bnorthup
02-26-2002, 12:15 PM
In the Bedroom (R)
At the Myrna Loy
Three stars
The art of interior redecoration
By Brent Northup
Ironically, violence can be spawned both from hate and from love. “In the Bedroom,” a haunting psychological drama nominated for Best Picture, examines both motives and concludes that the devastation is equally tragic, no matter what the emotional origin.
Reviewing “In the Bedroom” is difficult, because the film depends on two “surprise” moments. Choosing not to talk of them reduces the review to shallow generalizations about events left unexplained. However, choosing to discuss them undercuts the emotional power of the film for viewers who have not yet attended the film.
I’m choosing to seek a philosophical middle ground in which I talk of key psychological issues, but not about the plot. Reading this review in retrospect, I can sense that insightful moviegoers may fairly easily deduce the plot from my reflecctions. So proceed at your own risk – save it until after the film, if you wish.
So what can be said about “In the Bedroom” that somewhat preserves the surprises?
For starters, it’s a small-town drama about Matt, a family physician, and Ruth, a high school teacher, whose marriage unfolds like two icebergs floating through the North Sea – what we see above the water’s surface is mundane, with a touch of respectability. But what’s going on beneath the surface is anything but tranquil – the controlling mom and the emotionally impotent dad are engaged in passive-aggressive chess games.
The son Frank, a bright college student who is taking time off from studying to reconsider his life, is dating a single mom with two children. Ruth is determined to sabotage this relationship. Dad is torn, with his love for his son colliding with his worries about the son’s future.
End of Act I.
The arrival of the jealous ex-husband into the plot sets the stage for a story about violence, grief and revenge. But instead of playing out this tragedy as a Hollywood horror film complete with grisly details and loud screams, director Todd Field chooses to focus the camera on the interior dramas – often editing out the horror entirely.
In the end, we are treated to an emotional tapestry that explores in dramatic form the issues raised by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, in her work on coping with grief. Kubler-Ross suggests that when experiencing loss we move inexorably through denial, anger, bargaining, despair and, if we are to heal, acceptance.
“In the Bedroom” is a case study of what might go wrong if, instead of healing, the wounded victims linger interminably in the hateful stages of anger and despair. By seeing the consequences of this misconceived “solution” to grief, we are left to wish that they had sought a love-based, rather than a hate-based, solution.
Intellectually, I found “In the Bedroom” absorbing. The acting was Oscar-worthy and may win Sissy Spacek (one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever had the privilege of interviewing) a statue.
But emotionally, I found “In the Bedroom” too slow and too tedious for its own good – and I like slow movies! I also found the plot twists a bit forced and the tale a touch too melodramatic. I thus stand as one of the few critics with any reservations about this Oscar-nominated, critically celebrated film.
I learned a lot about anger, love and grief by watching “In the Bedroom.” But I was not as emotionally moved, for example, as I was during “A Beautiful Mind.” I was sad for the pain, but I never shivered in empathy with the many victims.
The film's title is culled from dialogue about lobsters who, when trapped together in a trap, nip at one another, "in the bedroom." This film is about such nipping in lobster trap that looks suspiciously like a happy small-town home.
“In the Bedroom” is an important film, covering emotional territory seldom explored in contemporary film. It didn’t deserve a “Best Picture” nomination, but it does deserve a careful viewing by moviegoers who like their films stirred gently, rather than liquefied in Hollywood’s melodramatic blender.
END
At the Myrna Loy
Three stars
The art of interior redecoration
By Brent Northup
Ironically, violence can be spawned both from hate and from love. “In the Bedroom,” a haunting psychological drama nominated for Best Picture, examines both motives and concludes that the devastation is equally tragic, no matter what the emotional origin.
Reviewing “In the Bedroom” is difficult, because the film depends on two “surprise” moments. Choosing not to talk of them reduces the review to shallow generalizations about events left unexplained. However, choosing to discuss them undercuts the emotional power of the film for viewers who have not yet attended the film.
I’m choosing to seek a philosophical middle ground in which I talk of key psychological issues, but not about the plot. Reading this review in retrospect, I can sense that insightful moviegoers may fairly easily deduce the plot from my reflecctions. So proceed at your own risk – save it until after the film, if you wish.
So what can be said about “In the Bedroom” that somewhat preserves the surprises?
For starters, it’s a small-town drama about Matt, a family physician, and Ruth, a high school teacher, whose marriage unfolds like two icebergs floating through the North Sea – what we see above the water’s surface is mundane, with a touch of respectability. But what’s going on beneath the surface is anything but tranquil – the controlling mom and the emotionally impotent dad are engaged in passive-aggressive chess games.
The son Frank, a bright college student who is taking time off from studying to reconsider his life, is dating a single mom with two children. Ruth is determined to sabotage this relationship. Dad is torn, with his love for his son colliding with his worries about the son’s future.
End of Act I.
The arrival of the jealous ex-husband into the plot sets the stage for a story about violence, grief and revenge. But instead of playing out this tragedy as a Hollywood horror film complete with grisly details and loud screams, director Todd Field chooses to focus the camera on the interior dramas – often editing out the horror entirely.
In the end, we are treated to an emotional tapestry that explores in dramatic form the issues raised by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, in her work on coping with grief. Kubler-Ross suggests that when experiencing loss we move inexorably through denial, anger, bargaining, despair and, if we are to heal, acceptance.
“In the Bedroom” is a case study of what might go wrong if, instead of healing, the wounded victims linger interminably in the hateful stages of anger and despair. By seeing the consequences of this misconceived “solution” to grief, we are left to wish that they had sought a love-based, rather than a hate-based, solution.
Intellectually, I found “In the Bedroom” absorbing. The acting was Oscar-worthy and may win Sissy Spacek (one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever had the privilege of interviewing) a statue.
But emotionally, I found “In the Bedroom” too slow and too tedious for its own good – and I like slow movies! I also found the plot twists a bit forced and the tale a touch too melodramatic. I thus stand as one of the few critics with any reservations about this Oscar-nominated, critically celebrated film.
I learned a lot about anger, love and grief by watching “In the Bedroom.” But I was not as emotionally moved, for example, as I was during “A Beautiful Mind.” I was sad for the pain, but I never shivered in empathy with the many victims.
The film's title is culled from dialogue about lobsters who, when trapped together in a trap, nip at one another, "in the bedroom." This film is about such nipping in lobster trap that looks suspiciously like a happy small-town home.
“In the Bedroom” is an important film, covering emotional territory seldom explored in contemporary film. It didn’t deserve a “Best Picture” nomination, but it does deserve a careful viewing by moviegoers who like their films stirred gently, rather than liquefied in Hollywood’s melodramatic blender.
END