And the Moral of Our Story
Madeleine Robins January 7th, 2007
This morning my younger daughter watched the film version of Bewitched, written and directed by the usually competant Nora Ephron. It’s an odd nested-metareferential sort of thing: fading film actor with Ego as Big as All Outdoors takes role in a present-day TV updating (meant to be a star vehicle for him) of that 1960s sitcom Bewitched, only the wrinkle is, the woman they hire to play Samantha is…gasp!…a real witch. Slight merriment ensues. While some things were cute–the look and much of the secondary-character casting–the whole film is basically as insubstantial as tissue.
So why even bring it up? Because Nora Ephron wrote it, and Ephron is a normally a better writer than this. What particularly irked me was how she telegraphs each character’s lessons. I couldn’t scrape up any pleasure at the denoument, because I not only knew early on (as one does, with a romantic comedy) that the protagonists would be together at the end, but what trauma/hangup/psychosis each of them would have to overcome to get to the end.
Don’t get me wrong. I was raised on the Ars Poetica (I was a theatre major, after all), and I believe that a satisfying story includes character growth and change, which frequently implies learning a lesson or overcoming some sort of obstacle, which can be read as a lesson or moral. It can be done skillfully, but so often it isn’t; you watch a movie where they establish the hero’s claustrophobia on stage in act one and know that in order to get to the end of the movie he’s going to have to face his demons and conquer them (cue triumphant music). And that’s exactly what happens in Bewitched, so clumsily and obviously that you don’t get a chance to be thrilled by anyone’s transformation. It’s either a very cynical movie or a very artless one, and given Nora Ephron’s track record I’m going for cynical.
How do you do it skillfully? Sometimes by making the lesson to be learned implicit (I’m thinking The Sixth Sense, where Bruce Willis’s psychiatrist not only has to figure out his own status in the world, but has to forgive himself for his prior arrogance and help someone before he can–literally–move on; but you don’t realize what his status is–and thus, what his transformation is–until the very end). Sometimes by raising so many other issues in the character’s life (or raising so many characters with issues) that the audience doesn’t immediately know which transformation is going to be pivotal to the story. Sometimes the story demonstrates that the moment for transformation was years before (I’m thinking of A Long Day’s Journey into Night) and the story is about the consequences of change or its lack. And sometimes–this is tough, but really interesting when a writer pulls it off–you do it by not doing it, by giving the character a chance to transform and have her refuse it (In Death of a Salesman Willy Loman more or less puts his fingers in his ears and hums loudly when realization and transformation approach). In that case it’s the audience’s view of the character which is transformed.
Is it unfair of me to ask that a light romantic comedy have the same resonance as a prize-winning drama? They set out to do different things. But I don’t want to walk away from Bewitched feeling like the writer has so much contempt for me that, after throwing a few sops to the conventions of the form at me, she can cash her paycheck and walk away whistling.
Recap:
Change and transformation, particularly when subtly wrought: excellent.
Heavy handed morals: not so much so.
I don’t think so. Compare Bewitched to either When Harry Met Sally (also written by Nora) or The Princess Bride (script by William Goldman).
In Harry/Sally — we know from the opening scene that they will end up together, but the journey and transformation each character takes in order to earn the right/privilege to be with each other is what makes the movie sweet, sincere and heartwarming.
In The Princess Bride — again, each character must transform in a profound way before they end up together in the end.
It sounds like Bewitched (I’ve never seen it) is just a poor film. Maybe Nora just had an “off” day when she wrote the script, or the director or actors ruined a perfectly good one. As you know from theater — anyone can ruin Shakespeare.
Sounds like the script tried to do too many things. It’s a fantasy; it’s a romantic comedy; it’s a post-modern star vehicle about star-vehicles; it’s a remake of a TV show; it’s a breakfast topping; it’s a floor-cleaner. But I haven’t seen it either, so my remarks are powered by pure ignorance.
Nope. When done well, that’s what makes romantic comedy the highest form of literature (in the larger sense of “literature”).
—L.
I recently saw, for the second time, one of the best Guy Movies of the 1970s, the original The Longest Yard starring Burt Reynolds as an over-the-hill ex-football player who has sold out himself, his morals, his dignity, and his ex-teammates in every way he can figure out. Finally, he is sent to prison and he finds redemption by leading a football team of inmates against the brutal guards and warden.
I suppose it’s not a great film, but it’s got a lot going for it, and one of the things it’s got going for it is that it doesn’t tell us the moral of the story. It’s obvious why Burt Reynolds has chosen to go for the win in the climactic football game, even though it could add 30 years to what was supposed to be an 18-month prison sentence.
The recent Adam Sandler remake has lots wrong with it, and one of the major things wrong with it is that the characters make a speech about The Moral of the Story. Not once, but twice, in case we weren’t paying attention the first time.
Sheesh.
Also: The first movie starred Burt Reynolds, Eddie Albert, and the under-appreciated James Hampton. The re-make had Adam Sandler as the lead. Sandler’s good at what he does, but casting him as an ex-football player is just plain ridiculous, and not in a good way.
Mitch’s post suggests an interesting point. Is there a longitudinal element here? Are newer films more heavy handed in that they don’t trust their audiences to read between the lines or draw their own conclusions (yet meanwhile we see plenty of examples of very good script writing these days)? Or was there plenty of heavy-handed moralizing in bad old films from the bad old days as well? Or are remakes more prone to this because of the metatextual elements? I have no opinion, I’m just asking.
Oh, I think the old studio movies had an awful lot of upfront-moral stuff. Mickey Rooney in Boy’s Town: “He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother!” But it takes more effort to rub your morals, or lessons, into the grain. And I do think there’s less faith in the audience in film and TV.
One of my pet peeves when it comes to watching movies is when they have moments that are add-ons to an important scene. I refer to these moments as: “and that was for the stupid people in the audience” moments. Often this is dialogue between two characters that spells out what just happened. Whenever I see this, I immediately come out of the story for a moment. I’d prefer the director trust that I will understand.
As for morals or lessons in film, a well crafted story should be able to reveal the point naturally, without needing a “What have you learned, Dorothy?” scene - though I must say, I have no problem with that scene in the Wizard of Oz as it works fine for that movie.
I suppose the way the two versions of “The Longest Yard” tackled the issues is a good example of adding dialogue for stupid people.
My question to the director of such films is: Do you think we are all stupid?
Well, there’s always the possibility that the writer was simply doing what the studio demanded. Given this writer’s track record, it’s plausible that the original script was good, but the studio thought the Common Man wouldn’t like it, so they could have ordered her to dumb it down. There is nothing so good that the average suit can’t screw it up in the pursuit of “broadening appeal,” after all.
Are there other writers credited? Perhaps it was a script originally done by her and then they brought in a host of other people to dumb it down in the appeal broadening process.
I’m just reaching for a ‘why’ that lets the author off the hook, I guess.
One of the reasons I liked the third Harry Potter movie was that it had a director (Alfonso Cuaron) who not only packed many different things into a scene, but because he didn’t feel it necessary to linger over bits of local color, trusting that the audience would catch them, and because he didn’t insist on putting in all the connective tissue. Coming on the heels of compulsive literalist Chris Columbus, who directed the first two films, this was a tremendous release; it permitted me to get involved in the story and enjoy it. I wish more directors understood this.
As Laurie says, it may not have been the director’s choice, it may have been the studio’s. Very few directors truly have final say on what’s in the film.
My understanding is that JK also played a very active role in the first 2 films, but was convinced to back off for the 3rd film. Between JK & Chris, the first 2 movies were just a rehash of the books. Alfonso’s Azkaban was a wonderful adaptation.
In the case of the remake of The Longest Yard, I wonder if they figured people in the audience just wouldn’t be paying attention. Many would be watching it on cable or DVD, and doing something else at the time.
I have seen a trend in movies that can only be explained as lazy writing.
Hollywood is a “for profit” industry and is primarily interested in making movies that will generate income…. and that usually means filming the best possibly scripts in each genre. I think they also tend to go with “known quantities” since big names are generally more bankable.
I saw Bewitched and left the theater completely uninspired. Ephron writes better than this. All I can assume is that she was hired to pound out a script that would fit the Hollywood mold by a certain date….. and an uninspired movie was the end result.
On a tangent…
Thanks, Mitch, for the phrase “Guy Movie”. Chick Flick I hear all the time; Guy Movie never. Just goes to show that most things are still marketed to men: if it’s marketed to women it’s unusual enough to name it, but guys are still the standard.
Considering the way things are done in Hollywood, it’s always hard to tell who is or are responsible for a movie falling down on its job.
There’s one constant though: in movies, the writer is low person on the totem pole, and as in the music biz, lots of people get or don’t get writer credit who should or don’t.
Just throwin’ that in there, because Ephron has often been credited with such good scripts.
Love, C.
But Ephron was also the director on this one, which suggests that she had a little more input than the usual scribe.
As far as Guy Movie goes, Ephron was responsible for one of my favorite sendups of the Chick Flick/Guy Movie thing, in Sleepless in Seattle, when Tom Hanks and Victor Garber rhapsodize about The Dirty Dozen as a parody of an earlier discussion of An Affair to Remember.
I saw Sleepless in Seattle when it came out, but since I’ve never seen The Dirty Dozen (although I have seen An Affair to Remember) that part went right over my head. I’ll have to check it out.
“I refer to these moments as: “and that was for the stupid people in the audienceâ€? moments. Often this is dialogue between two characters that spells out what just happened.”
This can be pulled off though. They had a scene in the recent Pirates of the Caribbean (hey put down that tomato! i only mention it matter of factly). 3 major characters were fighting while the heroine was stewing over the situation. Two lower level pirates happened on the scene, and one of them gave a somewhat witty and amusing commentary on the whole thing.
Otherwise, I agree. I like stories or historical commentaries that leave you to figure out what the lesson or moral is. It’s like a simple puzzle, and gets that gray, squishy stuff in your head working. Sometimes I wonder if our whole society is suffering mental atrophy. (ARGH… must … resist… temptation… to rant cynically over media’s impact on our culture.)
BTW, I have a hypothesis regarding movie marketing to men. I don’t think it’s inherent sexism (as if Hollywood wasn’t liberal enough), as much as a need to overcome male ego. The fact is, you will get a lot more women to go see Eragon than you’ll get men to go watch The Yaya Sisterhood. It’s not that male viewers are more important than female ones… the issue is expectations on men. (Or, maybe, it’s the expectations we perceive to be on us.) I have female friends who will watch Mythbusters, and I must admit, I actually think that is cool. But one guy friend has an unusual fascination with the soap opera Passions. And we have gals who heckle him over it!
Now, he’s a good sport, and for some bizarre reason loves being the butt of jokes. But most guys will avoid anything that could be seen as challenging his masculinity. Hollywood realizes that, so when they can they will market a movie in a way that appeals to (or at least doesn’t offend) men.
I think I was unclear: they weren’t saying that Affair to Remember was a parody of The Dirty Dozen (which wouldn’t work, as AtR predates TDD by about a decade). The two guys were pretending to get as worked up and tearful about Jim Brown’s death in Dirty Dozen as a woman might about Affair.
That is, unless a woman had seen the whole Affair to Remember and suffered through the sequences where Deborah Kerr teaches a bunch of inner city moppets how to sing icky children’s songs.
Women working in movie / television industry call it sexism though, by and large — not ALL women, but a lot of them. Maybe even most of them.
But it’s hard to accept that, other than looking at panting nekkid women, the only other thing that overcomes the male ego is violence, and ever more violence, of ever greater volicity. For one thing, I live with one for whom this doesn’t work at all. The violence part, I mean. The panting nekkid women always works for him.
You won’t see this woman at either one. Run away! Run away!
Love, C.
Madeleine — well said! on the latest HP movies.
Watching the first two, I get the sense of a dog sitting in front of me, looking up at me, waiting for me to praise him for being a good dog and getting all the scenes and magic book-true.
JD:
I think it also has to do with the fact that it’s easier to get women to go to Guy Movies than it is to get men to go to Chick Flicks. Women enjoy action movies so long as you throw in a romantic B-plot and strong female character. Indeed, the traditional action movie, from the 1970s or earlier, includes a doughty sidekick; if you make the doughty sidekick the hero’s girlfriend, then you’re all set. Example: “Romancing the Stone,” which was told from the POV of the sidekick.
Disclaimer: The preceding is a discussion of my perception of Hollywood’s perception of business realities. As such, it is (a) a gross generalization, and (b) likely to be wrong, since I am by no means a Hollywood insider.
Disclaimer: The word “sidekick” is not meant to be disparaging. Indeed, generally speaking, I’d rather be the sidekick than the hero. The sidekick has more fun. He also gets the better girl: The hero settles down with some beautiful, respectable countess, while the sidekick takes up with a fiery Latina camp follower with a heart of gold.
Also, I like Chick Movies just fine, if they’re any good. The Yaya Sisterhood sounded like a dud, so I didn’t watch it, but I saw and enjoyed “Traveling Pants,” “Steel Magnolias” and (just a couple of weeks ago) “The Devil Wore Prada.”
And I also saw the “Bewitched” movie, which started this discussion, and enjoyed it for what it was. It had quite a few pieces that worked quite well, but it didn’t really hang together. As such, it was more like a series of loosely connected sketches, rather than a coherent story. And the same is true for the “Longest Yard” remake.
Madeleine
— No I think you were clear, maybe I was unclear. Since my memory of all those movies is hazy it’s not surprising.
JD, I think you are right. My SO watched Pride and Prejudice (both versions, although he fell asleep during the remake, no fault to him), but he also likes to paint my nails, or his own nails sometimes. I think many of us inadvertently police men’s masculinity, which is why they are afraid to admit they like or watch chick flicks. Also, like any establishment, Hollywood lags the trend understanding what people, either men or women, want. I heard once Hollywood has no idea if a movie is going to be successful or not (unless it’s a sequel), so they go with what has worked in the past. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.
I’ll accept this is a generalization. I’m doubtful it’s true.
I like all kinds of movies, including action movies - if they’re GOOD. Too many are sloppy excuses for violence and blowing things up and two dimensional characters. I love sci-fi and fantasy movies, too. I didn’t go to Eragon because I had it on good authority (my kids) that it was bad.
What Kate said. My criterion for action, skiffy, fantasy, even kung fu flicks is, I love them. But I demand that they be good — i.e., have real people as characters, and not simply gun/ chop/ effects porn.
I dunno. People really don’t think Hollywood is sexist?
The male gaze and how the guys who mostly run the place say out front how much they like looking at naked women and can’t stand the thought of naked men? It’s hard not to see Hollywood as sexist. Certainly many of the women who work there think so, whether they are in the offices or on the screen.
But in any case, whether one agrees with that perception or not, this is a fantastic article, one that has been, if you will excuse me, um, seminal in film criticism history, that you might like to look at:
Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema (1975) - Laura Mulvey
Originally Published - Screen 16.3 Autumn 1975 pp. 6-18.
You can find the full text of the article here.
Love, C.