Movie review: Away from Her (2007)

Away from Her (2007. D: Sarah Polley. Gordon Pinsent, Julie Christie, Olympia Dukakis)

Fiona's developing Alzheimer's results in her going into a long term care home. Grant has a very difficult time adjusting to this. At the home, Fiona starts a relationship with Aubrey, a fellow patient. His wife Marian takes him out of the home because she can't afford to keep him there without selling her house. Fiona becomes depressed. Grant comes to ask Marian to bring Aubrey back for a visit. She refuses. Later, Grant and Marian have sex. Marian sells her house, and brings Aubrey back to the home. When Grant is about to bring him to Fiona, Fiona has a lucid spell, as predicted by the nurse, and recalls that recently Grant was reading her Auden's Letters from Iceland. Grant is ecstatic that she remembers him. Fadeout. And that's the plot, based on an Alice Munro story.

Sarah Polley's adaptation of Munro's story, with its multiple layers and constant moving back and forth in time, is brilliant. The film mimics the unexpected and confusing rememberings that Alzheimer's patients are said to experience. The editing helps, with repetitive establishing shots and subtle shifts in colour, sound, and editing. The three leads are very good. The characters are all vulnerable, and it's that vulnerability that I think makes the film convincing.

Christie's performance as Fiona is wonderful. She changes from knowing that she is deteriorating, to repeating increasingly inappropriate social phrases, to being barely aware of where she is. Pinsent as Grant has captured the essence of a man used to having the supports of career, social rank, and a satisfying marriage, who realises that he can barely survive on his own, and must accept a diminished role in his own life. He doesn't realise that he has been defined by his surroundings and relationships all his life; he has believed that he was somehow self-defined. When Fiona loses her self to Alzheimer's, Grant loses his self too. He says he could not ever bear to be away from her, that's why he married her. In fact, he couldn't be himself without her; and now he must learn how do that. Dukakis as the no-nonsense wife-caregiver, who copes by pretending she is self-sufficient, knows she too needs comfort, even if only the illusion of a brief connection in bed. In the end, we have only ourselves. Those we love, and who love us, no matter how close we are, will always be apart from us.

Yet the movie isn't quite satisfying. It's a depressing story, and has its strongest moments at the beginning, when Fiona charts her own descent into non-self, and decides, while she still can, that it's time for her to go. It's Grant who can't accept the loss, who hopes that the stay in the home will be a short one, who wants to believe that Fiona is just being her quirky self, that therapy will bring her back. Towards the end, as he comes to accept that Fiona must move to the second floor (where the end stage patients are housed), we see that he will somehow survive in his new role as mere visitor. When at the end Fiona has one of those lucid times that the nurse has told Grant she will have, he accepts her embrace, blissed out by her mere presence. Is this a note of hope or of resignation? A recognition that we must accept small mercies gratefully, or the delusion that things will return to normal? Or a setup for even greater heartbreak? The ambiguities arise from the vagueness of Grant's character. The movie doesn't give us the answers, nor should it, but it should give us a clearer sense of how Grant has changed. ***

The Shadow Riders (L'Amour, 1982)

 

Louis L’Amour. The Shadow Riders. (1982) Colonel Ashford believes the South can raise again, with himself at its head. To make it happen, he’s assembled a gang of thirty-some drifters, mostly criminals. They attack and loot ranches on their way to Mexico, where Ashford expects to build a new Confederate Army, attack Texas, and then sweep across the South, etc and so and so forth.

Problem is, he’s attacked a Traven ranch, and then kidnapped some women whom he plans to sell in exchange for weapons. One of them is Mac Traven’s fiancee Kate Connery. Mac, his brother Dal and their Uncle Happy Jack trail Ashford’s wagon train through southeast Texas to the final showdown.

The copy I have touts the CBS TV movie (with Tom Selleck, Sam Elliot et al) based on the book, but it’s another L’Amour tale told with his usual skill. This one’s a bit thin on character, has useful backstory inserted where the plot demands it, and so on. Enjoyable for the L’Amour fan, but merely average. **½

Buckskin Run (L'Amour, 1981)

Louis L’Amour. Buckskin Run. (1981) Collection of short stories, which display all of L’Amour’s plots and characters. I enjoyed reading them. L’Amour understood the genre he was writing, and strove to make them historically accurate in setting and events. Here, he added brief stories of real people and events, which show that fiction’s need for plausibility tends to make reality stranger.

The title refers to a creek. A dispute between a settler (claiming the land legally) and the local cattle baron (pasturing his cattle illegally on government land) focuses on the water and grazing around it, complicated by rumours of gold and old unsolved murders, and of course the romantic subplot. Typical L’Amour tale.

** to *** 

Kilrone (L'Amour, 1966)

Louis L’Amour. Kilrone. (1966) Former army Captain Kilrone walks into an army post with news of the Bannocks assembling to attack Colonel Mellett’s column, and then the post itself. They’re being led by Medicine Dog. The commander in charge is Major Paddock, who believes that Kilrone is his rival for his wife’s affections. Dave Sproule, the owner of most of Hog Town, the nearby settlement that caters to off-duty soldiers’ needs and wants, has his own goals.

That’s the setup. The story moves swiftly, telling mostly of how Kilrone plans for defending the post, and how they survive the attack. Cross-cuts to the other strands of the tale give us the necessary overview, and also raise and maintain tension. The romances are resolved as they should be, and the villains get theirs.

A well-done early L’Amour which lacks only the polish, nuance and richer characterisation of the later ones. **½ 

Come Home Charlie. . . (Delderfield, 1969)

 R. F. Delderfield. Come Home Charlie, and Face Them. (1969) Charlie Pritchard is posted to Cadwallader’s Bank in Penmadoc. He rooms at the bank manager’s, whose daughter Ida likes him, and beds him, but thinks he lacks gumption. They enjoy each other’s company until Ida runs off to London.

Office politics at the bank are nasty. Charlie’s only escape is Delphine at the Rainbow Café. She and her brother Beppo persuade Charlie that robbing the bank is feasible, and most of the tale informs us of the trio’s plans and step-by-step progress towards their goal. It all unravels in the end of course, but Ida returns just in time to help Charlie put the pieces back together, one of which is his discovery that he likes her more than well enough to marry her, and not just from gratitude, either. There’s a satisfying amount of poetic justice, too. All’s well that ends well: The villains are punished, and Charlie is rescued by a good woman.

Charlie makes a convincing narrator. The story’s told from his vantage point near the end of his life, and he knows well enough how little he understood himself when he first arrived in Penmadoc. The novel is a coming-of-age story; the crime led him into self-awareness via a detour through semi-valid delusions about his control of the situation.

Recommended of you can find a copy. ***

Turncoat (Gutteridge 2003)

 Don Gutteridge. Turncoat (2003) First in a series. Upper Canada, 1837. A government sympathiser and informer may have been murdered. Lt Governor Sir John Colborne sends Ensign Marc Edwards to Crawford’s Corners to investigate. The local Sheriff assists, various inhabitants assist and obstruct, sometimes both, endemic smuggling both misleads and redirects the investigation, political and personal animosities interfere, and Beth, the victim’s daughter-in-law attracts Edwards’ romantic attention. Their courtship will be the backstory that ties the series together.

After a rather lengthy exposition, the story picks up speed. New pieces of the puzzle raise more questions than they answer. The style is efficient, and improves as the narrative proceeds. Gutteridge has taken care to research the period thoroughly, and creates a convincing ambiance. The solution is satisfactory logically, socially, and psychologically. Ensign Edwards is a nice young fellow, not too good to be true, and perhaps not quite as casually patronising as an Englishman of his class would be. The secondary characters are believable enough to carry the story. This was a second run at reading the book. After the first chapter or two, it drew me in, and I ended wanting to read more of Marc Edwards’ adventures. I’ll have to keep an eye out for the other books in the series.

Nicely done historical fiction. **½

Late Georgian Humor: Thomas Hood's Comic Annuals.

 Thomas Hood. Comic Annual, Vols I, II, & III.(1830, 1831, 1832) An odd set of books. Bound in board with marbled paper, printed on excellent pre-woodpulp paper, with engravings, slightly foxed. The prose pieces and verses are crammed with puns – Hood was famous for them Many of the pieces clearly allude to mild scandals and other concerns of the time. Many of the engravings present visual puns.  Most of the jokes and puns sound rather lame to 21st century ears, but tastes change, and this series was intended to amuse the whole family, so it had to be mild in its satire, and wholesome in its humour.

Annuals of all kinds became an English Christmas gift tradition. Peter and I received several during our time in England and after. Wear on these copies of Hood’s Annual indicates frequent (re)reading. According to his Wiki entry, the Annual was published until 1842; Hood made a decent living as a writer. I inherited these copies from Uncle Paul via Peter, and am glad to have them. Contents * to ****