Blameless Vestal's Lot

Writer and director, Todd Field has a special talent. He has a knack for making his audience squirm in their seats while their stomachs turn. He is not a master horror filmmaker but rather a minimal dramatist with a keen understanding of the peculiarities of human behaviour. Little Children is another slice of life picture about the banalities of suburban existence. The mommies meet in the park on a daily basis and ogle the one single dad amongst them as their kids run amuck. Husbands turn to internet pornography or other women to get the fixes they stopped getting from their wives before sitting down to dinner with them. And this particular neighborhood welcomes back a former resident, fresh from his stint in jail for exposing himself to a minor, by plastering every post on the street with signs that ask, “Are your children safe?” Field’s timely reveal of the story elements and skillfully vigorous visuals draw you in to the raw unraveling of his characters, gracefully played by Kate Winslet, Patrick Wilson and Jennifer Connelly. Little Children is fascinating and compelling without having any clear reason why it is either of these things. You may ask yourself where this is all going when you watch but you won’t care to know the answer.

Life gets stale when you aren’t paying attention or even when you’re just trying to master the juggling act. Life is also very good at throwing another ball into the mess when you’ve just gotten the hang of juggling three. On one day, in the park and on a dare, Sarah Pierce (Winslet) introduces herself to Brad Adamson (Wilson). She has wagered five dollars with the other mommies that she can get Brad’s phone number. Both Brad and Sarah are married but that doesn’t factor into this game. At least it doesn’t until the bet somehow goes too far and the two kiss. They catch themselves and each other completely off guard. Sarah is married to a man she doesn’t love and has a three-year-old daughter for whom she has more distaste than love for. Brad has not been able to pass the bar exam since finishing law school and spends his evenings away from his wife (Connelly) watching teenagers skateboard when he’s supposed to be studying. Their kiss is meant to taunt the other mommies but instead it cracks their worlds open to reveal new possibilities. It isn’t long before they meet again and it isn’t long after that until they end up naked in Sarah’s laundry room. Given what an inattentive sap her husband is, it is a joy to watch Sarah send Brad signals, showing off her new bathing suit at the public pool or asking Brad to rub lotion on her back. It is also exciting to watch Brad reluctantly respond to these signals. He has a stunning and brilliant woman in his life and yet he navigates towards Sarah. It isn’t love that is growing between them but an energy that affirms to each that they are in fact alive. It’s funny how Field is able to make seemingly normal people into the most interesting people you’ve seen in a while. If you saw this couple on the street, you wouldn’t think twice about looking, but here, Field beckons you to.

Little Children‘s secondary plot is also brilliantly executed but adds a level of depth to a film that was already dug pretty deep to start with. When Ronnie (Jackie Earle Haley) moves back in with his mother (Phyllis Somerville), there is outrage amongst the residents of this suburb at the “pervert’s” arrival. Whereas Ronnie’s return defines the period in which Sarah and Brad’s affair takes place, it also makes the film seem as if it were trying to tackle more than it should have. The abuse Ronnie endures from some of the locals encourages sympathy for him but he is not reformed. Tying both plots together seamlessly, Ronnie violates his parole and, with flippers and snorkel in place, crashes the public pool in the middle of a heat wave, while Sarah and Brad flirt carefully in the shade. Ronnie lusts for all the tiny legs treading in the water until he is discovered. Amidst hysteria, all the children exit the pool into the arms of their parents and they all stare horrifically as authorities escort him out. What happens next is the perfect example of the dark humour that runs throughout Little Children. Panic turns back into play in a split second as all the children jump back into the pool and the parents resume their previous conversations. Is Ronnie’s presence in the neighborhood truly causing anyone to lose sleep or is just the drama that they all love? Crave? Need?

The entire theme of the film can be summed up in its all-too-clever title. As Sarah runs from the responsibility of having a daughter, as Brad plays football with his buddies when he should be studying, as Sarah’s husband surfs for porn while he’s at work, as Brad’s wife purposefully drops her spoon on the floor so she can look under the table to catch her husband playing with Sarah’s feet, it becomes clear that every one of these adults is doing the exact same thing; they are all acting like little children.

“All you’ve got to do is dream…”

Like many others, I vividly recall how Jennifer Holliday sent shivers down my neck when she ripped through her defiant anthem, “And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going”, after listening to the original Broadway production soundtrack composed nearly a quarter century ago. I can imagine it as the kind of transcendent moment in the theater that keeps audiences coming back for more. The great news is that director/screenwriter Bill Condon has pulled together a top-notch entertainment piece full of ceaseless energy and eye-filling dazzle. Even if the narrative deficiencies of Tom Eyen’s original musical have not been resolved here, Condon compensates by bringing more historical context to the story and making even more pointed references to the characters’ real-life counterparts. More importantly, he recognizes that the episodic human drama really takes a back seat to the early Motown-to-disco musical pastiche brought forth by Henry Krieger’s sturdy, crescendo-heavy score and Eyen’s constantly engaging lyrics.

The time-spanning plot focuses on a girl group in Detroit, three childhood friends – vocal powerhouse Effie backed up by good-girl Deena and chatty Lorrell – who are together known as the Dreamettes. Showing promise but failing to win a local amateur contest, they are corralled by smooth-talking Cadillac huckster Curtis Taylor to sing back-up for local R&B star James Thunder Early. They become a hit on the chitlin’ circuit, but Taylor wants broader fame. Along with Effie’s ambitious, soft-spoken songwriting brother C.C., Taylor launches a new label, Rainbow Records, right out of his car dealership. They record a song that starts to move on the charts but not before it is lifted by a white group in an antiseptic cover version. Taylor turns to payola to ensure Early and the Dreamettes achieve pop success on their own. He also tries to tone down Early for white audiences and makeover the girls into the Dreams. The latter strategy means pushing Effie into the background and Deena upfront, a move that causes friction and resentment in spite of the group’s burgeoning success. Eventually, Effie’s diva behavior gets her kicked out of the Dreams, and Early’s star fades into addiction and irrelevance. Meanwhile, Taylor has built a media empire with plans to make Deena a movie star. His Svengali-level of control reaches a breaking point when he takes back a song C.C. wrote for Effie’s resuscitating solo career in order to make it a disco hit for the Dreams.

It’s most fortunate that casting is exemplary here because that could have easily been the film’s downfall. Even though it is an ensemble piece, the lion’s share of the press has been going to Jennifer Hudson’s blazing debut performance as Effie. Standing in the shadow of the startlingly overwhelming Jennifer Holliday is no picnic, but with her zaftig figure and huge voice, Hudson effortlessly captures the character’s sassy self-confidence and eventual emotional deconstruction. Musically, she clearly has the vocal chops and technique to nail all of Effie’s numbers, especially “And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going”, the film’s crowning moment. As Early, Eddie Murphy finally has a role that takes advantage of his gift for mimicry (this time an amalgam of Wilson Pickett, Jackie Wilson and James Brown), adds darker colors and textures to his established screen persona and dares him to try singing again. The result is nothing short of a revelation.

As Deena, the obvious Diana Ross doppelganger, Beyoncé Knowles manages to hold her own, even though her character has not been sharpened into a stronger personality. A stunning woman by anyone’s measure, she manages to capture her progenitor’s breathy, slinky singing style, while lending a naturalistic quality to her portrayal. She has one shining musical moment, a new song called “Listen”, though ironically, her powerful vocal delivery seems at odds with Deena’s supposedly limited talents. With the unenviable task of playing Curtis, the Berry Gordy-like figure of Machiavellian villainy, Jaime Foxx begins solid even as the character becomes more cardboard as the story progresses. With a beautifully soulful voice of her own, Anika Noni Rose shines as Lorrell moving fluidly from ditzy back-up singer to resigned mistress. Keith Robinson also displays a fine voice and brings gravitas to his subtle performance as C.C, while Danny Glover provides his welcome seasoned presence as Early’s manager, Marty.

There are several moments that are plain wonderful. One in particular is when Early starts to rehearse the Dreamettes on “Fake Your Way to the Top”, and as he gyrates, it turns into the actual stage show. Another is the near-operatic histrionics on “It’s All Over” when most of the principals take flashy, fiery turns to illuminate the story’s turning point. I like some of the movie’s more overt send-ups like Early wearing Marvin Gaye’s knit cap as he sings his civil rights-themed ballad, “Patience”, or when Deena comes floating down the theater aisles blowing air kisses just like Diana Ross at the Motown reunion concert. All the production values are first-class from Tobias A. Schliessler’s dazzling, color-saturated cinematography to Sharen Davis’ va-va-voom costumes to Virginia Katz’s kinetic film editing to John Myhre’s evocative production design which includes recreations of the 1967 Detroit riots. Despite a smattering of weakly contrived dramatic moments in the second half, this is knockout entertainment for anyone who enjoys the musical genre.