I am indebted to TCM for showing this film as part of their recent survey of gay images in film. It played cheek by jowl with "The Killing of Sister George" and "The Boys in the Band," both of which merit comment on their own.
It is a bit of a truism that classics need revaluation, in order to affirm the great and purge the trivial. (My personal valuation of the AFI's 100 best list was 58 yes, 18 no, 20 borderline, and 8 of historical interest only.) And if ever there were a film accorded some degree of classic status that needed to be reevaluated, "The Fox" is it.
This is a film with essentially no redeeming features whatsoever.
Performances: Keir Dullea is decorative and smoldering. Ann Heywood is gorgeous and enigmatic--so enigmatic, indeed, that one wonders if there is anything to be enigmatic about. And Sandy Dennis--ah, Sandy Dennis--gives another carbon copy of her standard performance that is in essence one long twitch. Twitch after twitch after twitch.
Story and screenplay: The screenplay is based on a story by D. H. Lawrence of the same name. Ellen March (butch), played by Anne Heyward, and Jill Banford (neurotic femme), played by Sandy Dennis, live on and manage a chicken farm in remote Canada. It is not a financially going concern. Paul Renfield (Keir Dullea), grandson of the man who used to own the farm, visits and stays for several weeks. He proposes marriage to Ellen, who is Unsure but goes along with a tryout in the barn by the fire. Ellen may be Unsure, but Paul, on the other hand, like any male character in Lawrence, growls "I must have you" to Ellen, who is smitten with this deep dark belly tension between Man and Woman. (I unapologetically borrow from Stella Gibbons' "Cold Comfort Farm", which satirizes the Hardy-to-Lawrence agricultural depression style better than anyone else.} Paul goes off to his ship to collect back pay, sure of Ellen's wavering consent. She then writes him that it's all off, after a cozy little female smoldering with Jill. Paul returns and, for reasons best known to God, offers to chop down an oak tree. Jill, for reasons either best known to God, or in order to remove herself so that Paul and Ellen Can Be Happy Together, or just from terminal stupidity--a kind of Darwin moment--stands in the likely path of the tree and is squashed like an insect--a twittering insect. Paul and Ellen sell the farm and go off to an uncertain future.
I have so far related the plot. Like the bulk of Lawrence, the symbolism is crashingly heavy handed and the general impression extremely silly. The screenplay is short on dialogue and long on Smoldering Glances, Pregnant Pauses, and Meaningful Silences. One might say that the general effect is that of Pinter with an severe overdose of hormones.
Cinematography and Music: One must speak of these in concert with the screenplay. Everything is telegraphed in advance--particularly with the tree cutting. Steping into a hen house is accompanied by a score that sounds like The Night of the Vampire. The camera dwells extensively on snow and icicles until the exasperated viewer is ready to shout, "All right, I get it, trapped passion waiting to be awakened, stop, stop, stop!" The fox of the title keeps killing the chickens. Jill hates it; Ellen is fascinated by it. It is clearly Male Passion. Guess what! Paul kills it and symbolically makes it his by nailing on the barn.
This is the sort of film that is praised for its treatment of lesbianism and for being Subtle and Nuanced and Deep. Let me clarify what that really means: 1. It's a real positive view of lesbianism to let your boyfriend kill your lover in order to marry him.
2. Subtle=boring. This film is only slightly more entertaining than watching paint dry. A little skin and a parade of absurdities is not really enough.
3. Nuanced=slow. I would think that you could make a pretty interesting 30 minute film on this story.
4. Deep=pretentious. This is nothing more or less than paint by number symbolism and allegory. One feels faintly embarrassed in watching this.
The final verdict? This is one dreadful film that commits just about every conceivable offense against common sense, good storytelling, and realistic human behavior. Give this one a wide berth--not even worthwhile for the historical value.
It is a bit of a truism that classics need revaluation, in order to affirm the great and purge the trivial. (My personal valuation of the AFI's 100 best list was 58 yes, 18 no, 20 borderline, and 8 of historical interest only.) And if ever there were a film accorded some degree of classic status that needed to be reevaluated, "The Fox" is it.
This is a film with essentially no redeeming features whatsoever.
Performances: Keir Dullea is decorative and smoldering. Ann Heywood is gorgeous and enigmatic--so enigmatic, indeed, that one wonders if there is anything to be enigmatic about. And Sandy Dennis--ah, Sandy Dennis--gives another carbon copy of her standard performance that is in essence one long twitch. Twitch after twitch after twitch.
Story and screenplay: The screenplay is based on a story by D. H. Lawrence of the same name. Ellen March (butch), played by Anne Heyward, and Jill Banford (neurotic femme), played by Sandy Dennis, live on and manage a chicken farm in remote Canada. It is not a financially going concern. Paul Renfield (Keir Dullea), grandson of the man who used to own the farm, visits and stays for several weeks. He proposes marriage to Ellen, who is Unsure but goes along with a tryout in the barn by the fire. Ellen may be Unsure, but Paul, on the other hand, like any male character in Lawrence, growls "I must have you" to Ellen, who is smitten with this deep dark belly tension between Man and Woman. (I unapologetically borrow from Stella Gibbons' "Cold Comfort Farm", which satirizes the Hardy-to-Lawrence agricultural depression style better than anyone else.} Paul goes off to his ship to collect back pay, sure of Ellen's wavering consent. She then writes him that it's all off, after a cozy little female smoldering with Jill. Paul returns and, for reasons best known to God, offers to chop down an oak tree. Jill, for reasons either best known to God, or in order to remove herself so that Paul and Ellen Can Be Happy Together, or just from terminal stupidity--a kind of Darwin moment--stands in the likely path of the tree and is squashed like an insect--a twittering insect. Paul and Ellen sell the farm and go off to an uncertain future.
I have so far related the plot. Like the bulk of Lawrence, the symbolism is crashingly heavy handed and the general impression extremely silly. The screenplay is short on dialogue and long on Smoldering Glances, Pregnant Pauses, and Meaningful Silences. One might say that the general effect is that of Pinter with an severe overdose of hormones.
Cinematography and Music: One must speak of these in concert with the screenplay. Everything is telegraphed in advance--particularly with the tree cutting. Steping into a hen house is accompanied by a score that sounds like The Night of the Vampire. The camera dwells extensively on snow and icicles until the exasperated viewer is ready to shout, "All right, I get it, trapped passion waiting to be awakened, stop, stop, stop!" The fox of the title keeps killing the chickens. Jill hates it; Ellen is fascinated by it. It is clearly Male Passion. Guess what! Paul kills it and symbolically makes it his by nailing on the barn.
This is the sort of film that is praised for its treatment of lesbianism and for being Subtle and Nuanced and Deep. Let me clarify what that really means: 1. It's a real positive view of lesbianism to let your boyfriend kill your lover in order to marry him.
2. Subtle=boring. This film is only slightly more entertaining than watching paint dry. A little skin and a parade of absurdities is not really enough.
3. Nuanced=slow. I would think that you could make a pretty interesting 30 minute film on this story.
4. Deep=pretentious. This is nothing more or less than paint by number symbolism and allegory. One feels faintly embarrassed in watching this.
The final verdict? This is one dreadful film that commits just about every conceivable offense against common sense, good storytelling, and realistic human behavior. Give this one a wide berth--not even worthwhile for the historical value.