JUNEBUG jitters

JUNEBUG (2005)
d: Phil Morrison
c: USA

The Jzz, who lives in Los Angeles, called me this past weekend. One of the more interesting topics of discussion was his newfound appreciation for Junebug, a film that we saw together here, in Sacramento, back in October. I didn't like it; I remember going off in the Tower lobby about heavy-handed melodrama, red-neck cynicism and blue-state idealism. (I must confess that I was pretty lit during the screening.)

So, I watched the film again last night on DVD and, like the Jzz, have come around. But I'm not going to blame the evil weed for my initial reaction; instead, I will put the blame squarely on the vague praise of our local critics, specifically SN&R's Bob Grimm (my all-time-favorite scapegoat). Yes, that's right, it's his fucking fault!

Grimm begins his review with a wildly esoteric lead: "Junebug is one of those once-every-other-year movies. Its portrayal of people is so insightful that at times it's downright scary." Now, this really puts me off: What's the fucking point of saying a movie is a a once "every-other" year movie? Is that even quantifiable! Grimm does shit like this all the time; it kills me. Did he like the film so much that he can only qualify its uber-goodness on a rubric scale that assumes (A) most films are shit, and (B) most films have no insight into their characters?

Furthermore, his review is riddled with misinterpretations. Specifically: (A) the film being about " ... discovering secrets and surviving the paranoia of marrying somebody before you know them.", (B) nonsense like " ...Junebug doesn't waste time explaining why George is secretive and insecure ... The viewer can fill in the story, a fun task given the richness and complexity of each character," or (C) such irrelevant gossip as: " ... Hollywood's best probably will be clamoring to work for the guy [Morrison]." I'm sick of Grimm logic.

Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz), Johnny (Benjamin McKenzie) and Ashley (Amy Adams) share a moment ... or maybe just raisin bran.

Perhaps the film is about the failures and shortcomings of our respective ideologies. Amy Adams, who plays the pregnant Ashley, is an obvious example of a failed life view. Ashley makes a 100-percent effort to live her life by the teachings of Jesus Christ: She attends church, puts others before her and always has a positive spin on even the worst situations. {SPOILER ALERT!!!} However, when she loses her baby during childbirth at the end of the third act, she finally must reconcile her values with reality: Her husband (that dude from the O.C.) is a shithead; the God she has so trusted and revered has denied her; and, ultimately, she's hopeless. Cynicism prevails, which is why I question Grimm's assertion that these characters are, in fact, either rich or complex.

"He says much with his bewildered eyes," writes Grimm of George, the film's protagonist. If anything, George is an archetype, not a bemused cutout, because, in the words of his father, he is the only one who doesn't "hide himself," as Madeleine might attest (when they meet in the opening scene, she is astounded by his sexual frankness—"Where did you come from?" she asks of him. George, unlike Ashley, is able to see through life's superficialities (the mall, small-town life, church indoctrinations, family drama, nail polish), and, in turn, is able to escape the so-called schackles of his upbringing.

The crux here is that the film is not about "discoveries": It's a well-calculated critique cultural ideologies. Morrison argues that, per Hegel, viewing the world within a defined framework, or perspective, will only lead to hostile and undesired resolution. When George first arrives back home and is seen, in deep focus, wandering around the yard while his family congregates indoors in the kitchen and, later, is shown looking around his house nostalgically, Morrison does imply that George is, effectively, a Christ figure: He accepts neither red- or blue-state ideology; he is, as he sings during the impeccably well-crafted rec-hall sequence, a "soft and tender" voyager seeking only the truth (that is, of course, in so far as humanly possible). Grimm writes that "it’s clear that George hasn’t told Madeleine everything about his home life," but, however, he doesn't need to: He wears who he is. George does not mince words when he conveys his disappointment with Madeleine not going to the hospital: He lets her go chat-up the artist, but is inequivocally displeased. Morrison seems to comment, if anything, that people change not by what you do for them but instead by how you hold them accountable—is that not a more powerful facet of love than, say, devotion ... or righteousness? There are no discoveries. Just acceptance.

Grimm is on the mark, however, with his praise for director Morrison. Specifically, I enjoyed how Morrison would segue from sequence to sequence with still shots of different rooms in the family home, or tracking shots of the grandiose Midwest estates. He really establishes a sense of place that is totally foreign to the Chicago home of George and Madeleine. Again, these small touches accentuate their disparate ideologies; the film's palette, to me, is self-evident and brilliantly conceived.

Junebug is a must-rent. Queue it up today.