Reviewed by
Gordon Kearns
"They made contact yesterday. The astronaut. He's comin' back around the sun. They
can finally talk to him again."
"The astronaut? ... So how was he, then ... when they talked to him?"
"Oh, 'Kinda crazy,' they said, 'but alive.'"
Once in awhile, once in a long while, a motion picture comes along that rises above its medium, a medium made artificial by involvement in the world of commerce and concern for the general public's perceived sensibilities. These rare motion pictures are anything but artificial - that's what sets them apart - even though in their exposition they may make liberal use of illusion, which is, after all, an intrinsic part of the very fabric of the medium. Ironically, such movies typically utilize that illusion to stab straight into the reality of the human heart. Lawn Dogs, Starman, Peggy Sue Got Married, Fairy Tale: A True Story, and The Boy Who Could Fly, are among the films that come to mind in this regard.
As does the independent film The Book of Stars. This story of two orphaned sisters is filled with illusion, imagery, allegory, fantasy, and especially magic - but always, always firmly grounded in the gritty actuality of life in all its stark and tragic essence. The magic isn't the story; it doesn't change the reality of life's course for the sisters Penny and Mary; it rides on the beauty of their love ... and Mary's dreams. Mary dreams, but she's no passive victim. With her dreams she orchestrates her sister's redemption, and strives for recognition of her own grown-up personhood (her invisibility as a sentient human is especially underscored in scenes where she is being argued over by Penny and the professor in her presence, as if she isn't existing in the same room at the time). In the end, affirmation of her personhood is finally achieved in her understated, touching, and profoundly intimate hospital scene with Kristjan, the sisters' neighbor.
Mary, fifteen - almost sixteen, lives with her mid-twenties - or so - sister, Penny, in a small apartment in a run-down building in the generally run-down business area of a large city. Mary suffers from "Sister Fibrosis," and her health is on a rapid decline. Days and some nights Penny cares for Mary, with help from the professor, a sort of nagging guardian angel type who lives nearby. While she is with her sister, Penny dotes on her. When not home, Penny loses herself in prostitution and drugs. Mary embraces life and love and people ... and magic, and looks forward to new adventures. Penny rejects people-ties; for her, life's movement was frozen at some point years before. Now, what little excitement there is in Penny's life comes only through Mary, and the fantastic scrapbook Mary keeps, The Book of Stars. In this magical book she saves remnants, photos, newspaper clippings and pictures, cut-outs from times past, stars and feathers, and her own watercolor paintings of people and places and trees and crying faces and, well, anything that holds her fancy . "Why do you have only sad things in your book?" she is asked. "No, not just sad things," she says. "My book has beautiful things."
The pattern of the sisters' existence is suddenly interrupted coincidently from two different directions: a letter to Penny from a convict at the state penitentiary who was deeply impressed by a book of poetry she had written in earlier times; and the arrival in the apartment next door of a new neighbor, a young man, Kristjan - refugee from an unnamed country, possibly in the Balkans, that is being destroyed in a terrible war - or revolution - or whatever. The story evolves as, through Mary, both men are brought into the sisters' lives - for Mary's now and Penny's future.
My thanks go to writer Tasca Shadix and director Michael Miner and his production team for bringing to us a classic piece of cinema literature. The Book of Stars utilizes fantastic imagery. Every scene is an artistic masterpiece painted with arresting colors. Illusion and magic abound. Allegory and metaphor are woven seamlessly throughout. The scenes blend naturally one into another; there are no noticeable gaps in the narrative. It's the story of a brief period in the lives of two unspectacular people whose relationship is, nonetheless, quite complex and whose individual motivations bespeak stunning depth of character. There's love and sharing and denial and need and hope and redemption. The tale moves inexorably to the climactic hospital scene near the end of the movie where revelation and resolution play out. The hospital scene is anything but cloying - it doesn't plead for your tears; however, I've never seen - or read - a more dramatic, touching ... or inspiring story climax.
In keeping with the tone of the production, there's a minimal unobtrusive supporting cast, which does an excellent job opening doors for the main characters' full development. You don't even know their full names. Delroy Lindo plays the professor; Karl Geary plays Kristjan; and D.B. Sweeney plays the prisoner.
Mary Stuart Masterson gives a masterful multilayered reading of the part of the conflicted older sister Penny - her needs and rejections; her loves and denials - in her heart seeing her sister only as the four year-old she was during their happy times. Penny runs from the ominous nature of Mary's condition, and from the acceptance of Mary as she is right now, as the near-adult she has become. "Well, look at me," Mary cries, "I'm almost sixteen years old, and I'm nothing but an overgrown baby." Then, we can read the profound shock and horror reflected in Penny's face when, in the hospital corridor, the professor gives her that final crushing push into self-realization.
Jena Malone's Mary is no one's stereotypical angel; however, she is unquestionably a saint; saints derive from the human condition, after all. And Mary is quintessentially human. She's quite capable of such human emotions as anger, resentment, and spite ... and love - real, honest-to-goodness love between girl and boy. But as a saint she's also capable of broader loves: love of life, love of flowers and trees and butterflies, love of a convict she's never met, love of a lost astronaut, and love of her sister. And, like a saint, she dedicates her life to that love, and she sacrifices for that love; and, for that love, she strives almost to her last breath. In Mary, we have one of the most remarkable characters in all literature. Thanks to writer Tasca Shadix and director Michael Miner for her creation
... and to Jena Malone for bringing Mary so vividly to life. The power that rides in her delivery of even such simple, softly spoken phrases as "Too late" and "Just listen" is awesome. Miss Malone has demonstrated over and over again that she is one of the foremost actors of our, or any, generation.
or go to
An Explanation; Being Things; Childhood; Heroes; The Inner Spirit;
Elves I Have Known
Other Essays at Large: Movie Classics; Class of the Millennium;
My Book Reviews; My Stories
From Dorothy's Corner: For Dorothy
Comments: GKEARNS@prodigy.net