I thought this essay by Kate Sheppard in the American Prospect, complaining about quirky characters in independent film, was worth reading.
Sheppard asserts that independent films are acting from Tolstoy's dictum that "every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
"The problem is," she declares, "Tolstoy was wrong. The central components of unhappiness in [the indie titles she mentions]--insecurity, loss, realization of one's own mortality, failing to live up to expectations--are the very essence of what moviegoers identify with. ...but rather than exploring those similarities...[indie filmmakers] create characters with odd personality traits and the false pretense that everyone's struggles are inherently unique."
I both agree with and disagree with Sheppard.
Disagreement first: I don't think Tolstoy meant what she thinks he did. After all, Sheppard is right--everyone faces insecurity, loss, mortality, disappointment, failure, etcetera. That's just a given. The happiest, most fulfilled life still has all those elements. The happiest, most fulfilled family does too.
But, and I think this is what Tolstoy meant, the question is how a given family deals with it.
There are some families which deal with it graciously and humanly. Even with a touch of humor.
And then there are the families which deal with it by screaming at each other about the meatloaf. Or pretending to help each other while they tear each other down. Or scapegoating one or more of their members. Or all of the above. Or all of the above plus snorting heroin, stealing their kids' lunch money, and lying to them about it.
These are the families that indie filmmakers are going for. I would argue that when Sheppard criticizes the self-absorbed, self-important, shallow behavior of protagonists Jon and Wendy Savage in THE SAVAGES, she's missing the point. The point of the film is, "Look at how these idiots can't even deal with an aging parent."
After all...again...how much story is there in a pair of siblings bravely, imperfectly, but honestly facing the aging of a parent? These days, I mean. In 1840, you would have been good to go. Even in 1940, people would have stayed with you. Now...now you need to add a lot of value to that scenario.
Plus...Sheppard appears not to realize that characters like Juno, Jon and Wendy Savage, and the Little Miss Sunshine clan are NOT quirky to a whole lot of us. I have a couple of relatives where, if I sent them over to Ms. Sheppard, she would soon embrace indie film as a clear-eyed, indeed understated, source of PBS-style documentary truth. A lot of us do actually have people in our families who cannot be taken to the grocery store because the sheer number of tomatoes on display will make them start ranting about infanticide in rural East Africa. And that's if you're lucky.
On the other hand.
It is undeniable that there is something horribly self-conscious about a lot of indie film. I think, quite honestly, it's because filmmakers don't have enough room to maneuver in dealing with this subject. There are certain shades of drama that just aren't open to them.
It's a shame, for example, that the unbearable Eugene O'Neill overdid the angsty approach back in his day. I am convinced that his shadow hangs over all playwrights and filmmakers who want to deal with family topics. "Get away!" he snarls, like one of his own demented characters. "Me and Ibsen got the family melodrama locked up for at least a hundred years yet! Also Strindberg. So go away! It's suspenders for you!" (Sheppard complains, in THE SAVAGES, about the pointlessness of Wendy Savage removing her father's suspenders on aesthetic grounds, which causes his pants to fall down later on when he tries to stand up. This, demands Sheppard with justified annoyance, is what we're supposed to take away from family drama these days?)
So yeah. Desire Under The Elms, god help us, and its horrible ilk, still hold sway over American family drama of the stage and screen. (Yes, I know, O'Neill is supposed to be a genius. I'm not buying it. I really find him dishonest and manipulative. I direly wish that Heavy Metal Drama could have found a better scribe. YMMV.)
And we are left with suspenders.
