbs, cut-off from the energy of the real world, feeling hopelessly trapped and depressed that they are stuck in a suburban wasteland, opening the door for postwar feminism, a theme embraced by this film.  Using a novelistic structure that references Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, a metaphor for the suffocation of our now over-privileged souls, Our Town (1940) returns as a similarly repressed, but now straight-jacketed nation whose values are under siege.             

Arguably Field’s most divisive film, this lurid exposure of the underside of the American Dream displays a pervasive tone of chronic dissatisfaction infecting this suburban utopia, in essence a subversive yet literary take that remains morally murky without political overkill, with a degree of subtlety that is fascinating throughout, utilizing superb, open-ended storytelling and the development of believable, well-crafted characters, none of whom are particularly likeable, filled with loneliness and desperation.  Introduced by the acerbic words of the narrator, Kate Winslet once again finds herself immersed in a powerful role as Sarah, the Madame Bovary of the neighborhood whose denial of desired passion leads her to entertain the unorthodox position that adultery is a step towards liberation, as she refuses to accept the suffocation of a loveless marriage that has all but sapped her inner spirit and left her clearly a stranger to herself.  Practicing the same rituals as all the other middle class housewives, she’s a stay-at-home mom spending “quality time” with her daughter Lucy (Sadie Goldstein) every day, but barely recognizes herself anymore.  In the children’s park, she discovers another intriguing character, Patrick Wilson is Brad, the All American guy, a stay-at-home dad caring for his own infant son, labeled the Prom King by a trio of other stay-at-home moms in the park hovering over their children, like mother hawks, budding soccer moms who practice protection through elicit yet thoroughly judgmental and stiflingly intolerant views, who are seen as a Greek chorus suspicious of anything different or out of the ordinary, a cauldron of Salem witch trial rumors and guilt by association, Kate Winslet - Little Children YouTube (1:43).  Brad is married to the beautiful but over-controlling Kathy (Jennifer Connolly), the model wife who is emotionally cold, with no interest whatsoever in sex, ever vigilant with the family budget, as she monitors his magazine subscriptions and questions his need for a cell phone.  Unable to live up to her perfectionist expectations, his lack of ambition is staggering, as he’s been unable to pass the bar exams since finishing law school, expressing little interest, literally blowing them off, clinging to the last vestiges of youth, repressing his own pent-up inner desires, while discovering he’s at an emotional standstill.  Sarah is a former literature PhD candidate turned housewife, a beleaguered loner trapped in a bad marriage and a life of ostentatious privilege, finding herself alienated and off-balance, shackled by the intellectually unstimulating role of suburban motherhood, often seen lost in thought, and while she devotes time to her daughter each day, she lacks any connection, and is absent-mindedly negligent and lackadaisical, demonstrating questionable parenting skills.  In Brad and Sarah, we find the non-breadwinners of their marriages, each struggling with feelings of inadequacy and failure, who defer to the dominant but thoroughly flawed characteristics of their more economically ambitious partners, the ones “society” would label as the most responsible.  In this hole or spiritual pit that they have allowed themselves to fall into, there is an extraordinary urge to try something else, to take a risk, to give themselves another opportunity to rediscover who they are and what they believe in.  This film gives them that chance through romantic afternoon interludes which may be more an open act of rebellion than love, but it appears to provide them a catalyst for growth, Little Children - Sara & Brad Kissing Scene | Kate Winslet Patrick Wilson YouTube (1:07).       

At some point during an innocuous dinner invitation, Kathy figures out that Sarah is more than a playground friend, yet rather than be angry, she seems more insulted that he would choose someone less glamorous than her, Little Children (2006) - Dinner Scene YouTube (1:58).  Nonetheless, she brings her mother (Catherine Wolf) into the home to follow her husband’s every move, literally smothering any lingering possibilities.  Desperately trying to break out of the apparently prescribed paths, they take refuge in relationships that have no future, expressing a curious way of looking into the human psyche, discovering a potpourri of chronic discontent lurking in the pristine safety of America’s backyards.  Within this community conflict, a variation of television’s Desperate Housewives (2004-2012), the protection of children is a moral rule that is thrown around in the most hostile and despicable manner, where anything different, or not perfect, is considered a threat.  Throw into this mix a pedophile, Ronnie (simply an amazing performance by Jackie Earle Haley who steals the picture after an absence of 13 years in the industry), a convicted sex offender struggling with his psychosexual disorder, recently released from serving his prison term, he becomes synonymous with evil lurking right under their noses, present in the most familiar places, living at home with his mother, the still loving and supportive Phyllis Sommerville, right in the heart of the community.  Her home is decorated with rows of carefully assembled bric-a-brac of porcelain “little children,” Hummel figurines, alongside chiming clocks, exhibiting a kind of perfection that Ronnie can never live up to, with his mother continually coddling him like an infant, the only person who has ever treated him with tenderness and affection, yet in her eyes he remains that same innocent child that he was when he was born, immune to his transgressions.  In suburbia, the pedophile is the local equivalent of al-Qaeda, an extension of the FRANKENSTEIN (1931) movies with an agitated mob carrying torches, shovels, and pitchforks chasing a monster through the forests, with Ronnie becoming the scapegoat for all the hidden crimes of the community, as there are posters with his face everywhere sending disturbing warnings, where moral order can only be established with a blistering purge of his sins, yet this highly public moral crusade serves as a distraction from any self-examination of society’s own sins.  There’s a scene on a hot summer day where Ronnie decides to go swimming in the public pool that is nothing less than hair-raising, with all the moms screaming in unison for their kids to get out of the pool, as if there was a shark in the waters, isolating the offending party, obsessed with the threat he poses, Little Children - Pool YouTube (4:04), yet it perfectly expresses the essence of an overzealous, moral crusade hysteria that is still at play in our society, bearing a strange resemblance to the post 9/11 terrorist alert hysteria.  Making matters worse, a former cop, Larry (Noah Emmerich), who was kicked off the force for accidentally shooting a kid in a shopping mall, goes on a one man rampage to alert the neighborhood of this danger in their midst, posting photos of the man that dominate the urban landscape, continually hounding and harassing him at his home, never giving it a rest, treating this man like vermin that needs to be eradicated, yet his exploitive vendetta hides his own inadequacies and personal failings.  Rather than provide some hair-raising finale, the film instead moves quietly into the night, extinguishing the flames of desire, open rebellion, and insurrection, as aroused emotions simply subside into the quiet of the darkness, Little Children (2006 Todd Field) YouTube (4:58).   

After completing In the Bedroom (2001), Field attempted to pursue the rights to the landmark 1961 Richard Yates’ novel Revolutionary Road, which was eventually made by Kate Winslet’s husband at the time, Sam Mendes, Revolutionary Road (2008), an examination of the middle class flight to the suburbs in the 1950’s, finding similarities in the works of Tom Perrotta, who was famous for scripting Alexander Payne’s Election (1999), which elevated the satire of the novel, while also discovering his more recent novel, Little Children, another comic work with dark elements, a blend of satire and psychological realism, something of a critique of right-wing media’s relentless campaign to keep people in constant fear, perpetuating a post 9/11 age of anxiety.  Altering the tone of the book through the use of a narrator, the film provides a counterpoint that isn’t there in the novel, speaking over the action, voicing various points of view through a literary context, dissecting the idea of a suburban utopia which is, at heart, a land of exclusion and deep-seeded ostracism, making the material darker and more horrifying, with horror lurking behind the façade of suburban humanism.  Field deftly guides his characters through a maze of interdependencies, unfulfilled desires and dreams, aided by an observant camera and a dreamy sound design, where the sound of a passing train, repeated throughout the film, dictates escape, standing in for another world that none of the characters are able to traverse.  As if on a merry-go-round, they all come back and forth into view, again and again, where there is no clear main character, but a series of characters where the interest is evenly distributed, though Brad and Sarah are the main pair anchoring the story, where one must acknowledge that Winslet’s impulsive, private rebellion is simply intoxicating to witness, a startling reminder of her astonishing debut in Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures (1994).  There is a smug tone of deluded self-centeredness, with suggestions that an entire generation, the Little Children of the title, has abdicated their responsibilities in a reckless pursuit of satisfaction, igniting a reactionary wave of hypocrisy to fill the void, a rather sickening part of the American culture that this film relentlessly satirizes, with heavy doses of outrageous humor cleverly interjected before taking a more somber turn at the end.  While it’s conceivable that the final outcome may feel a bit contrived, it’s also a mastery of parallel editing, a beautifully integrated fantasia of collective retribution, which doesn’t in any way diminish the unusual character development or detract from the originality of the material.  Needless to say, this is a complicated work highlighting the flawed and damaged among us, from the pillars of our society, the ones who would admit no wrong, the zealously righteous who become a walking contagious disease that contaminates the very core of our lives with a reeking hypocrisy, to our own weak-kneed response to the abhorrent, swirling out-of-control moral order that is imposed upon us, where it’s easier to do nothing, say nothing, feel nothing, and allow this feeling of benign resignation to blight our withered souls, to become transformed into something meaningless and unrecognizable.  This dramatically effective work purges the obvious from the artificial surface and allows us to feel something lurking underneath that may be completely foreign to us.  Taking a page out of the innocent children’s playground in Kurosawa’s IKIRU (1952), we are left with an empty swing in a dark park at night, connected in some way to all the central characters, with no real resolution to any of the conflicts, yet we’re rediscovering within ourselves the almost completely forgotten human attribute of empathy.   

In the Bedroom

 

Director Todd Field

Field with his wife Serena Rathbun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IN THE BEDROOM             A                                                                                               USA  (131 mi)  2001  ‘Scope  d: Todd Field

A boy’s will is the wind’s will,                                                                                                          And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.                                                                        —from My Lost Youth, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1855

A modern tragedy, a wrenching portrait of grief and its ravaging effects, more relevant now than when it was released, largely due to the endless gun violence in America, rupturing the stability of ordinary lives, leaving bereaved and utterly distraught families losing children and young adults at such a young age, where the numbers are staggering, Key Statistics - Brady Campaign, forced to deal with inconsolable loss, their lives upended by a grotesque reality, leaving giant-sized holes that can never be filled.  The film is an extraordinary depiction of quiet anguish, expressing a despairing sense of irrecoverable loss, registering the shock, grief, anger, and the desire for revenge, with viewers forced to contend with the grief of bereaved parents staring down the missing void in their lives, haunted by an overwhelming sense of dread.  What this film has is adult intelligence, continually registering the pulse of the characters, getting under their skin, showing empathy by exploring the shattered lives that can never be healed, too badly damaged by a wildly fatalistic turn of events that has robbed them of their future, leaving families utterly devastated by the emptiness left behind, forever wondering what could have been.  Listed as the #3 Film of the Year by Roger Ebert, Roger Ebert's Top Ten Lists 1967-2006, and #7 by the Village Voice poll, Film Poll: Top 10 Movies by Year, 1999–2016, it was a critical and commercial success, winner of a Special Jury Prize at Sundance, the first official Sundance selection to earn a Best Picture nomination, made for $1.7 million, earning more than $43 million in its theatrical release, though the first-time director had to fight Harvey Weinstein from cutting thirty minutes.  Still it was promoted with false advertising, revealing secrets about the film that suggested it was an atmospheric thriller, something along the lines of the Coen’s neo-noir Blood Simple (1984) or the stylishly made murder mystery THE DEEP END (2001), with many critics finding it overly contrived, yet the film isn’t reliant upon the narrative, as it’s largely a reaction to it.  Not so much about a murder as the aftermath of a murder, an exposé of bottled-up emotions, this is a broodingly intensive piece of introspection, with Field crafting a small story told with near surgical precision that has largely been forgotten since then, relegated to a distant past, where the only available DVD contains no extras or director’s commentary, and has never had a Blu-Ray release that typically generates renewed interest.  The director may be known as much for the projects he never completed as those few that he did, The Lost & Unmade Projects Of Filmmaker Todd Field, a Kubrickian protégé making only three films in a quarter century, yet looking backwards, this film sews the seeds of his budding career, where anyone seeing 2022 Top Ten List #2 Tàr can appreciate the similarities in conveying the tragedy of human failings, demonstrating that rare capacity to explore the interiority of things, allowing audiences to interact with the material, provoking a multitude of differing reactions, becoming a discussion on the personal and societal ramifications of horribly destructive human behavior, revealing how tragically humans react to personal trauma, often compounding their misery.  Adapted from the 1979 short story, KILLINGS, by Andre Dubus, who tragically lost the use of his legs in a 1986 accident, setting the majority of his stories in New England, the author described his choice for a title in a 1993 interview with literature professor Olivia Carr Edenfield, Conversations with Andre Dubus - Page 154 - Google Books Result, “It’s called ‘Killings’ because everybody is getting killed in that story.  He doesn’t gain his life; he does something terrible.”  The title of the film, on the other hand, co-written by Field and Rob Festinger, refers to the rear compartment of a lobster trap known as the “bedroom,” where if it contains more than two lobsters, they begin to viciously turn on each other, but it also references the marital intimacy that emanates “in the bedroom,” a secret domain kept away from the children, yet it’s where all the most important decisions are made.  Field was introduced to the work of Dubus while studying directing at the American Film Institute in 1992, one of America’s finest short story writers, amazed that his stories were about broken people living in tightly knit communities where everyone knows their neighbors, actually visiting him at his rural Massachusetts home of Haverhill on the northern border before embarking on this film project, both feeling excitement about the story.  Having the good fortune to be mentored by both Dubus and director Stanley Kubrick, establishing a connection while working as an actor in EYES WIDE SHUT (1999), drawing inspiration to direct his first film, but both died within 11 days of one another shortly before production on this film began, with Field paying tribute to Dubus with a dedication in the final credits. 

A story of love and loss immersed in a small town New England setting, it resembles the intimacy of Kenneth Lonergan’s 2016 Top Ten List #5 Manchester by the Sea, taking place in the fishing community of Camden, Maine, a quiet escape from the rat race of urban centers, where a Red Sox broadcast is always on the air (Field purchased the rights out of his own pocket), preserving the pre-war innocence of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town (1940), where the sanctity of middle-class life prevails.  Opening with a near idyllic reverie, two lovers are seen frolicking in a field, Frank Fowler and Natalie Strout (Nick Stahl and Marisa Tomei), both very much in love, yet the bucolic surface conceals contradictions lurking underneath, with hovering parents Matt (Tom Wilkerson) and Ruth Fowler (Sissy Spacek) expressing their concern at a family barbeque, understanding the easy allure of the earthy sexiness of Natalie, fearing she may disrupt their son’s future plans, as Frank is home for the summer before heading back to school, studying to become an architect, while Natalie is older, a working class mother with two young children, not yet divorced from her abusive husband Richard Strout (William Mapother), whose family owns the local sardine cannery, a prominent fixture on the waterfront.  Ruth disapproves of this relationship, sneering at the class disparity, while Matt is more tolerant, allowing nature to take its course.  When the headstrong Richard makes an uninvited appearance to the family gathering, making a beeline straight to one of his kids celebrating their birthday, Ruth is concerned there will be trouble, quickly asking her husband to intervene, but Frank welcomes him to stay and have a meal.  Already there is palpable tension in the air.  Frank, with his boyish looks, has had plenty of girlfriends, claiming this is no different, just a summer fling, but his mother suspects this is different, as he’s considering postponing school to earn money on a fishing boat in order to be closer to Natalie and her kids, who are developing an attachment, already becoming an extended part of the family.  Matt is a local physician, and an avid fisherman, enjoying spending time on his boat tending to his lobster traps, while Ruth is a high school choir instructor with a special interest in Eastern European music, specifically Balkan states that have seen their share of political upheaval and war, repeatedly seen teaching her students a Bulgarian folk song, Zeni Me, Mamo - YouTube (3:14), which adds an underlying pathos to the film.  When Frank is roughed up by Richard with a punch to the eye, he refuses to press charges, not wishing to escalate the conflict, though it’s a clear sign of his erratic and over-controlling nature, upset to see his wife running around with another man.  Events take a tragic turn, however, when Frank, protecting Natalie and her kids from being terrorized by repeated acts of domestic violence, is shot and killed by Richard, a crime of jealousy, shattering all illusions of a tranquil life in a cozy community, sending Matt and Ruth into an emotional tailspin of anger mixed with unending despair, where it’s simply impossible to process the paralyzing hold this has on them, where there is no pain in the world more painful than losing a child.  The film is at its best in registering the shock and grief of Matt and Ruth, making the audience imagine their pain through understatement and prolonged silences, using imagery rather than words.  Shot in Rockland, Maine, where Field resides, using his own cabin in the woods for a critical scene, it’s made almost exclusively with no panning shots and a static camera by Antonio Calvache, never relying upon dramatic effects, as we cut away from the action, only hearing the shots, revealing the distraught reaction of Natalie, while we also don’t see Matt delivering the news to Ruth, instead he’s seen walking down a lonely school corridor contemplating the significance of what he’s about to do while she’s still engrossed with work.  The camera respectively, almost discreetly, follows the precisely drawn lives of each of these individuals, allowing the camera to linger on the faces, charting their emotional responses, their interactions, their conversations, capturing both what is said and what is not, where the accumulation of detail is astonishing, creating recognizable figures that resemble real life.      

Because there are no witnesses to the crime, and Richard’s parents are rich enough, the killer claims it was an accident resulting from a struggle, so instead of murder, his charges are reduced to manslaughter, possibly facing only five years in jail, released on bond until a trial can be set, which could take another year.  Meanwhile he’s out on the streets, with the grieving family forced to witness his freedom, viewing him as a ruthlessly self-centered individual, reminded every day when they see the family name on the cannery, or their delivery trucks, becoming a constant reminder of their unending torment, fueling yet another layer of grief.  Having to see her son’s killer causes no end of exasperation for Ruth, turning inward, smoking incessantly, planting herself in front of the television watching mindless shows, while Matt, a respected public figure in town, pretends everything’s OK, shrugging off any offers for help and assistance, going about his business as if nothing’s changed, but the beer he turns to at night provides no consolation.  It is the mourning of these parents where the film gains strength, elevating the increasingly tortured dynamics between husband and wife to an Ibsen-like emotional abyss, with much of the pain brought to life in the ghostly faces of Tom Wilkinson and Sissy Spacek, literally shells of themselves, barely speaking to one another, capturing their looks, silences, and restrained gestures, with a heartbroken Marisa Tomei adding her own tortured guilt, turning into a heart-wrenching meditation on grief, treading the same territory as Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter (1997), with Matt and Ruth living in the shadows, choking on the daily existence of their lives and their futile search to find meaning, where she utters at one point, “It’s like the moments between waves crashing—or pauses in music.  There’s no noise, but it’s deafening.”  Beautifully expressed in the prolonged silence of a poker game, an evocative Longfellow poem speaks to the haunting mystery eating at them, recalling the refrains of a Scandinavian “Lapland song,” gloomily reflecting on the innocence of youth, which has simply disappeared, "My Lost Youth" Longfellow Poem from "In the Bedroom" YouTube (2:28), where at least in Longfellow’s eyes, a boy’s will and the wind’s are the same.  Particularly chilling is the requiem-style eloquence of the Eastern European music performed live in the town square, Camden Harbor Park, with a poetic overlook of the boats lined up in the harbor, with the sea off in the distance.  The death of their son has torn a hole in their marriage, where nothing can be communicated, eventually turning on each other, castigating blame in a fiery exchange that resembles the dramatic intensity of Bergman or Cassavetes, unfolding with a masterful precision, Confrontation scene - In The Bedroom (2001) YouTube (6:30).  Free of cliché’s, they seem like a genuinely authentic couple, delving into their inner, psychological sanctum where everything is off-kilter, a massive disruption of the stability of their lives, tearing open a wound that can never heal, enraged by a lack of accountability for their son’s death.  The moral dilemma is acute, front and center in the film, veering into a nightmarish option with staggering consequences.  While the film does not advocate vigilante justice, the idea of seeking atonement for the killer’s sins is emotionally relatable.  If the murder is not drastic enough, the consequences take on deeper ramifications, stripping away at the supposed veneer of middle class civility, like the shocking aftereffects of 9/11, when Americans suddenly wanted retaliation, with many viewing this film as an allegory of America’s response to September 11 and its aftermath.  Released just two months afterwards, it became the poster child for the rage that was felt at the time, tapping into deep collective emotions stirred up by the terrorist attacks, but after a passage of time, it’s more likely viewed as a morality tale, an existential search within ourselves to find redemption.  The finale is equally haunting and compelling, captured in an interminable silence, where the moral complexity is worthy of debate, eliciting longstanding questions about vengeance and justice, In the Bedroom (2001 Todd Field) YouTube (4:56), perhaps a companion piece to Kieślowski’s A SHORT FILM ABOUT KILLING (1988).  Field has kept almost all the elements of the Dubus story, but has amplified them and altered the tone, deciding to humanize the eternal questions nagging at the human soul, ending with a flourish of picturesque beauty, once again revisiting the tranquility of a tiny coastal town.