In Appreciation of Junebug, my #1 film of 2005
While watching highlights of American Idol's recent trip to Greensboro the other night, a thought popped into my head: It's so easy to mock Southern culture. You don't even have to try. As stereotype after stereotype wandered into the audition room to face the wrath of the Six-Headed Monster that is Simon, Randy, Paula, and their respective egos, I couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the country thought of my adopted homestate.
Never mind that you can find variations on all of those stereotypes in every part of the country; if you're from south of the Mason-Dixon, you must be a beer-chugging, Republican-voting, education-lacking, chain-smoking, culturally-deficient broodmare for the state.
Which is why it's so refreshing when you read or watch a story that respects, rather than looks down, on its characters.
"Junebug," my favorite movie of last year, accomplishes the delicate task of observing Southern culture -- through the eyes of an outsider -- without ever lampooning it or resorting to half-baked generalities. In doing this, it also maintains its sympathy for the outsider; rather than couching her as the Cultured, Highbrow Yankee cruising into town with an eyebrow raised and her head in the clouds, she gains our sympathy as well.
The premise of the story is fairly straightforward: An art dealer, Madeleine, meets a guy named George at an auction in Chicago who's admiring a work of "outsider art." They are both attracted to each other instantly; after the proceedings, they make out for a few minutes before she breathlessly asks him where he's from.
He tells her, almost with a smirk, that he's from a small town near Winston-Salem. Not long after, they are married.
Six months later, Madeleine needs to visit the home of David Wark, an artist who specializes in works of outsider art one could classify as racist, symbolic, pornographic, or all three. Wark lives near Winston-Salem, so after she persuades him to sign with her art gallery, she can also meet George's family for the first time while she's at it.
To say more about the story would be ruining the experience; there is a plot, but the real joy of watching the film is observing Madeleine as she attempts to assimilate herself into a culture foreign to her, and also watching George return to a world he's not sure he wants to return to. George's mother Peg (Celia Weston) instantly resents Madeleine for taking her son away; his younger brother Johnny (played wonderfully by The O.C.'s Benjamin McKenzie) resents him for coming back and overshadowing him yet again; Johnny's pregnant wife Ashley (Amy Adams -- more on her later) envies Madeleine and her cultured, well-traveled background; and George's father Eugene (Scott Wilson) wanders around the house aimlessly.
In short, this is an insulated, fiercely protective home, and when Madeleine enters it, it forces everyone to come to terms with their relationships to everyone else.
Director Phil Morrison assembled a near-perfect cast for the movie, but I have to take a moment here and expound on one performance in particular. In a year when much ado was made (and justifiably so) about Reese Witherspoon's portrayal of June Carter Cash in "Walk the Line," I think Amy Adams outdid even my beloved Reese. Ashley is the character most in danger of parody, and it would have been so easy for Adams to depict her as a caricature.
Instead, Adams plays her with the right combination of naivete and awareness: she knows she's not as smart or refined as Madeleine and wants so desperately what Madeleine seems to have -- attention from her husband -- yet she always maintains her relentless optimism and sunshine-y demeanor; she provides the life in an otherwise lifeless family. She is also capable of blunt, sudden wisdom: "God loves you just the way you are, but He loves you too much to let you stay that way," she tells Johnny.
Of course, her showcase scene comes near the end, while she's talking to George. I won't ruin the moment, but it's remarkable how Adams never allows Ashley to dwell on sadness for too long; she's such a trusting, loving person that she can't keep that submerged for long.
"Junebug" is not without faults. Though I didn't mind the film's deliberate, almost funereal pace, there are moments when the "show, don't tell" adage is taken to its absolute extreme. We aren't told much of anything about George's post-N.C. life other than his new marriage, and the crucial decision Madeleine is forced to make near the end of the film shouldn't be as monumental as screenwriter Angus MacLachlan wants it to be.
But that's all quibbling. "Junebug" works because it gets the details right. So much dialogue in film is superfluous and/or simply expository, but so much of this film rang true -- even for a Yankee like me -- that there wasn't a film in 2005 that I admired more. For such an unassuming, subtle drama, you may be surprised at how effectively it gets under your skin.
Never mind that you can find variations on all of those stereotypes in every part of the country; if you're from south of the Mason-Dixon, you must be a beer-chugging, Republican-voting, education-lacking, chain-smoking, culturally-deficient broodmare for the state.
Which is why it's so refreshing when you read or watch a story that respects, rather than looks down, on its characters.
"Junebug," my favorite movie of last year, accomplishes the delicate task of observing Southern culture -- through the eyes of an outsider -- without ever lampooning it or resorting to half-baked generalities. In doing this, it also maintains its sympathy for the outsider; rather than couching her as the Cultured, Highbrow Yankee cruising into town with an eyebrow raised and her head in the clouds, she gains our sympathy as well.
The premise of the story is fairly straightforward: An art dealer, Madeleine, meets a guy named George at an auction in Chicago who's admiring a work of "outsider art." They are both attracted to each other instantly; after the proceedings, they make out for a few minutes before she breathlessly asks him where he's from.
He tells her, almost with a smirk, that he's from a small town near Winston-Salem. Not long after, they are married.
Six months later, Madeleine needs to visit the home of David Wark, an artist who specializes in works of outsider art one could classify as racist, symbolic, pornographic, or all three. Wark lives near Winston-Salem, so after she persuades him to sign with her art gallery, she can also meet George's family for the first time while she's at it.
To say more about the story would be ruining the experience; there is a plot, but the real joy of watching the film is observing Madeleine as she attempts to assimilate herself into a culture foreign to her, and also watching George return to a world he's not sure he wants to return to. George's mother Peg (Celia Weston) instantly resents Madeleine for taking her son away; his younger brother Johnny (played wonderfully by The O.C.'s Benjamin McKenzie) resents him for coming back and overshadowing him yet again; Johnny's pregnant wife Ashley (Amy Adams -- more on her later) envies Madeleine and her cultured, well-traveled background; and George's father Eugene (Scott Wilson) wanders around the house aimlessly.
In short, this is an insulated, fiercely protective home, and when Madeleine enters it, it forces everyone to come to terms with their relationships to everyone else.
Director Phil Morrison assembled a near-perfect cast for the movie, but I have to take a moment here and expound on one performance in particular. In a year when much ado was made (and justifiably so) about Reese Witherspoon's portrayal of June Carter Cash in "Walk the Line," I think Amy Adams outdid even my beloved Reese. Ashley is the character most in danger of parody, and it would have been so easy for Adams to depict her as a caricature.
Instead, Adams plays her with the right combination of naivete and awareness: she knows she's not as smart or refined as Madeleine and wants so desperately what Madeleine seems to have -- attention from her husband -- yet she always maintains her relentless optimism and sunshine-y demeanor; she provides the life in an otherwise lifeless family. She is also capable of blunt, sudden wisdom: "God loves you just the way you are, but He loves you too much to let you stay that way," she tells Johnny.
Of course, her showcase scene comes near the end, while she's talking to George. I won't ruin the moment, but it's remarkable how Adams never allows Ashley to dwell on sadness for too long; she's such a trusting, loving person that she can't keep that submerged for long.
"Junebug" is not without faults. Though I didn't mind the film's deliberate, almost funereal pace, there are moments when the "show, don't tell" adage is taken to its absolute extreme. We aren't told much of anything about George's post-N.C. life other than his new marriage, and the crucial decision Madeleine is forced to make near the end of the film shouldn't be as monumental as screenwriter Angus MacLachlan wants it to be.
But that's all quibbling. "Junebug" works because it gets the details right. So much dialogue in film is superfluous and/or simply expository, but so much of this film rang true -- even for a Yankee like me -- that there wasn't a film in 2005 that I admired more. For such an unassuming, subtle drama, you may be surprised at how effectively it gets under your skin.
posted by Mike at 3:40 PM
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