52 Films by Women Vol 2. 38. WAKEFIELD (Director: Robin Swicord)
Wakefield, adapted from a
short story by Edgar (E.L.) Doctorow by the writer-director Robin Swicord
offers a profound study of masculinity in crisis. It tells the story of a
middle-aged, New York City lawyer Howard Wakefield (Bryan Cranston) who decides
one day not to go home. Instead, he moves into the garage opposite, observing
the effect of his absence from a distance. Swicord films the drama entirely
from Howard’s point of view. We can see, but not hear, his family. Instead,
there is an over-reliance on voiceover. In the interest of full disclosure,
voiceover is one of my least favourite filmic shortcuts in movies. At its
worst, it negates the image and tells us what to think. However, this is
premium voiceover. Howard is an intelligent, articulate if unlikeable man and
Doctorow is a terrific writer. The film takes us to a place we have not seen
before. Imagine a version of It’s A Wonderful Life in which Jimmy
Stewart’s character snarls and curses his family after his death. This gives
you something of the tempo – and the non-commercial nature – of Swicord’s film.
Howard’s wife, Diana is played by
the estimable Jennifer Garner and we discover early on that Howard hates other
men looking at her. He hates it and yet he is turned on by it. Howard’s jealous
ranting about Diana inviting the attention of other men morphs into the
beginnings of sex. Mrs W is not amused. Howard is immature. She knows it; we
know it.
We discover, through flashbacks,
that Howard won Diana after lying to a colleague, Ben Jacobs (Ian Anthony Dale)
about having slept with her. His rival rows with her and abandons her, allowing
Howard to console and eventually marry her. He is a sham, a fraud, never able
to confess his manipulation. As he watches his family and becomes a vagrant
himself, he reflects upon it.
A conventional narrative would
frame the drama as a redemption story: Howard faces up to his lies. Wakefield
is more sophisticated. His external vagrancy is a manifestation of his
internal shabbiness. As he curses his mother-in-law (Beverly D’Angelo) and
‘comically’ derides his wife for calling the police (what did he expect) we
view him critically.
Part of the function of a
voiceover is to closely align the viewer with the protagonist’s point of view.
So we find ourselves forced to share Howard’s unsympathetic view of the women
in his life, extending to his two daughters. Yet he is not all bad. In contrast
to his neighbours, Howard did not object when a home for people with Downs’
Syndrome was set up in his street. When snow falls and he feels the cold, they
become unexpected helpers.
The drama comes from the fear of
discovery – if Howard is going to reveal himself again, it will be on his terms
– and his struggle to survive without using money. He subsists precisely
because of a waste economy. Americans – at least in the affluent suburban
neighbourhood where he lives – prepare more than they can use. They throw away
perfectly good food, especially at Thanksgiving – though not Mrs Wakefield as
she celebrates the holiday with her mother. Howard is also grateful that they
throw away perfectly good shoes.
Howard’s decision to disappear is
in fact an extension of his past behaviour, putting his wife under surveillance
rather than enjoying her company. He is particularly cruel, not even having any
love for his daughters. Howard’s problem is entirely of his own making. He
created the barrier between himself and his wife. His motivation is to
experience the adrenaline rush of victory.
The dearth of dialogue, only in
flashbacks, turns the film into a performance piece, a one man show. For much
of the film’s length, Howard’s voice is the only one we hear, underscored by
piano solos. Howard’s family show rather than tell. He comes to the realization
that they are better off without him. Although the story is cleverly worked
out, its parameters are rather narrow. There is artificial tension when Howard
fights for some shoes against organised rubbish collectors. He is one man
against a hidden subculture. The action scene sits oddly in a film that is a
long monologue. It also doesn’t feel quite true.
Incredibly – or rather not so
incredibly – Wakefield is only the 64 year old Swicord’s second film as
director. Her first was the 2007 adaptation of the novel, The Jane Austen Book Club.
In an interview with the Los Angeles Times, she describes how she almost
directed a film in the intervening years but was told that the budget - $22
million – was too big for her. Wakefield was shot in 20 days and
cost $3.7 million to make. In addition to directing, Swicord made soup and
granola for the crew. I suppose making a film about a virtually homeless man
brings out the soup kitchen impulse.
Cranston is a talented actor but
he cannot make us care for Howard. The film does follow through. It illustrates
how behaviour, once adopted, is a very difficult thing to abandon.
Possessiveness in relationships is humankind’s least attractive traits,
explored in grim fashion in Swicord’s film.
Reviewed at 2017
Edinburgh International Film Festival, Saturday 1 July 2017, 15:30 screening,
Cineworld Fountainbridge, Edinburgh.
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