FAR FROM HEAVEN (Todd Haynes, 2002) R

Reviewed: September 23, 2002

Listening to writer/director Todd Haynes speak about his new film Far From Heaven (at a Woodstock Film Festival Q&A) -- a tribute/homage/reimagining of 1950s melodramas -- he throws around phrases like "stock movie dialogue," "research project," and 'every element drawn from and filtered through film grammar' (that last phrase is a condensing paraphrase). The obvious question raised, then: Is Far From Heaven a rote academic exercise, an ingratiatingly ironic experience, or a genuinely involving movie which can stand alone, towering above its influences (for the record, straight from Haynes's mouth the major three are Douglas Sirk's All That Heaven Allows and Imitation of Life plus Max Ophuls's The Reckless Moment)?

The answer leans towards the latter, but rests somewhere in between. Haynes's deeply anachronistic, sumptuously photographed, intermittently boring film plays like a super timid, classicist rendering of David Lynch's Blue Velvet. A Norman Rockwell painting brought to exquisite life by a bunch of ultra skilled craftsmen and then given a final brush over by Edward Hopper. I wish the order had been reversed -- more Hopper, less Rockwell; more loneliness, less homogeneity -- but there's still a lot to appreciate and enjoy here.

The basic premise is simple in theory, though complex to successfully execute: What if the 1950s, ostensibly a time of idyllic, totally repressed families, were shown on more realistic terms? (Although as Haynes's adamantly pointed out in aforementioned the Q&A, Far From Heaven is a film decidedly unconcerned with realism per se. It's concerned with film realism. Which, in this case at least, is to say a kind of psychological realism, but certainly not visual realism). Or put another way: What if Douglas Sirk et al.'s films -- which, because of Hollywood censorship at the time weren't even allowed to show happily married couples sleeping in the same bed -- were made today, in 2002, when cynicism and distance are hip and unabashed displays of emotion are courageous/frowned upon?

The major accomplishment of Haynes's film is that, despite all the "stock movie dialogue" and filmic references, there is a sincerity that resonates through every frame. I saw virtually no trace of irony in the film, nor of Haynes and company ever winking or trying to be overtly clever. If that hadn't been the case this movie would have been an abject disaster, a failed experiment dripping with contempt for its subjects.

(Clarification, 9.27.02: I was referring to Haynes's treatment of character and his overall intentions, for as Mike D'Angelo cannily notes, there is irony inherent in Far From Heaven. His quote, to wit: "The use of a long-defunct style is itself ironic—not merely because it's artificial, but because it's deliberately incongruous, demanding that we engage with the material on two separate levels. And Haynes adds further irony by making the subtext of Sirk's films much more explicit, thereby creating a dialectic between form and content.")

Despite the subtext enhancement, what Haynes has made is respectful, and in fact, the central problem with Far From Heaven is that it's too respectful. There are only two major disruption elements introduced: homosexuality and interracial love. While both are effectively handled (because of Haynes's contextualizing he miraculously manages to make these clichés feel somewhat fresh), combined they are still not enough to carry the whole film. Far From Heaven doesn't go far enough with those two topics nor any others; I'm not asking for a Lynchian level of surreal depravity as I acknowledge domestic drama is the gentle subgenre Haynes's is operating in, but even within that housing there are other fascinating rooms to explore.

(Also: Haynes is occasionally prone to simplifying and loud fingering. Patricia Clarkson -- a great actress whom I've loved since her supporting role on ABC's long-canceled series Murder One -- plays the trusty "best friend." Her role is schematically designed to be the foil, the voice of repression. It's obnoxious and unsubtle. For example: A character's homosexuality is introduced. Cut to: Clarkson talking about her dislike -- representing 1950's general ideological dislike, of course -- of homosexuality. For example part deux: the interracial angle is introduced. Cut to: Clarkson talking about her disapproval -- representing 1950's general ideological disapproval, of course -- of interracial mingling.)

To comment on how brilliant Julianne Moore's starring performance is (as a housewife searching for love) almost seems redundant. Moore is one of the most talented actresses in cinema history; instead of coasting on her laurels, she continues to choose audacious projects with wildly divergent central roles (Mr. De Niro should take note). It's quite possible Far From Heaven will finally nab her a much deserved Bald Guy. Also great is Dennis Quaid's powerhouse contribution as Moore's husband. Quaid's an actor I've never had much affection for until this year. He follows up his sturdy, touching The Rookie starring turn, with this, perhaps the best work of his career. Far From Heaven has a stirring velocity when Quaid's on screen that is lacking during his absence.

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