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It would be really interesting to wire up people for a brain scan while they were watching a movie. Now that the point of origin for practically every major thought process has been located and its mechanics dissected, I’d like to know just what goes on in someone’s head as s/he gets drawn into a plot. It must be something like buying a new car: you get sucked in and can’t help but follow it through to completion, in which case it hopefully will turn out better than any misgivings might have lead you to believe.
When I found this new video starring Bob Hoskins, I picked it up despite indications it was yet another serial-killer flick. I’m not particularly squeamish, mind you (I’m still looking forward to a final chapter in zombie-king George Romero’s nauseating Dead saga one of these days), but I’m getting weary of the whole murder-for-art’s-sake thing. Still, Minus Man a few weeks ago was intriguing. And Hoskins, who hasn’t maintained the high-profile run that followed his 1986 Oscar-nominated performance in Mona Lisa with such critical or boxoffice hits as Roger Rabbit, Hook, and Mermaids (ask someone these days who Bob Hoskins is, and they’re likely to reply either “That congressman from North Carolina,” or “Wasn’t he the mechanic on ‘Dukes of Hazzard’”?) is still universally recognized as one of the best actors around. Plus, the film is directed by Atom Egoyan, who did the moving The Sweet Hereafter. So I figured I’d give it a shot.
Hoskins plays Joseph Hilditch, catering manager for a big industrial plant in dreary Birmingham, England. He spends his working hours trying to coax the perfect raspberry jam tart out of his underlings, then goes home and meticulously recreates the sumptuous recipes of his deceased French mother (played by Egoyan’s wife Arsinée Khanjian, who shows up in all of his films) with the aid of videotapes from her 1950s cooking show. He seems to be a caring sort, but there’s something vaguely disquieting about his behavior.
Enter Felicia (Elaine Cassidy), a young woman of startling unadorned beauty who drifts into town from Ireland looking for her errant boyfriend Johnny. She’s been ostracized by her family following his rumored enlistment in the British army, but she’s convinced he’s only fled the economically depressed Emerald Isle to find work in a Birmingham lawnmower factory. Joseph finds her wandering the streets and offers shelter, a fatherly gesture that we soon realize has little to do with altruism. Despite easy comparison to Psycho though -- the lonely son, the ghostly mom, subtle hints of their less than healthful relationship, and mounting evidence that Joseph has a history of antisocial habits – nothing lurid or bloody happens, at least not onscreen. But as he manipulates the despondent girl into staying around, things get right royally creepy in Pink Floyd fashion: “hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.”
And I got sucked in. I didn’t want to, because Felicia’s Journey is an ultimately depressing movie, all the moreso because its characters are uniformly sympathetic. Sure, it’s artfully assembled and performed, having garnered a slew of festival awards and nominations (including a nom for the prestigious Golden Palm at Cannes last year). That’s not enough to explain the film’s attraction, though. There’s something more primeval at work, something that prompts our species to revel in sadness and gloom when they’re presented as entertainment.
Or maybe it was just that bag of James Cameron Titanic-Brand Microwave Popcorn I ate. B
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