By Gordon Kearns
In movies, as well as in all verbal arts, the key to good storytelling, I think, lies in the humanity of the characters. The situations in which the characters are placed are secondary. Rocky was the story of a little guy who succeeded over impossible odds through guts, determination, self-discipline, and sacrifice - a classic story concept. But the movie achieved classic stature primarily because the characters were human. The images moved about on the screen as I watched (and ate my popcorn). I was impressed by Rocky's single-minded exhausting preparations. I thrilled for him when he finally ran up those steps without losing his breath. And I was excited to the core by the bloody-tough final fight. However, what made me LIKE the movie was the characters' reaching out from their places on the screen, spanning the distance in between, and grabbing my heart with the deep down humanity they exhibited. In like manner, Die Hard, an epic adventure exhibiting fantastic special effects and intrepid heroism, achieved super success out of the humanly flawed nature of the Bruce Willis character. The deeds were unbelievable, but the man was real. That's what truly matters in a story. Many movies coast through on their special effects, hard-edged adventures, or clever plot devices. They do well at the box office, but like comets they quickly fade away when a newer film comes out with better effects, bigger adventures, or cleverer plot devices. But Rocky and Die Hard remain as classics of their genre. In classic movies, whether adventures or gentler stories like While You Were Sleeping and Big, people in the movie span the distance to the hearts of their audience. I don't worry about the impossibility of the situations; as a devoted fan of science fiction I learned long ago to follow Coleridge's admonition to "suspend disbelief." The situations can be impossible and the research spotty; what matters is that the people portrayed are true. In stories I consider classic, characters expose their humanity. They're fragile, imperfect, hopeful, insecure, frightened, feeling PEOPLE, just like me. In movies, the writing, directing, and environmental aspects of the production (score, cinematography, editing, etc.) can be invaluable factors to that end; however, what pulls it all together on the screen, the vital element that brings humanity to the story, is the actors.
I don't think the test of a good actor is necessarily how he handles himself in the meaty roles. Rather, it's how he spans the distance to the hearts of the audience in big pictures or small, with inspired writing or prozaic. I've often seen wonderful acting turns, real gems, in films where such was not the expected norm. Cases in point: Roddy McDowall's supporting role as butler in the light comedy Overboard; his few words in the "apology" scene were a masterpiece of understated emotion; Ralph Richardson in the role of Tarzan's grandfather in Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan: he infused an emotional depth to the part that brought tears to your eyes; Anne Bancroft's monologue in Garbo Talks was brilliant; and Mickey Rooney, departing from his more typical over-emoting, read the title role in Bill with remarkable tenderness.
So on to The Parent Trap (1998), after that little side trip 'round Robin Hood's Barn ... the subject of which, it should be no surprise, is quite pertinent to my discussion of this Disney movie.
The Parent Trap, directed by Nancy Meyers, is a typical Disney production, which assures success in some quarters and dooms it to ignominy in others. Aimed primarily at the teeny-bopper set, it features a cute pre-teener, a nearly impossible premise (although not as far out as Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Beauty and the Beast, The Absent-minded Professor , et al.), the outsmarting of adult types, and outrageous pranks (11 year-olds carrying heavy wooden beds and chests to a cabin roof !!!!). It's the story of identical twin girls who were separated in infancy by the divorce of their parents. One girl, Annie, went with her mother to live in England, the other, Hallie, to Napa, California with her father. Neither was ever told of the other's existence. At the age of 11, chance brought the girls together at a summer camp in Maine. A bitter rivalry erupted between them almost immediately, leading to some traded pranks that finally got out of hand. As punishment, they were assigned to the "isolation cabin." It was here that, after making up, their relationship "just sort of spilled out," as Annie would later tell her father. And as Hallie would explain to her shocked mother, "We sort of just switched lives." From this point on, as suggested by the movie's title, the two girls devoted themselves to bringing their estranged parents back together, a task made more difficult because of the father's unexpected engagement to a sexy, and nasty, gold-digger: "Cruella De Vil," as the girls would call her.
Cute kids, unbelievable pranks, silly humor, and frustrated adults assured financial success for the movie. Unassuming script, perceptive direction and editing, appropriate score, artistic photography, expertly executed special effects, and sensitive acting assured critical praise and, at least to my mind, designation as a movie classic.
The plot slips smoothly back and forth between the adult and child worlds, with gems of humanity sparkling from each:
And especially touching are the scenes where the two worlds merge:
Recognition should go to Disney for putting a first rate effort into this production. Especially reflective of this effort is the gathering together of a talented, perceptive, sensitive, professional acting ensemble. Dennis Quaid and Natasha Richardson as the parents, Elaine Hendrix as the nasty "Cruella De Vil" type, Lisa Ann Walter as Hallie's nanny, Simon Kunz as Annie's butler, and Ronnie Stevens as the grandfather ...
And 11 year old Lindsay Lohan, a professional actor with a worthy list of credits, who played both Hallie and Annie. Not only did she provide respectable and distinguishable accents for the two girls, but she created for them distinguishable human personalities that seamlessly spanned the gap between screen and audience. She is also the primary reason why I wrote this essay.
Obviously, I'm not a professional movie critic. How many reviews have you ever read this much longer than an economical, say, 700 words? (I'm almost twice that so far.) By all criteria, 11 years old is considered "child." The Parent Trap, for all its slapstick, broad humored "kid appeal," presents an 11 year old child as more than a cute, stereotyped toy. In this movie, 11 year olds think, plot, feel, manipulate, fear, hope, goof up, act and react like real human beings. It's one of the few movies I've ever seen that treat children with that kind of respect. Bastard out of Carolina, Contact, Lawn Dogs, Stand by Me, and The Client are other recent movies that can be listed among those few. I spent a career in elementary school education, and I've never seen children as a category. Fact is, I've spent a career-plus crusading for treatment of children as real people. When you finish this review, you might check out the column Childhood in these pages; it summarizes my thoughts on the matter pretty well. Anyway, this movie's presentation of childhood, in itself, would have been sufficient to justify the writing of this essay. However, even more so, the inspiring performance of Miss Lohan demonstrated the fact that the humanity of children is not a philosophic daydream. She proves my point. Thank you, Lindsay.
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