Studies in melodrama usually hover around the works of a few significant directors, all of whom were at the top of their craft in Hollywood during the 1950s. Douglas Sirk, Vincente Minnelli, and Nicolas Ray were just a few of the directors who worked at that time, and all helped to shape the conventions of melodrama to which audiences and critics alike have become so accustomed. However, recent melodramas have been unable to reach the popularity that the films of the 1950s achieved, and most current audiences would dismiss the naïve and artificial world that those films presented as rather trite. But Thomas Schatz raises an interesting point in his article “The Family Melodrama”. He claims that “those who look more closely at [the films of the 50s] may see through the facile naiveté to an altogether bleaker reflection” (152), and even though melodramas are not as widely seen as they were in the past, the ones that are seen still strive to portray “a [paradoxical] view of America, at once celebrating and severely questioning the basic values and attitudes of the mass audience” (Schatz 150).
Todd Field’s 2001 film, In the Bedroom, is a perfect example of such a film. It is a bourgeois melodrama that reflects the sensibilities of melodramas of the 1950s, but also one that has been refashioned aesthetically to accommodate the interests of modern audiences. The film tells the story of a middle-aged couple, Ruth and Matt Fowler (Sissy Spacek and Tom Wilkinson), as they try to cope with the murder of their adolescent son, Frank (Nick Stahl). When the film opens, Frank is romantically involved with Natalie Strout (Marisa Tomei), a divorced mother. The Fowlers do not approve of this relationship but allow it because of the happiness it brings Frank. When Natalie’s ex-husband, Richard Strout (William Mapother), kills Frank in a fit of jealousy, the Fowlers must find a way to continue on with their lives in the wake of this catastrophe. Field, who also co-wrote the screenplay, creates an intriguing modern-day melodrama that both reflects the narrative principles of the films that preceded it and adapts the genre to meet the aesthetic expectations of the audiences of its time.
Narrative choices in melodramas have become so commonplace that, like any genre, they have grown into a part of the genre’s language. Aspects like a focus on the family unit, a concentration and portrayal of the main character(s) as victims, and a cautiously happy ending have all become hallmarks of the genre, and each of these aspects can be seen in In the Bedroom.
The presence of the family unit is of huge importance in the melodrama. This was a significant departure from most films of the first half of the century. Usually the family unit received nothing more than a “supporting role”, as Schatz puts it, in films before the war, but in the 1950s the family slowly started to achieve “star billing.” Schatz continues: films generally dropped familial and relationship conflicts into films as a subplot to “enhance some external complication (a crime, the war, some social event) but focused on the social institution of the family itself as the basis for conflict” (154). And the idea of family is of prime importance in In the Bedroom.
One of the main issues in the early parts of the film is the question of whether young Frank should prolong his relationship with Natalie, continuing in his current role of surrogate father for Natalie’s two children, or if Frank should end the relationship and focus on getting into college for the fall, effectively returning to his role of maturing son to his parents. Questions of maintaining or breaking up the family unit are raised in that side of the story alone. Then in the wake of Frank’s death, the audience watches as the Fowlers try to battle through their grief. Unfortunately, the void that Frank’s death has left in this family unit is too much for them, and Ruth and Matt slowly turn against each other. Then, near the end of the film, the clashing of family roles is brought up again when Matt has Richard at gunpoint. Richard pleads for his life, but does so not by appealing to Matt as a father and apologizing for taking the life of his son, but rather by trying to appeal to Matt as a husband. “He was making it with my wife, Dr. Fowler,” Richard rationalizes, and this mentality of a father protecting his family is what ensures Richard’s death – just as Richard killed Frank because Frank was usurping him as father and husband, Matt kills Richard because Richard robbed him of his only son. The family unit is of utmost importance in the film, and the dynamics of what the expectations are of certain roles in a family, and also questions about the challenges that a family is faced when it is violently torn apart, are littered through the film.
Another narrative characteristic of melodramas is that its films are invariably drawn to stories from the point of view of the victims (Elsaesser 86). This theme is reinforced and also reworked in In the Bedroom. Not only does the film follow a family who have become victims by the murder of their son (who, in turn, is a literal victim in the story), but each of the main characters see themselves as victims, and it is this mentality that ultimately directs each of their actions. Whereas some of the characters are powerless once they are put in this position, others use this mindset as a means of justifying their actions. Matt and Ruth have lost their son so they believe they are justified in taking vengeance on Richard for Frank’s death; Richard felt Frank was stealing his wife from him and therefore felt justified in killing Frank; and Natalie lost her boyfriend, and inadvertently caused the case against Richard to falter, therefore succumbs to a state of depression. As a result of this unique situation, the film possesses a power in creating a very ambiguous situation where the ideas of right and wrong become blurred. Even if the audience does not condone the actions of the characters onscreen, they understand their actions because they are led along by the film through its representation of these characters as victims.
One of the most intriguing aspects of the melodrama is the “ambivalence of the endings”, as Prof. Bruce calls it. As in such films as Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession, Written on the Wind, and Logan’s Picnic, the endings to melodramas are arguably happy ones, but that happiness is usually rather fragile. In the Bedroom possesses an ideal ending for this theory since it has Matt Fowler resorting to murder to both avenge Frank’s death, help ease the mind of Ruth who sees Richard around the town, and try to patch up the failing relationship between he and Ruth. While it is never explicitly stated when Matt returns home after committing the act, it is fairly clear that Ruth knew what Matt had planned to do since she is both waiting up for him and asks, “Did you do it? How do you feel, Matt?” But even though the act stops the arguments between the two spouses, it is doubtful if the removal of Richard from their lives will save their crippled relationship. Small details like the fact that Matt does not look at Ruth when he gets into bed with her, and the contrast of focus between Ruth and Matt in the final shot – they never appear on the same length of focus, even though they do share the same shot – suggest a still existent, if subtle, rift between the two. Ruth even gets up to get Matt something to eat, and as Matt lays in bed staring into space, she calls him. Matt does not respond. Is he resentful of Ruth for turning him into a murderer? Is he resentful of himself for letting Ruth put him in such a position? Is this just a passing regret that he will eventually get over? Whatever the reason might be, the film ends on a very sombre note which impresses upon the viewer that even though Richard is dead, his removal will not get the Fowlers over the loss of their son or in turn fix their crumbling marriage.
Whereas narrative choices like the ones mentioned above are excellent indicators of the presence of melodrama in a film, the most symptomatic aspect of the melodramas of the 1950s were their aesthetic choices. What was the purpose of these aesthetic choices? Many theories have been raised; Thomas Elsaesser refers to the classic definition of melodrama as pieces where music was used to punctuate drama. Elsaesser finds this definition useful since “it allows melodramatic elements [in films] to be seen as constituents of a system of punctuation, giving expressive colour and chromatic contrast to the storyline, by orchestrating the emotional ups and downs of the intrigue” (Elsaesser 74). While In the Bedroom does have a very muted score in several parts of the film, it is the aspects of the mise-en-scene – the naturalistic aesthetic of the film, the editing choices, and the eloquent silences that the film possesses – that act as the true “punctuations” in this melodrama.
A remarkable difference between the melodramas of the 1950s and the current melodramas of today is a move towards a less formalized mise-en-scene. While the melodramas of the 1950s had vivid colour palettes, the colour palette of films like In the Bedroom is whatever the setting deems it to be. It is like watching a home video. This naturalistic aesthetic that Field employs not only gives the film a naturalistic touch, but also creates a feeling of randomness, a feeling of watching real people experiencing unscripted events, which, in turn, makes the horror of the Fowler’s situation that much more upsetting. As Charles Affrons points out, suspension of disbelief is not really necessary “if we assume that belief is engaged in the reality of the fiction’s fictivity (as opposed to the reality of the fiction’s illusion) and if that reality is to a large degree inflected by the complexity of our reality” (Affron 107). Field uses this idea of creating a fiction that is to a large extent the result of the audience’s own experiences to form his fiction. The crystallization of an array of details like the on-location sets, the naturalistic lighting, the genuine character interactions, and the unpretentious dialogue that the script provides all work to allow the audience to get lost in the story being told. The audience is unconcerned with the fact that they watching a fiction because they are too caught up with recognizing the reality in the fiction. So when both the internal and external violence in the film occurs, it is also accepted as authentic and is therefore able to affect the audience in a much more significant way.
Field also employs complex editing choices to punctuate the mise-en-scene in many scenes in the film. During the funeral scene, for instance, Field separates Ruth and Matt in the frame, along with the contact they are making. Then, he mechanically reconstructs the picture piece by piece through editing – Ruth, then Matt, and then their coldly clasped hands. This methodical breaking up of the two surviving members of the Fowler family challenges the stability of their relationship, and implies the possibility that Matt and Ruth are just going through the motions as well. It suggest that even though they are standing next to each other, internally, they are quite far apart.
Later on in the film, in a scene composed of some very unique editing practices, Matt meets the District Attorney (Terry A. Burgess) that is handling the case against Richard. Matt interrupts his lunch, and after a brief conversation, Matt and the D.A. take a walk outside to talk about the case. Matt is desperate for some sort of reassurance that Richard will get the punishment he deserves, and at that point both Matt and the D.A. share the same screen space. Unfortunately, the D.A. does not have the answers Matt is looking for, and it is here that the two are broken up. But the D.A. reassures Matt that “we haven’t thrown in the towel, and neither should you”. Here Field employs a complex editing strategy to convey Matt’s disappointment with this man. He cuts from a close-up of the D.A.’s mouth to a close-up of Matt’s eyes as these words are said. There is a soft jingling heard over this shot, and Matt’s eyes look down to the D.A’s right pant pocket as the D.A. continues talking. The D.A is jingling his keys with his hand, and this sound slowly grows over the lines he is saying. Whatever comforting words the D.A. is offering Matt is completely undermined by this nervous jingling, and his words now come across as nothing more than rehearsed rhetoric. Matt seems convinced that not even the D.A. believes in the case he is forming.
What is significant about this scene refers back to what Geoffrey Nowell-Smith calls the “hysterical” moment in a melodrama. As he puts it, “there is always material which cannot be expressed in discourse or in the actions of the characters furthering the designs of the plot”, so when it is conveyed through the mise-en-scene, it appears “displaced or in the wrong place” (Nowell-Smith 272). Nowell-Smith identifies the hysterical moment as the “point where at which the realist representative convention breaks down” (Nowell-Smith 272). The moment between Matt and the D.A. is this “hysterical” moment in In the Bedroom. The unique editing strategies this scene employs appear very out of place for a film that, up until this point, sought to maintain an extremely naturalistic aesthetic. But it does fit in terms of the psychological state of Matt, and from this point on the proverbial wheels are set in motion that eventually lead to Matt killing Richard.
One of the striking things about In the Bedroom is the gradual but inevitable decline of the relationship between Matt and Ruth after Frank’s murder. But instead of having this decline occur through verbal battles, Field and his other screenwriters wisely have the Fowler’s descent occur through the breaking down of communication between the two. There is a scene that occurs briefly after Frank’s wake that exemplifies the power of the “eloquent silences” that this film utilizes. It is composed of a single shot, and begins with Ruth watching television while smoking a cigarette. Matt enters in the background. He refills her teacup for her after an exchange of nods, but no eye contact is made. Then, despite the long sofa that Ruth is curled up on, Matt sits down in a hard wooden chair on the other side of the screen. The sounds of a late night talk show are heard, but what is noticeable to the viewer is the silence between Ruth and Matt. It is important to note that this scene occurs immediately after a moment where Matt cries into his arms as he sits in Frank’s room while the wake occurs downstairs. This is the first time the audience sees Matt show any emotion after Frank is killed; Matt did not even cry at the funeral. The juxtaposition of Matt’s weeping with the following scene of Matt and Ruth watching television speaks volumes about their crumbling relationship. Matt has just poured his heart out, yet he cannot even talk to his wife about any of it.
The mise-en-scene of In the Bedroom is very unique to melodrama in that it tries to keep its look as natural as possible but also still seeks to function as punctuations to the film’s narrative action just as any other melodrama would attempt to do. As mentioned above, the mise-en-scene of a melodrama is often used to present a bleak reflection of a family but through a veiled exterior; the naturalistic aesthetic, careful editing, and precisely constructed silences in In the Bedroom harmonize the mise-en-scene in order to give a window into a side of family life where few would ever hope to venture.
Melodramas of the 1950s made huge leaps for the genre, and from those films, a wealth of criticism has been made. But if melodrama is meant to present a view of American life that is both “celebrating and severely questioning the basic values and attitudes of the mass audience” (Schatz 150), how does In the Bedroom dothis? The lingering impression that remains at the end of the film is how things could have reached a point where victims become killers and the killers become victims. As Peter Brooks writes, “at its most ambitious, the melodramatic mode of conception and representation may appear to be the very process of reaching a fundamental drama of the moral life and finding the terms to express it” (Brooks 58). In the Bedroom celebrates the values of the masses by presenting a scenario that honours the institution of family life, but at the same time questions these values by giving a case study of how a family can be ripped apart by a tragedy that befalls that institution, and presents retributive crime in such a case as not necessarily a solution, but indeed an eventuality.
Bibliography
Affron, Charles. “Identifications”. Imitations of Life. Ed. Landry, Marcia. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. 1991. 98-117.
Brooks, Peter. “The Melodramatic Imagination.” Imitations of Life. Ed. Landry, Marcia. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. 1991. 50-67.
Bruce, Jean. Written on the Wind Discussion. FILM 300: Hollywood: The Dream Factory Hollywood in the 1950s. Queen’s University, Kingston. 18 Sept. 2003.
Elsaesser, Thomas. “Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations on the Family Melodrama” Imitations of Life. Ed. Landry, Marcia. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. 1991. 68-91.
Nowell-Smith, Geoffrey. “Minelli and Melodrama”. Imitations of Life. Ed. Landry, Marcia. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. 1991. 268-274.
Schatz, Thomas. “The Family Melodrama.” Imitations of Life. Ed. Landry, Marcia. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. 1991. 148-167.
Phil Borg 