The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015. Remaining movies: 272 Days to go: 264
Movie #105: Far From Heaven
Nothing against Nicole Kidman, and The Hours is a lovely, lovely film that I think is simply wonderful, but Julianne Moore in Far From Heaven is transcendent, and frankly it’s insane the woman doesn’t have an Oscar yet. Not one!
Years before Mad Men, there was Far From Heaven, a movie that juxtaposes the cinematic ideal of the 1950s with the more realistic and painful social and cultural conflicts that existed just below the surface. To emphasize this contradiction, the movie is filmed in bright and striking colors, the score is melodramatic to the point of being intrusive, and even driving scenes feature the obvious stock-footage film projected behind the back windows of the car. The characters, too, epitomize the suburban lifestyle of the ’50s, as seen in the movies of the time. Don and Betty Draper may have had an outwardly ideal marriage cloaked in secrets, but Frank and Cathy Whitaker (Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore) did it first.
Cathy Whitaker is outrageously perfect. Always impeccably coiffed and dressed in the latest upper-middle class ’50s housewife fashions — petticoats, pointed bras and heels included — Cathy manages the home, shuffles the kids off to bed or to do their homework, oversees a housekeeper and a gardener, hosts functions, is active in the community, models for Frank’s company’s advertisements, gets written up in the society pages, and calls her husband “darling” at least three times per sentence. It’s over the top on purpose, to reflect how far removed this flawless exterior is from what’s really going on. Frank, see, has been acting shady — staying late at work, getting arrested under ambiguous circumstances, going to the movies by himself and following people into a secret bar around the corner. Cathy accepts his every excuse, but when he calls to say he’s staying late again and Cathy already has dinner ready, she opts to go bring him a plate, perfect wife that she is. What she finds at his office, however, is Frank and another man half-dressed and feverishly making out. Suddenly Cathy’s whole world is shaken. Having a homosexual husband can really strain a girl’s marriage that way.
Cathy is open-minded, though, and eager to help her husband in whatever way she can. He starts going to see a psychiatrist, but that only brings his anger and frustration and shame to the forefront. He drinks more heavily than ever, which leads to an out-of-control moment in which he flails to get her away from him and winds up striking her in the forehead. Losing her grip on the tightly wound life she’s lived up to that point, she bursts into tears and her (black) gardener, Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), sees her. Cathy soon finds herself opening up to him and enjoying his company at a time when, even in Hartford, CT, racism runs rampant. People start talking about and snubbing her, Frank forbids Raymond from working for them ever again, and Cathy is blamed for jeopardizing Frank’s reputation. Desperate and forlorn, she tells Raymond she can’t be his friend any longer. She hopes this will solve everything, but it doesn’t, and life just gets messier and more complicated for Cathy by the day.
Everything about Julianne Moore’s performance is fantastic, from her monied-New-Englander accent to her airy, sophisticated way of holding herself and treating everyone with respect. The desperation and unexpected heartbreak she experiences upon her separation from Raymond reads as stark pain on her face. Haysbert, too, is lovely to watch. The character of Raymond is warm and steadying in a world that, for Cathy, has suddenly turned cold and shaky. And Dennis Quaid is a tightly wound bundle of desire, aggression and self-loathing. He is barely restrained at all times, constantly appearing as if he jump off the screen and bolt to some safer ground. Even Viola Davis, downplaying her natural beauty and captivating persona as the Whitaker’s housekeeper, eyes the goings on in the household with a knowing circumspection and protectiveness. Only Patricia Clarkson, as Cathy’s best friend Eleanor, is played with anything but restraint at the breaking point. Clarkson, to her infinite credit, gets to be bold and outspoken, but she when she finally hears the whole story from Cathy, it’s Cathy’s close friendship with a black man, not Frank’s homosexuality, that rubs her the wrong way. Poor Cathy can’t catch a break.
Far From Heaven is the kind of movie that’s wonderful to remind you that not everything is what it seems, and that people often have far worse problems on their mind than what appears on the surface, in addition to being a touching tale of impossible love amid unfair social rules. It’s one of those films that reinforces a person’s powers of empathy, which is always a good thing, in addition to being a gorgeous visual and emotional statement. It’s not something I watch often, but I always think of it fondly.
Viable Option 