Well, it makes a lovely painting

reviewed Mon, 20 Jan 2003

Opinionwise, my cards were stacked against Far From Heaven – I’m starting to really not like Julianne Moore, and those weepy Douglas Sirk melodramas that inspired this movie?  Never could sit through one of ‘em and don’t see why we need another one.  All that brought me into the theater were director Todd Haynes and the possibility of the movie getting an Academy Award nomination or two.

I got pretty much what I expected:  another “I am woman, see me martyr” performance from Moore, melodrama out the ass (like the “Look out! They’re in danger!” music)… but golly, it sure looked good.  Visually, it’s marvelous – you’d think Haynes had someone paint every single autumn leaf with vivid colors.  Just about every scene is sumptuously designed and meticulously lit, worthy of framing; every outfit and piece of furniture fits the times (the 1950s) and the décor perfectly.  I suppose it’s well done for what it is – I’m just not clear on why it was done at all.  You know, in this century.

The performances don’t have much depth to them.  The two Dennises (Denii?) are good, if a little heavy-handed on the noble (Dennis Haysbert) or tortured (Dennis Quaid) side.  See, Far From Heaven is a bold indictment of mean, narrow-minded people.  Moore’s archetypal housewife, Cathy, is married to Quaid, who’s discovering he’s gay, and she strikes up a friendship, heading toward romance, with her black gardener, Haysbert.  Of course, her friends blithely spout racist and homophobic remarks, and although she pouts disapprovingly at the racism, she just looks ashamed (of herself, not of the bigots) at the homophobia.  It’s all so Afterschool Special – why didn’t Haynes also give her a child in a wheelchair who gets called “cripple” and isn’t allowed to play with the other boys and girls?

I’m being snide (because it’s easy! and fun!).  Maybe melodrama is the point; maybe it’s meant to be a campy recreation.  But in that case, Haynes and his cast are taking themselves way too seriously.  It’s sort of like Gus Van Sant’s shot-by-shot remake of Psycho (in which, coincidentally, Moore also starred) – why would a talented, creative, unconventional director waste his time with a faithful, uninflected copy of a classic?  What’s the point unless he puts a personal stamp on the film or, at the very least, adds something to it?  Except for a slightly more explicit take on Quaid’s homosexuality, this really could have been a Douglas Sirk movie made 50 years ago.  It’s a 1960s cinematic view of 1950s life.  Again I say, what’s the point?

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