"The Wife," by Meg Wolitzer -- A Novel and a Film

Meg Wolitzer is one of the best contemporary American novelists. She is known for writing strong women characters, and focusing on families, friends, and relationships. She does so in original and compelling ways. She has also written thoughtfully and candidly – both in her fiction and her nonfiction - about her concerns about gender bias in the literary world as well as in the larger world; I appreciate so much her willingness to do so. Her novels include “The Ten-Year Nap,” “The Interestings,” and “The Female Persuasion,” all of which I have read (and many more of her novels as well). Her novel “The Wife” (which I also read) is now in the news because this past year it was, 14 years after publication, made into a major movie starring the wonderful actress Glenn Close. Ms. Close plays the wife of a man who wins the Nobel Prize in Literature. I don’t want to say more about the plot, for fear of providing spoilers. Her performance is restrained, and the most compelling part of the film is watching her face as she reacts to various events and feelings. Close was up for best actress at the Academy Awards a couple of weeks ago, for this film; unfortunately (in my view), she didn’t win. In any case, it was a pleasure to read the novel and a pleasure to see the film. And the feminist message in both is important.

PBS's "Little Women"

PBS recently showed a three hour production of Louisa May Alcott’s “Little Women.” My friend B. had seen it before I did, and she was not enthusiastic about this production, especially decrying the last hour, which she felt rushed too quickly through the later parts of the characters’ lives, skipping years at a time. I partly agree with this assessment, BUT – perhaps being overly sentimental – I still enjoyed it, including (I admit) weeping through several parts of it. The acting was good (although I couldn’t help remembering the terrific 1994 film directed by Gillian Armstrong and featuring a star-studded cast: Winona Ryder, Claire Danes, Kirsten Dunst, Christian Bale, Gabriel Byrne, and Susan Sarandon). Of course I loved being reminded of this book, so cherished by so many, and read and reread multiple times, especially by young girls and women. We loved the gumption of Jo, and dreamed of being writers like her. We worried about Beth’s ill health. We got annoyed at Amy’s occasional brattiness. We loved that Marmee and her minister/soldier husband and their four girls were so close, and so kind, but with interesting quirks as well. There was romance as well. Who among us didn’t have a little crush on Theodore “Laurie” Laurence? One part I think the production wisely downplayed was the very moralistic, didactic preachy aspects of the novel. I remember rereading it some 25 years ago after a long time away from it, and being surprised by the heavy, transparent, unapologetic preachiness embedded in the charming and inspiring story. I have read that Alcott didn’t necessarily believe in or endorse a lot of that, or at least wouldn’t necessarily have featured it so strongly, but that her editors and others encouraged it, because such “lessons” in fiction, especially for young readers, were considered important at the time that the author wrote. Still, nothing could turn me against this treasured and often reread novel, and it was a pleasure to see the new KQED production. And sometimes it is enjoyable to weep about a story!

Julian Barnes' "The Sense of an Ending": Book, Film, and Unsettling Birthday Experience

It was my birthday, and as a gift to myself, I went to a movie. Let me back up: I hardly ever go to movies during academic semesters, although I do go during breaks in the academic year. But I had been wanting to see the new movie version of Julian Barnes’ “The Sense of an Ending” (a Booker-prize winning novel about which I posted here on 1/6/12; readers can find out more about the story there; today I instead focus on my own experiences and feelings before, during, and after seeing the film). On my birthday morning, I thought I would check online to see how much longer the movie would be at a local theater, and found that the last showing before the film left the theater would be in the late afternoon on that very day. OK, so it was apparently meant to be. I left campus a little earlier than usual, got to the theater a little early, and casting around for something to read to pass the time, leafed through a book I had put in my trunk in order to return it to the library, having decided not to read it after all: Peter Orner’s “Am I Alone Here?” This is a book about books, and as I flipped through it during those fifteen minutes before the movie was to start, within seconds my eye was caught by a very negative mention of Barnes’ novel; in fact, Orner claims he threw the book out of a car window, reacting very strongly against the main character in the book, Tony, as well as sarcastically impugning it as a "book club copy." The story was meant to be humorous, but the negative feelings came through. This was unsettling on several levels. First, what a coincidence that glancing through a book I had already "rejected" myself, I happened across a reference to its author rather scornfully rejecting a book I had liked very much, the film of which I was about to see! Was this somehow the book’s revenge on me for rejecting it? A message from the universe? With mixed feelings, I watched the movie, and I liked the movie, although I didn’t love it. I mainly liked it because it was about the juxtaposition and connections between our older selves and our younger selves (something I have had reason to think about a lot lately), and because the two lead actors – Jim Broadbent and Charlotte Rampling – were excellent. Also, more generally, I especially like movies set in England, and "quiet" movies about people's lives and relationships (as opposed to "action" movies, "big" movies, genre movies, and movies where the action is more important than the conversations). But against my will, Orner’s emphatic dismissal of the book left its mark, and I found myself comparing my feelings with his as I was watching the movie. In other words, I couldn’t ignore what I had read about the book and by extension the movie, and although I disagreed with and resented Orner’s comments, they had insidiously worked their way into my brain and affected my response to the film. This small tale of my birthday gift to myself made me reflect on coincidences in our lives, as well as on how easily we are influenced by the opinions of others, even those we actively resist.

"To Walk Invisible: The Bronte Sisters," on PBS Masterpiece

I have always been fascinated by the Bronte family, as have so many other readers of their novels. Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre” and “Villette” have been of special interest to me; I have read both multiple times, and taught “Jane Eyre” several times. So of course I was pleased to hear that PBS’ Masterpiece was presenting “To Walk Invisible: The Bronte Sisters” (March 26, 2017). It is a fascinating look at the lives of the three sisters (Charlotte, Emily, and Anne) and their unfortunate brother (Branwell), as well as their overwhelmed father. I already knew the story of their lives quite well, from studying and reading about them in various sources. This PBS production is partially based on Charlotte’s letters. It is a riveting but extremely bleak look at the family’s intensely intertwined lives in the Bronte Parsonage in Haworth, Yorkshire, over a period of three years when their novels began to be published. You would think that the time of these publications would be an occasion for joy for the family, and there were a few -- very few -- moments of joy, but these were muted, and any expressions of such emotion was suppressed by societal and family concerns. The societal concerns were, of course, the fact that women writers were not generally encouraged, respected, or accepted at that time. The family concerns were that the Bronte sisters’ brother, Branwell, was expected (by his family and by Branwell himself) to be the writer in the family, the one who would be published and gain fame, but he never did, perhaps from insufficient talent but mostly because he was an extreme alcoholic whose life was chaotic, full of debt, and much complicated by a failed love affair with a married woman. These were the two reasons the sisters (famously) chose to write their novels under pseudonyms. The three of them who were living at the time of this portrayal (two other sisters had died in childhood) were constantly having to take care of their brother, rescue him, cover up his misdeeds, and go along with his delusion that he was the gifted one in the family whose work (as a writer and as an artist) would soon be recognized. In other words, Branwell was the dysfunctional and highly disruptive center of the family, and the sisters were forced to be, and also chose to be, his enablers. Their mother was dead, and their father was bewildered and overwhelmed by dealing with his deeply troubled son. Branwell’s role in the family was a huge part of the grimness of the sisters’ lives, but it was exacerbated, it seems, by their isolation in a small town in Yorkshire, by the spare and cold aspect of the Parsonage where they lived, and by money worries. This Masterpiece production emphasizes the bleakness, the grimness of the lives of these amazing writers, through its portrayal of the parsonage, the scenery, the claustrophobia of the family members’ lives, the sisters’ plain clothing and severe hairstyles, and the fact that almost no one in the production ever smiles or laughs. There is affection among the family members, especially the three sisters, and they are a great support to each other, but the overall situation is depressing. In fact, I realize in writing about this production two weeks after I saw it that I am remembering it as if it were in black and white, although the actual show was in color. The sisters are portrayed very well by three strong actresses, and the actors playing Branwell and the family’s father are also good in their roles. This is a powerful piece, and of interest both to those already devoted to the Brontes and their work, and to those who know less about them but want to learn more.

"Julieta," a Film by Pedro Almodovar

Readers of this blog may remember how much I admire and love the fiction of Alice Munro, the wonderful Canadian writer who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2013. A couple of days ago, I went to see the Spanish film “Julieta,” directed by Pedro Almodovar and based on three Munro stories from her collection “Runaway” (2004), but with the setting changed from Canada to Spain. The film is in Spanish with English subtitles. The stories are “Change,” “Soon,” and “Silence.” (Almodovar originally called the film “Silence” after one of the stories, but when he found that Martin Scorsese’s new film was to have the same title, he changed it.) Warning: although I try not to give too much of the plot away, some might consider that the following contains spoiler alerts. OK, warning given, I will proceed: The film is about a mother, Julieta, whose daughter, Antia, unexpectedly left when she was 18 and for 12 years never communicated with her mother except for a few blank birthday cards. In the “present” of the film, Julieta is about to move from Spain to Portugal with her new lover, when she runs into Antia’s childhood friend, who says she recently saw Antia by chance and that Antia is now living in Switzerland, is married, and has three children. Julieta immediately changes her plans to move, and stays in Madrid, where she hopes Antia will someday contact her. Meanwhile, we get an extended flashback to when Julieta met Xoan on a train, they became lovers, and she eventually moved in with him and had her daughter, Antia. There are many twists and turns in the stories of the past and of the present, including a tragic death. I will of course not reveal these, nor the ending of the story. The role of Julieta is played by two actresses, one as Julieta in her 20s (Adriana Ugarte) and one, in the present, as Julieta in her early 50s (Emma Suarez). The actresses look startlingly alike, and both are terrific. Almodovar, in interviews, said that despite the rather melodramatic events of the story, he was aiming for a film of austerity, restraint, and solitude, and he achieves this, in my opinion. To me, the most powerful part of the film is the emotional connection between mother and daughter, which is so strong and then becomes severed. Julieta’s pain and mourning are palpable and wrenching. Even when she has found new love with a very supportive man, she is willing to give it all up on the tiny chance that her daughter will get back in touch with her. I felt I had to see this film because of the Alice Munro connection, but even without knowing of that background, I would have very much liked the film and been very moved by it.

"Genius," a Film about Editing (and Much More)

The minute I heard about the new film “Genius,” I was determined to see it, and soon after, I did. This movie depicts the relationship of the novelist Thomas Wolfe (played by Jude Law) and his Scribner’s editor, Maxwell Perkins (played by Colin Firth). To those of us readers who think of the creation of a literary work as an almost holy process, any insights into this process are a great gift. As is fairly well known, Wolfe was a wildly creative and seemingly undisciplined writer with an outsized personality who brought in enormous manuscripts, was very attached to his own words, and kept adding to them up to the last minute. His manuscript for “Look Homeward, Angel” had been rejected by over forty publishers when Perkins accepted it for Scribner’s. Then the two men embarked on a long, difficult process of editing it, cutting it down to a reasonable length. Much of the film shows the two in Perkins’ office, or walking, or on the train, or in various other locales, constantly talking and arguing about each phrase, each sentence, each description. Perkins was mostly endlessly patient with this brilliant but uncontainable author, and they became friends; some suggested they had an almost father-son relationship. The big question, of course, and Perkins himself brought this up at one point, is what the job of an editor is, and whether his (at that point, in the 1930s, it was always a “he”) editing made the work much better, or molded it in a way that diluted the original strength, vision, and style of the author. We also see Perkins’ family (his wife is played by Laura Linney), and Wolfe’s lover and inspiration Aline Bernstein (played by Nicole Kidman). Aline left her family for a passionate and deep relationship with Wolfe; ultimately, though, Wolfe’s allegiance was always first and foremost to his writing, and he left people behind along the way. Perkins also edited F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway, and there are a few scenes with those writers as well, showing the competitiveness and jockeying for reputation (and for Perkins’ favor) that took place among the three writers. The movie has received somewhat mixed reviews, as has the acting. Jude Law is accused of overacting, and Colin Firth of being too restrained. There are also complaints about British and Australian actors playing American literary figures. And some say it is just too hard to make s story about editing dramatic and interesting; it has been called "slow." To all of which I say (forgive my informality), “Whatever!” I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, the acting, the literary history, and the glimpses into the writing and editing and publishing processes, and I think you will too.

"Love and Friendship," the Movie

If you love Jane Austen’s work, as you know I do, I recommend you see the new movie “Love and Friendship.” It is based on Austen’s early, unfinished book, “Lady Susan.” (This is a little confusing, because Austen’s first published juvenilia was a novella titled “Love and Freindship,” and yes, the misspelling was in the original title.) I have read the book several times (although fewer times than Austen's complete novels; it is Austen, so I love it, but it is clearly not at the level of her six finished novels), and just saw the film and liked it very much. It (the book and the film) is a bit darker (not too dark though) than most of her work, and than the other movies based on her work. Both still have the wit, the comedy, the razor-sharp observations of Austen’s work. What is different is that the main character, Lady Susan Vernon, is truly unscrupulous and manipulative, more than most of Austen’s characters in her other novels, especially women characters (there are a few deceiving rakes in the other novels, but even they are usually repentant at some point, and/or have some redeeming qualities). But even so, we see that as a female on her own, a widow with few financial resources, Lady Susan has to use whatever she can to survive (one of Austen's messages in some of her other novels, but usually in less blatant form). She has her own agency, and is able to achieve her goals (eventually) of marrying off her daughter and then getting married herself, flirting and having affairs with others, always playing one man off against another. The acting is excellent, with Kate Beckinsale in the part of Lady Susan, and other wonderful actors, some recognizable (Stephen Frye, Jemma Redgrave), some not. As a bonus, the beautiful costumes and the settings of the impressive country houses are splendid.

"Gemma Bovery," a Film

I had read Posy Simmonds’ 1999 graphic novel, “Gemma Bovery,” and enjoyed it, so I thought it would be fun to see the movie version with the same title. It was fun, definitely, and a good although not a great film. Both the book and the film provide a tongue-in-cheek modern version of Flaubert’s great novel, “Madame Bovary” (which I read and studied in college, and re-read later, although not recently), in which the main character is named Emma Bovary. The film is in French, with some English, and English subtitles. The main character, Gemma Bovery, and her husband Charles move from England to the Normandy countryside, where Flaubert’s novel was also set. One of their neighbors is taken with the coincidence of Gemma’s name being so close to that of Emma Bovary, and at the same time develops a huge crush on her. He observes her constantly, in what would be a creepy fashion if it were not for his seeming innate basic decency. Gemma, like Emma, is unhappy in her marriage and bored, as well as being very beautiful and exuding sexuality, and inevitably she finds love or at least passion elsewhere, which eventually, also inevitably, leads to a sad ending. The film manages to balance lightness with seriousness, and is certainly entertaining, enhanced by the good acting on the part of all the main actors as well as by the beautiful setting. I am of course an easy mark for a book or film that is based on or connected to, and a variation on, a classic book, so I was predisposed to like this movie, and I did indeed like it. By the way, although having read “Madame Bovary” adds a little extra sense of connection to the film, it is definitely not a requirement for enjoying this film.

"Olive Kitteridge" on Television

Elizabeth Strout’s 2008 novel, “Olive Kitteridge,” was a bestseller, and I was one of the many readers who found it compelling. So when HBO created a four-hour mini-series of the novel that showed a couple of weeks ago, I had to watch it. I was very impressed by the production, which was quite faithful to the novel. Those who produced and directed it were not afraid to show the dark side of the novel and the main character; by “dark” I don’t mean evil but rather damaged, sad, depressed, cynical. Frances McDormand does an excellent job of portraying Olive in all her complexity; despite Olive's sad, harsh, and unbending side, McDormand shows the humanity and vulnerability of this character as well. Richard Jenkins, the actor who portrays Olive’s husband Henry, is equally good; his character is long-suffering, trying to understand and be patient with Olive. Their love for each other is clear, despite rarely being openly expressed. Because they have trouble communicating, they both turn to others for some of their emotional connections; although there is probably also some attraction in both these cases, it is not acted on, or at least this production does not suggest that. The other actors are also good, and the production is beautifully executed. Although it may seem slow to some viewers, it is slow in a realistic way, showing the daily lives of these characters in a small town; watching the characters and their interactions is riveting. For readers with access to it, I highly recommend this mini-series version of “Olive Kitteridge.”