The dog in this film has a bad afternoon, but "To Kill a Mockingbird" (1962) celebrates 50 years as a significant event in cinema history this year. Based on the novel of the same name written by Harper Lee (please see my earlier post "Philip Got it Down Cold" for some information on her good friend Truman Capote), which won a Pulitzer Prize, the film earned three Academy Awards, including Gregory Peck in the leading role and for the screenplay written by Horton Foote. Set in depression-era Alabama, Atticus Finch, a small town lawyer, is court-appointed to defend a black man falsely accused of rape. However, the story is largely told through the eyes of the Finch children, 9-year old Jem, and, in particular, 6-year old Jean Louise, better known as Scout.
Gone, but hopefully not forgotten, are the family gatherings at the dinner table for the evening meal and a discussion of the day's events, the visits from neighbors and guests on the front porch, and the unstructured, unscheduled, free time for children in the magical period we once knew as summer. The pacing of this film is also rarely seen these days, as it takes some time getting to the point. However, the early moments remind me of "The Sandlot" (1993), especially the tree house, the fence, and the new kid on the block, Dill. Additionally, there are mythical monsters next door represented by a mean woman in a rocking chair said to keep a loaded confederate pistol on her lap, and Boo Radley, once said to be locked in the basement of the courthouse for unspeakable crimes. Neither tale is true, and we can forgive young children for their imaginary fears.
Harder to forgive is Dill's aunt, an adult who feeds the children's fears by contributing her gossip concerning the dreaded Boo. Yet there are worse fears afoot, and Atticus cannot protect his children from the ugliness, racism, and violence his defense of Tom Robinson generates, particularly from the miserable, drunken wretch of a father of the alleged victim. A more poignant contrast in fatherhood cannot be found in film history, as far as I am concerned. Tom Robinson is right when he has the guts to say he felt sorry for his young accuser. Atticus patiently implores his children to understand but not accept the way of the racist misanthrope. As it turns out, there is nothing to fear from Boo. Perhaps FDR got it right about fear itself.
Gone, but hopefully not forgotten, are the family gatherings at the dinner table for the evening meal and a discussion of the day's events, the visits from neighbors and guests on the front porch, and the unstructured, unscheduled, free time for children in the magical period we once knew as summer. The pacing of this film is also rarely seen these days, as it takes some time getting to the point. However, the early moments remind me of "The Sandlot" (1993), especially the tree house, the fence, and the new kid on the block, Dill. Additionally, there are mythical monsters next door represented by a mean woman in a rocking chair said to keep a loaded confederate pistol on her lap, and Boo Radley, once said to be locked in the basement of the courthouse for unspeakable crimes. Neither tale is true, and we can forgive young children for their imaginary fears.
Harder to forgive is Dill's aunt, an adult who feeds the children's fears by contributing her gossip concerning the dreaded Boo. Yet there are worse fears afoot, and Atticus cannot protect his children from the ugliness, racism, and violence his defense of Tom Robinson generates, particularly from the miserable, drunken wretch of a father of the alleged victim. A more poignant contrast in fatherhood cannot be found in film history, as far as I am concerned. Tom Robinson is right when he has the guts to say he felt sorry for his young accuser. Atticus patiently implores his children to understand but not accept the way of the racist misanthrope. As it turns out, there is nothing to fear from Boo. Perhaps FDR got it right about fear itself.
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