where you gonna run to?
by Douglas Messerli
Hugo Butler and Luis Buñuel (screenplay, based on a story by Peter
Matthiessen), Luis Buñuel (director) La Joven (The Young) / 1960,
USA 1961
Spanish-Mexican director Luis Buñuel’s second and last English-language
film, La Joven, is generally
perceived as a pallid and failed film, and one might well agree that, for the
most part, it does seem to be an atypical Buñuel product, having none of his
signature surrealist-based flourishes. Perhaps, given the film’s various
subject matters—racism, pedophilia, false claims of rape, and moral lassitude,
all played out on a small Carolina island in the American south—that he need
present no more of an exaggerated or unsettling world view.
The marvel of this small
film—and the film is, to my way of thinking, far superior to how it was seen by
the critics and audiences of its day—is that it presents these issues in the US
context in a way that few other films of its day could manage. True, during the
shooting of the film in 1960, a film with similar concerns, Stanley Kramer’s The Defiant Ones appeared. But Kramer’s
work, although notable for pairing (quite literally with handcuffs) a racist
(Tony Curtis) and a Black man (Sidney Poitier), was also far more in the
Hollywood mode, declaring its liberal sentiments on its sleeve. Buñuel’s work
is more nuanced and troubling for that very reason. The director and film,
although they clearly have a strong point of view, present their various characters
with great subtlety, refusing to outright judge them.
At the center of La Joven—or perhaps I should say, at one
of its centers, since the work ultimately ripples out in a series of
interrelated rings of hell—is a black musician, Traver (Bernie Hamilton), who
has been accused of rape on the mainland by an elderly woman. Given that the
clarinetist is a black and Northerner,
he is surely in danger of being lynched, and, understandably, escapes by
stealing a boat and beaching it on an isolated island. In the original Peter
Matthiessen story, the character was a man with a long criminal record with
periods of his life being spent in jail. Traver in Buñuel’s tale, however, is
guilty of only stealing the boat and going on the run, similarly to the
character in To Kill a Mockingbird.
But as the song of the movie’s pared-down music track asks” “Where You Gonna
Run To?” The place Traver has selected is fraught with perhaps far more
dangerous people than even the mainland.
The man who controls this
small island, Miller (Zachary Scott) is a rough and tough bee keeper, whose
alcoholic partner, Pee Wee, has died moments before the story begins, leaving
his wild and innocent daughter, Evelyn (Key Meersman) under his tutelage. For
years apparently he has already been abusing her by forcing her to keep his
house and work in the aviary; but now that he suddenly is forced to become her
surrogate father, he also suddenly perceives her nubile adolescence, demanding
suddenly that she scrub up and tie her wild hair back. When she bows to his
demands, he almost immediately goes on the attack, attempting to kiss her,
seating her on his lap and toying with her near complete innocence: warning her
to never allow a man to do what he doing to her at that very moment. This first
time she escapes his unwanted embraces; and he determines to go into town to
pick up provisions and new clothing in order to woo her.
In his absence the musician
appears, asking her for honey (the product of their aviary, not her body) and
paying her as he steals Miller’s guns. Although she is at first somewhat
frightened of the stranger’s appearance, he quickly wins her friendship, which
sets up a relationship far different from Evvie’s and Miller’s. Traver makes no
advances and pays her for what he takes. But Traver is also another kind
“joven,” a greenhorn who before he can even set off in his small boat for
another, safer place, accidently shoots a hole in the craft, and is forced to
return to the house to find tools and tar with which to fix it. It takes time
for the repairs and before he can finish the task Miller has returned with a
new dress and shoes for his would-be young lover, discovering as he awards the
gifts that there is a now a stranger on the island and that he has paid Evvie
for “something,” presuming it must have been sex. Yet, despite Miller’s
determination to find and kill the stranger, he is not the stereotype that
other directors have presented him as. When he finally encounters Traver, he
and the black man—in part because of the clarinetist’s odd courage and straight
forwardness, and, in particular, because of their shared experiences as
soldiers in World War II—reach a kind of impossible truce, with Traver
returning the guns and Miller giving him his former partner’s house in which to
sleep—which at the same time gives him the opportunity to bring Evvie into his house. It is apparent that after
this night Evvie is no longer a virgin.
Still, she remains
incredulous that the two men can simply get along, growing increasingly fond of
Traver. A rationalist, Traver explains it to her in a way that takes this black
character into completely new territory, a world in which goodness simply is
not a match for hate: “It’s easy for him to kill me,” he tells Evvie, “It’s
hard for me to kill him.” His recognition of the black-white dynamic is
devastating, and perhaps explains his salvation.
All changes, however, with
the arrival on the island of an all-out bigot, Jackson, determined to once
again track down the elusive Traver and kill him. Indeed in the original
version of the script, as in the original story, Jackson does kill Traver in a
knife fight, in which Traver once again proclaims his recognition of the world
in which he lives—so different yet so connected with, for example, the vision
of writer Richard Wright—“He supposed he could kill a white man if he had to,
and a white man could kill him. But a black man did not kill a white man.” In
Buñuel’s editing of his film, however, Traver survives, and is allowed to
escape through Miller’s and Revered Fleetwood (Claudio Brook’s) intervention.
It is less a moral
“intervention,” however than what the 1993 article in Cineaste correctly describes as a “bargain,” truly a bargain with
the Devil, as the weak Fleetwood, who has come to the island to baptize Evvie,
begins to hear both Traver’s and the child’s story, realizing that the white
woman has accused others of having raped her and that, in fact, Miller, has
actually raped the girl. Miller and Fleetwood allow Traver to escape only to
further protect Miller, who now promises to Mary his “daughter.”
No one in this complex work,
finally, gets off easily. Each of the figures carry with them the guilt of
their own blindness and lust, which “the young” can only suffer or attempt to
escape. And even that act, escape, as the director suggests, is only a
temporary event. “Where you gonna run to” in a society that is so corrupt?
That Buñuel’s film was
written and shot by so many former Hollywood artists who had been blacklisted
in the hysteria of the 1950s notions of Communist conspiracies, makes this
question even more poignant. The film, denounced by New York Times critic Bosley Crowther—one of my least favorite
commentators on film of all time—only points up the fact that a significant
film like Buñuel’s La Joven could
only be made outside the US, in this case Mexico, and reiterates my feeling
that the early 1960s were, in the USA, even more conservative than many of the
years of the previous decade.
Los
Angeles, February 13, 2014
Reprinted from International Cinema
Review (February 2014).
No comments:
Post a Comment