Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)

Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)

 

Down by Law (1986)

 

Caravaggio (1986)

 

Blue Velvet (1986)

 

Aliens (1986)

 

A Room with a View (1986) **1/2

There’s a reason I’ve seen just about every film in Helena Bonham Carter’s oeuvre: she’s one of the best actresses of her generation. Her acting ability is often overlooked (especially by the Academy Awards, which has only granted her two nominations) due to her quirky roles, but even quirkiness requires talent and Carter has loads of that. At the ripe old age of nineteen she appeared (and starred) in her first feature film, A Room with a View (1986)—a movie that garnered eight Academy Award nods and three wins. Her endeavor in this Merchant and Ivory production led to her being cast in several period pieces over the next ten years (one being The Wings of a Dove in 1997, for which she received a Best Actress nomination), but it wasn’t until her turn in Fight Club (1999) that her particular quirkiness was allowed to be on full display from that point forward.  It helps that she became romantically involved with one of the quirkiest film directors ever, Tim Burton, in 2001, and that due to this relationship she has found herself paired in six films with Johnny Depp. For someone unfamiliar with her earlier work, A Room with a View might be a bit of a shock, as it is a film about British social conventions at the turn of Twentieth Century and Carter is somewhat restrained by this. Still, there are slight glimpses of what is to come.

Adapted from E.M. Forester’s (Merchant and Ivory’s author of choice) novel of the same name, A Room with a View tells the story of how Miss Lucy Honeychurch (Carter) inappropriately found love in the Tuscan countryside with a free-spirited philosopher named George Emerson (Julian Sands).  It is this inappropriateness, which is hilariously pointed out by Lucy’s chaperone and cousin Charlotte (Maggie Smith in an Oscar-nominated turn) that causes a rift in the relationship.  It takes an unbearable engagement to an exhaustingly boring and affected Cecil (Daniel Day-Lewis in an Oscar-nominated role) and the publication of Eleanor Lavish’s (Judi Dench) scandalous novel about Lucy and George’s Tuscan tryst to convince Lucy that there is more to life than social constraints, namely love and happinesss.

What I like most about the film is the acting performances. With a cast full of then and future Oscar winners director James Ivory had a pretty easy row to hoe with this picture, and I suspect he would be the first to say that his Best Director Oscar nomination and the film’s Best Picture nomination were due in large part to his cast.  As I’ve pointed out in previous reviews, Daniel Day-Lewis is an exceedingly gifted actor. He can play any part and make it completely his own, and that’s what he did with Cecil.  In the hands of a lesser actor Cecil may have turned into a caricature of the cuckolded fiancee. Instead, while Cecil is boorish and priggish he is also engaging to watch because Day-Lewis turns him into a character you don’t necessarily like but want to watch.  The same can be said of Smith’s role as Cousin Charlotte. No one plays exasperatingly idiotically polite characters like Smith, and that is exactly what Charlotte is. Smith expertly uses body language and facial expressions, not to mention that memorable voice of hers, to turn poor Charlotte into someone you first want to shake and then into a woman you want to embrace. 

The pairing of Carter and Sands is an interesting one.  Here are two actors who found themselves on the same career trajectory following the critical acclaim of this film, but one ended up on the A-list and the other on the D-list.  By far Sands’ portrayal of George Emerson is his best—perhaps he peaked too early in his career?  Still, one of the reasons I wasn’t completely enamored with Lucy and George’s pairing was because it was obvious that Carter was by far the more superior actor of the two. There are several layers to Lucy that must be peeled slowly away as the story progresses and Carter shows an unusual depth of character development for an actress so young. Never is Lucy more enchanting than when she finally tells Charlotte and Cecil what she really thinks of them.  Plucky and perky suit Charlotte, not to mention Carter, quite well.

Of course what would a Merchant and Ivory film be without beautifully designed period costumes (Oscar winners Jenny Beavan and John Bright), expertly crafted sets (Oscar winner), and pristine cinematography (Oscar nominated Tony Pierce-Roberts)?  All of the hallmarks of what comprises a Merchant and Ivory production are present here.  Edwardian clothes don’t excite me, but breathtaking shots of Florence and the Tuscan countryside do.  The first part of the film, which takes place in Italy, is where most of the visually stunning images are captured.  I suspect that is why Cousin Charlotte so desperately wanted a room with a view in the first place. 

Overall, A Room with a View is an interesting study in upper-class social etiquette in Edwardian England.  The movie benefits greatly from a stellar cast and a somewhat engaging story. 

Children of a Lesser God (1986) **1/2

What makes Children of a Lesser God (1986) a compelling film is its superb acting and unique storyline.  There are no stunning visuals or intricate shot designs—it’s purely a cinematic dissection of the age-old battle between love, acceptance, and individuality. It was nominated for five Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Screenplay (adapted from Mark Medoff’s stage play of the same name), Best Actress (winner Marlee Matlin), Best Actor (William Hurt), and Best Supporting Actress (Piper Laurie).  Matlin’s win made Oscar history on two fronts: she was (and still is) the youngest actress to win Best Actress (21 years old) and she is the only deaf person to win an Oscar. Her performance, both raw and unflinching, is reason enough to make you watch. 

Hurt plays a newly arrived teacher at a school for the deaf. His Jim Leeds is an educator who employs unusual teaching techniques to help his deaf students learn how to speak.  Matlin’s character, Sarah Norman, is a former student of the school who works as a custodian.  Strong-willed and emotionally guarded, Sarah refuses to learn how to speak, and this causes a few mild confrontations between them. Eventually they become romantically involved, which enables director Randa Haines to rip away any preconceived notions you may have had about deaf people being mild-mannered and chaste.  In addition, you get a front row seat to the total deconstruction of what it means to be (or not) accepted by the one you love. 

There have been many unusual love stories in the annals of cinematic history, but this one has to be right at the top. Here we have a deaf woman who uses sex as both a defense mechanism and as a way to emotionally connect.  There’s one particular scene which is jarring in this respect. After having one of their many arguments, Sarah almost demands that they have sex. For some odd reason she thinks it will bring them closer together, but what it actually does is pulls them further apart—it’s the breaking point in their relationship. As anyone who has ever been in love knows, there is a balancing act between being one with another person while retaining your own personhood. How much, if any, are you willing to change for another person?  In Sarah and Jim’s case, he just can’t accept that she won’t learn how to speak and she can’t accept that he wants her to change for him.

While Hurt gives one of his finest performances here, the movie belongs to Matlin.  With no voice to verbally express her character’s emotions, she relies on facial expressions and body language. It’s always clear whether Sarah is bemused, frustrated, angry, or happy—the way in which she signs and the look on her face is all you need to see.  Of course, the most powerful moment in the film comes when she finally allows Jim (and the audience) to hear her voice.  Every time I hear it I am startled. The scene up to this point is already so emotionally charged that when that sound comes hurtling out the core of her being you are stunned.  It is literally painful to hear—let alone to watch Matlin in such an agitated state of despair when she does it.  This is one of the most emotionally raw moments I have ever seen captured on film. 

Personally, I’m not a big fan of how the movie ends, but it didn’t infuriate me like some others (like Four Weddings and a Funeral). As such, I am willing to overlook this one qualm and reflect fondly on the other two-thirds of a superbly acted and written film.