Junebug: Artful Stereotyping
When I was in college, a friend of mine from Atlanta told me that he thought his city—large and prosperous that it was—represented the best of the South. However, he fully recognized that some of his compatriots would not share his sentiment, perceiving Atlanta as somehow un-Southern. Perhaps it is too big, too urban, too wealthy. Isn't the South supposed to be emblematic of quiet, rural, humble living?
"Rural," of course, is not a particularly positive designation among the intellectual, cultural, and political elite of the United States (or perhaps anywhere). Even reactionaries who openly espouse the supposedly superior virtues of rural states do so from their perches atop large cities. (Reason magazine's Nick Gillespie recently noted Pat Buchanan's status as a reactionary who is ironically plugged into one of the most dynamic, cosmopolitan locales anywhere.) To be "rural" implies intellectual limitation, lack of exposure to contemporary news and views — in short, ignorance. This view of rural life may be unfair and even woefully inaccurate, but it nevertheless persists among elites and serves as easy fodder for entertainment.
Enter Phil Morrison's Junebug (2005), a tale of an urbane art dealer, Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz), who marries George (Alessandro Nivola), a native North Carolinian who presumably ran away from his Southern roots to settle in Chicago. Madeleine and George travel back to North Carolina in order to sign a deal with David Wark (Frank Hoyt Taylor), an intellectually disabled "outsider artist," who happens to live a stone's throw from George's family — thus, Madeleine and George have to spend a few days in the area for the requisite familial visit.
When I read the back of Junebug's DVD case, I was a little bit worried. Whoever wrote the blurb gave the movie a schmaltzy feel: a sophisticated Yankee meets her country in-laws, hilarious hijinks ensue, and she goes home learning about the really important things in life. However, rather than presenting us with schlock worthy of the Hallmark Channel, Morrison gives us a subtle, clever, and carefully constructed portrait of believable characters.
While Madeleine is highly educated and sophisticated, she is also open to meeting her in-laws, to learning from them, and to soaking in as much unspoken, intuitive knowledge as possible about her new husband's small-town background. One also has a sense that she is absolutely genuine about her feelings; even when she exoticizes the "outsider artist," it appears that she truly cares for and respects the man. (Note: Madeleine's exoticism is highly emblematic of a general exoticism of the South by cultured, upper-middle-class Northerners. In my own neck of the woods—the Research Triangle region of North Carolina—tourists can eat "Southern cuisine," shop at "Southern-inspired stores," and experience "Southern hospitality" — and then tell their friends back home about their delightful, commodified romp through the Tarheel State.)
In addition, while Madeleine and her in-laws certainly experience a cultural clash, their interactions remain subtle and nuanced. For the most part, the cultural incongruities do not result in major blowups or faux pas, but in moments of mild discomfort and awkwardness. We know that the characters are different people, but we nevertheless witness them trying to get along and act nice — in much the same way as real people interact with "others" that they are forced to befriend.
Finally, Madeleine does learn some lessons about the value of roots, family, and even the power of faith. However, Morrison does not give us any overt "Aha!" moments, nor does he present these lessons in the heavy-handed, didactic style exhibited by such movies as Crash. Rather, we see glimpses of understanding and glimmers of moral change. The end of Junebug does not resolve all tension, but many of the characters (not just Madeleine) do alter their perspectives, having been affected by their interactions with others. We know that long-lasting change will require work on the part of the characters, a willingness to be open to new ways of thinking and being; however, in Junebug we see the genesis of such change, and the end of the movie leaves us hopeful.
Oddly enough, while the aforementioned Crash tries to break the bonds of stereotypes with a heavy-handed cinematic lesson plan, Junebug facilitates stereotypes with its subtlety, careful attention to detail, and slow pacing. When one watches Junebug, he/she cannot help but think: "I've seen someone like him! I know someone like her!" Because Crash feels staged (and thus, fake), the power of its message (i.e., the eradication of racial stereotypes) easily fades; Junebug's intimate detail and realism, on the other hand, stays with the viewer and (inadvertently) burns stereotypes of urban Northerners, rural Southerners—and rural Southerners who flee to the North—firmly in the brain.
In one respect, this is troubling. Junebug feels so "real," but it strengthens, rather than overturns, stereotypes. Paradoxically, Morrison ends up reproducing those schmaltzy themes from the back of the DVD case by giving us a carefully crafted character study that seemingly eschews simple caricatures. Does this challenge us to rethink our previous views regarding the evils of stereotypes? Or, is Morrison riding the wave of post-PC culture, in which the American consumer no longer cares about stereotypical portrayals of the Other? Or perhaps rural Southerners just make easy targets?
These questions are large and go beyond the scope of this review. However, one thing is for certain: Morrison has crafted a fine, if inadvertently troubling, movie that deserves your attention.
Posted by Kevin O'Donovan at August 7, 2006 10:53 PM
Comments
What you suggested about the power of place to inflect our opinion of art really struck a chord. Obviously, the *celebrity* of an artist--be s/he a painter, musician, or actor--often shapes our opinion of his/her created product/performance. What of other variables?
Do you think that, in this instance, the Chicago art dealer values these particular paintings so highly *because* they are such a surprise, given their geographic and artistic origins? If the same paintings had been created by a formally trained painter from New York city instead of an intellectually disabled redneck from the South, would they have been ignored?
Is art's value *primarily* determined by its context?
Posted by: Paul M. at August 26, 2006 3:04 PM
In most instances, art is a subjective experience. As such, I would agree that the value of art is determined mostly by its context. Furthermore, every field of human endeavor is influenced heavily by fads, and for the savvy practitioner, the specific content of those fads is immaterial -- what matters is capitalizing on whatever is deemed "hot."
While I would not dispute Madeleine's respect for David Wark, that respect is nevertheless embedded within his status as an "outsider" artist in a market that currently demands such art. Will that art be valued 10 to 20 years from now? That is an empirical question for which I have no prediction -- however, I wouldn't be surprised if outsider art fell out of favor in the face of the next "big" thing.
Finally, a formally trained, New York-based artist is no big deal, but an intellectually disabled Southener is of interest and allows well-to-do Northerners to commodify and exoticize the region further. Art provides a sense of purpose for the wealthy, allowing them to feel like they are participating in a world outside themselves, putting their lucre to "meaningful" ends.
Posted by: Kevin O'Donovan at August 27, 2006 9:15 PM
Would you apply such conclusions to the spinning of movie reviews? Should we avoid labeling a film "good" or "bad" without appending a note about the kind of *audience* we have in mind?
Posted by: Paul M. at August 30, 2006 11:01 AM
Your question conflates the aesthetic and the sociological. Our aesthetic preferences are conditioned, in part, by our cultural, historical, and socioeconomic circumstances. As such, Madeleine's aesthetic appreciation of Wark's paintings are conditioned largely by her status as a well-educated, middle-class art dealer. Yet, while we may be aware of her sociological status, she may or may not -- and she does not appear to dwell on said status when making aesthetic judgments.
The same goes for movie reviews. Of course, our perspective on any given film is conditioned, in part, by our sociological circumstances; yet, I suggest that reviewers don't dwell on those. We simply should post our judgments--with occasional caveats and disclosures, if those would enhance the analysis--and let the recipient ponder how much of our words are socially conditioned. (Text, after all, should require some level of cognitive interaction between producer and consumer.)
In terms of whether reviewers should note specifically the kind of audience that would like/dislike a given film -- I would discourage such practice (though I have engaged in it myself). Even though our aesthetic judgments are socially conditioned, we should write as though they were not, as though our words represented the most intelligent, most refined analysis available. Such bravado helps us to write prose that is bold, decisive, and more fun to read. Readers ought to be convinced that whatever their social context, they should (or should not) see a given film -- the review should be so compelling as to cross cultural boundaries.
Posted by: Kevin O'Donovan at September 1, 2006 3:59 PM