Week 8

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) & One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)

I’m late to post this entry, but I watched To Kill a Mockingbird the week Harper Lee died. I last saw this film maybe 5 years ago, well before her book Go Set a Watchman was released this past summer. We’ve yet to see exactly how the release of this “sequel” will affect the legacy of her Pulitzer-Prize-winning Mockingbird in the long-term, but in the short-term, it’s left some fans of the original book with a sour taste in their mouths. I won’t go into great detail about Watchman, as we’re talking about Mockingbird (and the film, not the book), except to say that many believe an aging and ailing Lee never meant for it to be published—and I probably won’t ever read it. 

What I can say about the film is that I still find the story compelling, even having now read and/or seen it a dozen or so times. Also, I love the opening sequence, which is both sweet and contemporary, with close-ups of crayons and toys and such (mostly items that will play an actual or symbolic role in the film). It’s the most “filmic” part of the movie. What was different for me this time around—and I don’t know if this is due to my getting older or what—is that I realized what a white film it is. It’s yet another story about a noble white man doing the right thing—which is fine, except there’s a difference between being an ally and being a savior. 

By contrast, I watched Selma the same week. What a powerful story. And while it maybe gives President Johnson too much of a savioric nod in the third act, it’s primarily a story about civil rights told from the perspective of those most directly and profoundly invested in the fight. And the cast is phenomenal. 

A lot was made of #OscarsSoWhite the past two years. And I heartily agree. I’ve been a film lover all of my life, and I’m a sucker for Hollywood—especially Old Hollywood. But as progressive as Tinseltown might be in some respects, it’s still stuck in a pretty regressive place when it comes to diversity.

Selma garnered just TWO OSCAR nominations. 2. T-w-o. So this isn’t only a problem of black actors and filmmakers not getting involved in the types of projects that might win Oscars, because even when they do (as is the case with Selma, a film that tells a culturally significant story quite poignantly) they are completely cut out of the honors.

So that’s my beef with To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s not that I don’t like it. To the contrary—I like it quite a bit. The acting is phenomenal, and its exploration of complicated themes is admirable. It is an important story, and it took a "side" during a tumultuous decade. But unfortunately, I think it also represents the mindset (at least when it comes to race) that Hollywood still seems to be stuck in—the progressiveness of the white patron or savior, an idea that all progress is made by important and noble white people saying "it's time." And it was rewarded for its efforts at the Oscars—with eight nominations and three wins at the 1963 Academy Awards Ceremony.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a powerful film about nonconformity. There’s a lot going on that works really well in this film. The cast, for starters, is phenomenal. Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched is so malevolent, but it’s not obvious to us at first—we realize it as the film unfolds. Nicholson’s Randle is just the right amount of unhinged—we understand he’s a guy who’s made some mistakes and we don’t particularly “love” him, but he’s certainly sympathetic. Great supporting cast, too (including a young-ish Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd). I especially like Brad Dourif (a character actor who would later play a slew of sociopaths and serial killers—he was even the voice of “Chucky” in the Child’s Play films) as Billy Bibbit. Bibbit’s story, actually, is a fine example of the film’s primary strength—its emotional core. We’re invested in the characters, especially Randle, who sort of “grow" on us as the film advances. Randle's selfish and self-indulgent behavior slowly and gradually give way to a more benevolent attitude towards his peers. Even when he ropes them into schemes for his own benefit—like his campaign to watch the World Series, his pick-up basketball game, his impromptu fishing trip, even the “party” he throws towards the end of the film—he inadvertently benefits his fellows. And it’s clear he’s changed by the end of the film (even though he likely wasn’t trying to), because he makes (perhaps a hasty) decision not to escape (even though he has an opportunity to), because he’s worried about Billy.

Cuckoo's Nest is dark and sad. But it’s also oddly hopefully. And that’s just about my favorite kind of film.