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| Director Ang Lee on the set |
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| Lee confers with actress Sigourney Weaver |
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| Ang Lee directing a scene |
THE ICE STORM B USA (112 mi) 1997 d: Ang Lee
In issue 141 of the Fantastic Four, published in November, 1973, Reed Richards had to use his anti-matter weapon on his own son, who Aannihilus has turned into the Human Atom Bomb. It was a typical predicament for the Fantastic Four, because they weren’t like other superheroes. They were more like a family. And the more power they had, the more harm they could do to each other without even knowing it. That was the meaning of the Fantastic Four: that a family is like your own personal anti-matter. Your family is the void you emerge from, and the place you return to when you die. And that’s the paradox — the closer you're drawn back in, the deeper into the void you go. —Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire)
Despite all the accolades for this film, set in the early 70’s, and all the awards (though shut out by the Oscars), with some proclaiming it “the best American film of the 90’s” (The Ice Storm: Baby, It's Cold Outside | Current), you’d be hard-pressed to find a group of more wretchedly miserable people, the adults especially, who in nearly every single scene are exposed for the unlimited reach of their moral hypocrisy, mirroring the lies and criminal corruption within the Nixon administration, setting a dubious standard for the insufferable, ethical malaise sweeping the entire country. Throughout this grim examination of East coast suburbia, a study of what passes for social interactions in a landscape of wealth and extravagance, there is nothing resembling an actual conversation, as people only pay lip service to the idea of listening, instead it is clear they are simply bored with the emptiness that wealth has brought them. The parents are so self-absorbed that the term responsibility is a dirty word, as kids are largely left on their own, like lambs led to the slaughter, having little opportunity to be healthy and happy, as this is a film that exposes just how fucked up people are, and if there are any doubts about the effects of passing hedonistic values onto the next generation, look at what they’ve become as voters in the political landscape of today. Evidently, like the adults in this picture, all the warning signs of danger have been ignored, leading us straight into the dumpster era of sadistic intolerance, malignant narcissism, and abhorrent self-centeredness that is Trump and his minions. While Tobey Maguire does a lovely contemplative introductory narration, where the world of Marvel comic books, specifically the combined superpowers of The Fantastic Four, serves as inspiration for a dysfunctional family unit, this plays out more like a horror film, where even after all these years it’s still hard to watch. Like Ang Lee’s previous film, Sense and Sensibility (1995), this explores the uneasy family dynamic through an observational lens, though instead of shooting through the formal prism of 19th century Jane Austin, this is a modern adaptation of Rick Moody’s acclaimed 1994 novel, with a meticulous script by James Schamus that omits most of the provocative sex from the book, toning it down considerably, studying two troubled affluent families in suburban Connecticut during the Nixon Watergate hearings of 1973, where it all comes to a head during a flash wintry blizzard that sends chilling danger signs over a Thanksgiving weekend that are completely ignored. While there are beautiful images captured by cinematographer Frederick Elmes and terrific use of flutes and gamelan bells in the Mychael Danna soundtrack, as well as an excellent performance by Christina Ricci playing a disturbed, sexually precocious 14-year old, this is a truly uninspiring and obnoxiously empty film about the nuclear family in decay, an era of skyrocketing divorce rates, with kids coming to the realization that their parents may not end up together. Filled with empty people having little or nothing of significance to say, this is another one of those adults behaving badly films, where there is no hint of redemption, yet to Lee’s credit, he keeps the mysteries unexplained, with Lee finding his own voice nearly a decade later with the emotionally intense Brokeback Mountain (2005), a towering work that surpasses this in every respect.
The film was distributed through Fox (also releasing a series of Fantastic Four films), owned by Rupert Murdoch, known for espousing conservative values on his television network, yet was largely viewed as an independent film, perhaps hoping to entice more progressive viewers, but the film never generated money at the box office, and lost more than $10 million dollars. Lee had an affinity for Susan and Alan Raymond’s 12-hour television documentary An American Family, released in 1973, which chronicles the flamboyant dysfunction and disintegration of a family, an early example of reality TV that aired on public television, where the raw honesty captured the public’s imagination, described by Dennis Lim in The New York Times ("Reality-TV Originals, in Drama's Lens") as a “counterculture hangover.” Lee transformed that California locale to an upper class setting on the East coast, where the torments of two suburban families were a reflection of a longstanding disconnect that had been brewing under the surface for years, leaving strangers living together who were clearly at odds with each other. A portrait of the American Dream in distress and on life support, suburban respectability is all a mirage, but this pales in comparison to Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943) or David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET (1986), and re-explored later in Todd Fields’ Little Children (2006), where optimism has been replaced by a deep-seeded cynicism that infects the lives of ordinary citizens who are lost and simply can’t find their way. While the adults are utterly despicable, their lives seemingly beyond repair, it’s the kids that offer some semblance of hope, but the loveless example that has been set for them is filled with traps and dead ends, where it’s only a matter of time before they start resembling their parents, and the Sisyphean cycle starts all over again. Each generation seems to have a built-in resentment for the next, unable to adapt to the rapid cultural changes and adjustments that come so much easier for their kids, as the core of the parent’s existence is suddenly obsolete. Lee sets the scene in a wintry landscape with bare trees, dead leaves, patches of snow on the ground, and crisp wintry air, creating an apt tone for a film about sexual detachment and alienation within the family, with the dialogue filled with irony and bitterness, where there’s practically no communication at all. Each scene is fairly short, the conversation brief, giving the film an abrupt nature, where it’s all about what’s not being said. With a terrific cast, told almost entirely in a flashback, the film begins and ends with Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire) on a commuter train from Manhattan to New Canaan, Connecticut, where he gets philosophical in a voice-over narration as he reads a Fantastic Four superhero comic book, where he makes a stunning realization, “The more power they had, the more suffering they could inflict on each other without even noticing it.” This becomes the overall theme of the film, a subversive message about unintentionally undermining your own family, told in an absurdist manner, where the entire film may be viewed as a sober reflection on the loss of innocence, though another chilly, repressed emotions film it recalls is the rarely discussed, understated yet emotionally devastating Robert Redford film Ordinary People (1980), which actually won an Academy Award for Best Picture before falling into obscurity.
Paul is later seen in a snazzy boarding school discussing the existentialism of Dostoyevsky, where he dreams of female classmate Libbets Casey (Katie Holmes in her film debut), the object of his desires, where he foolishly, though he thinks flirtatiously, recommends that she read The Idiot. Kevin Kline and Joan Allen play his clueless parents, Ben and Elena Hood, while Christina Ricci plays his smart-alecky and sexually adventurous younger sister Wendy who enjoys sticking it to her parents and may be the unsung star of the show. In something of a mirror image, Jamey Sheridan and Sigourney Weaver play the Hood’s best friends and neighbors Jim and Janey Carver, leading parallel lives with two rather screwed up boys, molecule-obsessed Mikey and toy mutilator Sandy, played by Elijah Wood and Adam Hann-Byrd. Both families paint the picture-perfect portrait of the ideal American suburban family, yet the future is filled with a restless anxiety, where an underlying sense of gloom permeates everything. While Ben Hood pretends to be looking forward to spending Thanksgiving weekend with his children, at least that’s what he tells them, he’s instead distracted by an obsessional sexual affair with Janey Carver, something his wife Elena senses, but Ben wholeheartedly denies, while their children are actively engaged in their own clandestine sexual pursuits. For example, Wendy meets Mikey at an abandoned swimming pool filled with dead leaves, where they share a kiss, but not before she removes the chewing gum from her mouth. When Jim Carver returns from a business trip to Houston, announcing ”Hey guys, I’m back,” his older son makes the astute observation, “You were gone?” Meanwhile Wendy also plays sexual peekaboo with Sandy (“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours), whose preferred activity is blowing up things, where he actually mouths the words “I love you,’” to which she responds, “Are you drunk?” But she can also be seen donning a Nixon mask to wear when she and Mikey are about to have sex in the basement, only to be caught red-handed by her sanctimonious father who reads Mikey the riot act, blaming him for everything while absolving his daughter from all sins (although she was the initiator), absurdly seen carrying her silently through the wet and muddy woods on their return home as she complained of cold feet. Ben isn’t exactly perceived as Don Juan by his acid-tongued, ice princess partner in crime Janey, shushing him after sex when he drones on endlessly about golf, reminding him, “You’re boring me. I already have a husband.” In another instance, just as they’re about to get undressed, she’s apparently heard enough of his incessant blabbering, inexplicably leaving without a word, driving away in her car, leaving him naked and alone in her house. Ben may be the ineffective and guilt-ridden father, but Janey Carver is literally sleepwalking through her marriage. The ambiguity of some of these mixed messages may leave some to question the pervasive theme, wondering whether it belongs to progressive aesthetics or more regressive “family values” that demand punishment for society’s moral transgressions, as this is the conservative backlash from the liberating spirit of the 60’s Summer of Love, yet this austere, emotionally inert depiction of family dysfunction is largely overshadowed by the theatrical fireworks of the great American playwrights, Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, and Arthur Miller.
In the early 70’s, the ideals of the 60’s, from social change, political disenchantment, to casual sex, finally reached the mainstream, but society remained paralyzed from the lingering effects of lost hopes that died with the stream of 60’s political assassinations. The film effectively dissects the inept and failed patriarchy at the heart of white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) culture, complete with stereo phonographs, boxed TV sets, gaudy, polyester leisure suits, hairstyles that require tons of hairspray, water beds, and modernist homes with shag carpets and wall-sized windows overlooking the woods outdoors. But drugs and casual sex were the most prominent escape routes before the AIDS epidemic put a halt to much of that, still on the last vestiges of the 60’s sexual revolution, when the porn film DEEP THROAT (1972) became a unique and popular success, with people testing the boundaries of their structured upbringing. Alcohol was served at every social gathering, and there was rarely an adult seen without a drink or a cigarette in their hand, usually both, but sex in this film is portrayed as a grotesque misadventure, the ultimate expression of the failure to communicate. The Watergate scandal that saturates the airwaves is about to bring down a crumbling presidency, the extremely unpopular Vietnam War rages on, and disillusionment with authority pervades the country and is felt in every nook and cranny. Nixon’s dishonesty is echoed by Ben Hood’s dishonesty, yet the detached nature of the film is everpresent, exposing the contradictions of suburban life, a pit of cultural confusion and lost souls, yet nothing is more emotionally demoralizing than the steamrolling effect from a swinging seventies, neighborhood wife-swapping party, where consenting adults place their car keys in a bowl when they arrive and go home at the end with the person from the opposite sex who selects their keys. In this film the expression “Love the one you’re with” becomes subverted into anyone other than who you’re with. Illusion and reality are put to the test and fail miserably, as the results are never what you expect, yet belief in the dream is what led you to place your keys in the bowl in the first place. Everyone hopes for something better, never thinking that things could actually get much worse. Paul has his own misadventure in the city, where things never live up to the dream, yet the haunting effects of the weather outside sends warning signs and danger signals that are routinely ignored, as a frozen rain storm suddenly coats every surface in a glaze of ice, creating treacherous conditions, with tree branches and power lines falling under the weight of the ice, making roads impassable while cutting off electricity, where entire communities are immobilized. Despite attempts to navigate the icy terrain, coldness and cynicism have been injected into the landscape in equal measures, as people are left isolated, cut off from all that they find familiar, discovering a frozen world instead, where one catastrophe after another leads to horrific and disastrous results, where in the end nothing is celebrated except disillusionment. Part satire, part psychological drama, and part tragedy, Lee has taken what is essentially a fragmentary piece of fiction and turns it into a coherent and vividly recognizable period piece that attempts to convey emotional honesty and authenticity, but continually keeps viewers at a healthy distance.
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