Baby the Rain Must Fall

Beautiful performances from Steve McQueen and especially Lee Remick highlight this rather sad rambling film of the type Hollywood doesn't make anymore. A small personal drama that explores the lives of regular people just struggling to make a place for themselves in the world. Nothing blows up, it's all about emotions here. Horton Foote's screenplay, based on his play, shows his customary understanding of how people react and interact with each other while Ernest Laszlo stark black and white cinematography evokes the dusty small town Texas setting in a way color never could. Something that you'd find either on the indie circuit or maybe on cable today certainly not in major markets as this was and hardly with stars of this magnitude.

Being a parole officer myself,this uniquely sad and frustrating movie is exactly what goes on in the recitivist's life. A good caring wife, new family, he knows what his weak points are, but does them anyway maintaining the downward spiral to the inevitable return to prison. The victim here is not McQueen but the wife and child and their helplessness in getting him to be what they want. A responsible and loving husband/father. This is exactly what we see in the job every day. The sad part, there is no help or hope for the family....

I just saw this hauntingly beautiful film last night on AMC. It's subtle beauty requires viewers' attention and participation. Do not watch it if you're in the mood for an easy escape film. To appreciate it you must be sensitive to facial expression and non-verbal signal. It also helps to understand a little about the culture of the South.

It works on two levels, at least:

First, it tells the story of a wife's dawning understanding of the hopelessness of her marriage and her resolve to have a good life anyway.

Second, it shows the tragedy of severe child abuse in great depth and reveals the community's culpability. I've never seen a more powerful visual metaphor than Henry's escape attempt, where camera facing him head-on, he runs furiously, climbing and clinging and failing to make it onto the back of a speeding truck.

The film juxtaposes Henry's relationship to his adopted mother to the relationship of his wife to their daughter. This loving, beautiful relationship is the pivot around which the story revolves. Henry, dull, unintelligent, abused Henry is lost, but in one area he had supreme luck (or supreme judgment). His child has what he never had, and will grow up beautifully. He could not have chosen a better mother for his daughter.

The screenplay, acting and direction are all superb.

This is the kind of film which seems to struggle to find an audience outside of its immediate setting – in its case, the American Deep South. It's basically a familial drama where husband and wife are driven apart by the former's troubled persona – especially due to his own inclination to violence and the enigmatic relationship with his eminent but dying guardian. Director Mulligan had created an all-time classic with TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (1962): this updates the atmosphere (including a failed attempt to replicate the Gothic touch associated with Robert Duvall's Boo Radley character in that film) but still throws in a little girl at the core of the story. Steven McQueen goes through the whole 'Rebel Without A Cause' act to little lasting effect – the performance is even more hurt by the fact that, playing a wannabe rockabilly singer, he's forced to mimic to a number of tunes (including the title number). Similarly, co-stars Lee Remick and Don Murray have typical roles, and John Wayne regular Paul Fix also has a nice bit as a benign Judge. The film notches up some tolerable intensity with scenes where McQueen is beaten up, feverishly tries to dig up the old lady (for whatever purpose) and finally escapes custody – if only for a short while; otherwise, the greatest points of interest here are Ernest Laszlo's moody cinematography and Elmer Bernstein's eclectic score.

Slowly paced, bleakly photographed, virtually plot-less, the 100-minutes is not everyone's cup of tea. There are compensations, however. That lonely clapboard house forlorn on the dreary prairie is a perfect metaphor for Henry (McQueen) and Georgette's relationship. He's all pent-up rage at his brutal upbringing, while she's clinging to hope and their little girl (Block). Together, their silences speak louder than words, the distance just too great. All this plays out in elliptical fashion that requires some patience, and I'm not surprised the movie was a flop, given what McQueen fans likely expected. There are moments of frantic action, as when Henry attacks his guardian's grave for the wrongs done him, especially now that she's left him nothing from her meagre assets. But the prevailing pace is contemplative, to say the least.

I'm not sure McQueen was the best choice for the tormented Henry. The actor, of course, excelled in action pictures, nuance not exactly being his forte. Yet Henry's real tragedy calls for a sensitive range that's largely missing from his scenes with Georgette. We get the distance, but not the struggle, and without the inner struggle the tragedy is diminished. Certainly, no one can be accused of overplaying, especially Don Murray whose sheriff comes across as something of a well-meaning cypher. Somehow the movie reminds me of an episode typical of the old TV series Route 66 (1960-64). The bleak location photography, the downbeat dramatics, the forlorn characters, all typify that ground-breaking series. I wonder if there was some cross-over given the time period.

Anyway, action fans should skip this McQueen feature. For others, patience with the slow- developing human interest should provide compensation.

( In passing-- thanks to the reviewer who confirmed my glimpse—Henry does plant the hopeful cherry tree with the roots still in a tin can bottom. Is that act of sabotage intentional or just his usual carelessness.)