"Dolores Claiborne" is among my all-time favorite movies; it's a weird, well-crafted melodrama; it trounces the Bechdel Test, over and over again; it has multiple mysteries and a sophisticated, double-edged plot; it makes use of the sublime, via an eclipse; and it's unafraid of moral ambiguity.
Let's start at the beginning. Ordinary World: an aging woman with a quiet life in Maine. But then she's caught in what appears to be a murder; we see her holding a rolling pin over the body of her elderly employer. And so: A quest. An effort to prove that she is innocent. She tries to narrate the events of her recent life for her daughter. But the daughter may be a trickster; the daughter doesn't have an uncomplicated relationship with Dolores Claiborne. The daughter, in fact, has been estranged from Dolores for many years, and she blames Dolores for a miserable childhood. Why should the daughter listen? Dolores was frequently mean to Daddy, and now Daddy is dead. (There are great scenes where Daddy makes pleasant chitchat with the daughter, then physically assaults Dolores as soon as the daughter isn't looking. Also, there's a fine, unnerving discussion about the daughter's deteriorating grades: Daddy says, why make a big deal of it? Dolores begins to suspect that Daddy is "interfering" with her daughter.)
So all these flashbacks are happening, but then there's a rather gripping present-day story as well. It's the thawing of relations between Dolores and the Grown-Woman version of her daughter. As the two wade through ugly memories, they also begin to take an interest in each other. Dolores accosts Grown Daughter about her drinking and her pill consumption, and though Grown Daughter is upset, Grown Daughter also recognizes the charitable nature of the concern. Dolores suggests that "sometimes, in this world, being a bitch is the only thing a woman has to hold on to"--and Grown Daughter seems to enjoy this subversive observation. Grown Daughter furnishes Dolores's broken-down house; Dolores lovingly cuts through Grown Daughter's pretensions, her "Vassar speak," and gets her to use plain English. Watching these two circle each other--wary, clearly affectionate, and conflicted--is a great thrill in the movie.
As Dolores penetrates Grown Daughter's icy reserve, she gets Grown Daughter to see a few things. First, Dolores learned quite a bit from her Machiavellian employer--Judy Parfitt, in one of the most compelling performances I know of in mainstream cinema. Parfitt is a total shrew, insufferable; but she also has formidable talents; she has a vast cliffside manor and great reserves of strength; she murdered her straying husband and didn't bat an eye. In flashback, Parfitt learns that Dolores suspects her husband of child (sex) abuse, and blithely tells her to commit murder. Dolores does this--sort of--by allowing Daddy to starve to death in a half-concealed pit during a solar eclipse. (Melodrama!) Later, grateful for Parfitt's role in her life, deeply-conflicted Dolores considers aiding Parfitt in her suicide. It's that conflicted moment of hesitation that we saw in the early seconds of the film. Grown Daughter is able to hear all of this, to understand that Daddy really did molest her, and to come to Dolores's defense in the nick of time. So Dolores gets off for a murder she really didn't do, and she continues to get off for a murder, or semi-murder, she in fact did participate in--the murder of Daddy--and we're left to conclude, in a slightly queasy way, that all is for the best. Grown Daughter will renounce her pills and her morally bankrupt life--her extramarital affairs--and start over in the vast, wild world. Dolores is vindicated; fade to black.
If you haven't seen this, give yourself a treat. Maine sunsets! Kathy Bates! Christopher Plummer! David Strathairn! Jennifer Jason Leigh! And the aforementioned Judy Parfitt (who really deserved an Oscar)! I've been on a Stephen King binge lately, because of "It," and because of "11/22/63," which I've just now finished. I don't like it ("11/22/63") as much as "Dolores," because the central character seems sort of implausibly at peace for much of the book; there isn't enough roiling around in his brain; there aren't enough skeletons in his closet. (This changes toward the end, when the book acquires a good deal of suspense.) I'm in awe of King; just think of "The Mist," "Gerald's Game," "Mr. Mercedes," and "Under the Dome." All of these titles are acquiring buzz-generating adaptations--or have recently acquired those adaptations--and we're not even talking yet about the Idris Elba version of "The Dark Tower." King has a way of enfolding advice within his novels; so, for example, in "11/22/63," he suggests to us that, when we're telling a story, we should just put one damn event down after the other, and the other, and the other, and so on. Keep it simple. King was born with unusual wisdom and imagination and the gift of common sense. And a rage to live. I want more delicacy and "care" from him as a prose stylist--but he'll always rank high among my inspirations.
https://www.google.com/search?q=dolores+claiborne+trailer&oq=dolores+claiborne+trailer&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.7312j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Let's start at the beginning. Ordinary World: an aging woman with a quiet life in Maine. But then she's caught in what appears to be a murder; we see her holding a rolling pin over the body of her elderly employer. And so: A quest. An effort to prove that she is innocent. She tries to narrate the events of her recent life for her daughter. But the daughter may be a trickster; the daughter doesn't have an uncomplicated relationship with Dolores Claiborne. The daughter, in fact, has been estranged from Dolores for many years, and she blames Dolores for a miserable childhood. Why should the daughter listen? Dolores was frequently mean to Daddy, and now Daddy is dead. (There are great scenes where Daddy makes pleasant chitchat with the daughter, then physically assaults Dolores as soon as the daughter isn't looking. Also, there's a fine, unnerving discussion about the daughter's deteriorating grades: Daddy says, why make a big deal of it? Dolores begins to suspect that Daddy is "interfering" with her daughter.)
So all these flashbacks are happening, but then there's a rather gripping present-day story as well. It's the thawing of relations between Dolores and the Grown-Woman version of her daughter. As the two wade through ugly memories, they also begin to take an interest in each other. Dolores accosts Grown Daughter about her drinking and her pill consumption, and though Grown Daughter is upset, Grown Daughter also recognizes the charitable nature of the concern. Dolores suggests that "sometimes, in this world, being a bitch is the only thing a woman has to hold on to"--and Grown Daughter seems to enjoy this subversive observation. Grown Daughter furnishes Dolores's broken-down house; Dolores lovingly cuts through Grown Daughter's pretensions, her "Vassar speak," and gets her to use plain English. Watching these two circle each other--wary, clearly affectionate, and conflicted--is a great thrill in the movie.
As Dolores penetrates Grown Daughter's icy reserve, she gets Grown Daughter to see a few things. First, Dolores learned quite a bit from her Machiavellian employer--Judy Parfitt, in one of the most compelling performances I know of in mainstream cinema. Parfitt is a total shrew, insufferable; but she also has formidable talents; she has a vast cliffside manor and great reserves of strength; she murdered her straying husband and didn't bat an eye. In flashback, Parfitt learns that Dolores suspects her husband of child (sex) abuse, and blithely tells her to commit murder. Dolores does this--sort of--by allowing Daddy to starve to death in a half-concealed pit during a solar eclipse. (Melodrama!) Later, grateful for Parfitt's role in her life, deeply-conflicted Dolores considers aiding Parfitt in her suicide. It's that conflicted moment of hesitation that we saw in the early seconds of the film. Grown Daughter is able to hear all of this, to understand that Daddy really did molest her, and to come to Dolores's defense in the nick of time. So Dolores gets off for a murder she really didn't do, and she continues to get off for a murder, or semi-murder, she in fact did participate in--the murder of Daddy--and we're left to conclude, in a slightly queasy way, that all is for the best. Grown Daughter will renounce her pills and her morally bankrupt life--her extramarital affairs--and start over in the vast, wild world. Dolores is vindicated; fade to black.
If you haven't seen this, give yourself a treat. Maine sunsets! Kathy Bates! Christopher Plummer! David Strathairn! Jennifer Jason Leigh! And the aforementioned Judy Parfitt (who really deserved an Oscar)! I've been on a Stephen King binge lately, because of "It," and because of "11/22/63," which I've just now finished. I don't like it ("11/22/63") as much as "Dolores," because the central character seems sort of implausibly at peace for much of the book; there isn't enough roiling around in his brain; there aren't enough skeletons in his closet. (This changes toward the end, when the book acquires a good deal of suspense.) I'm in awe of King; just think of "The Mist," "Gerald's Game," "Mr. Mercedes," and "Under the Dome." All of these titles are acquiring buzz-generating adaptations--or have recently acquired those adaptations--and we're not even talking yet about the Idris Elba version of "The Dark Tower." King has a way of enfolding advice within his novels; so, for example, in "11/22/63," he suggests to us that, when we're telling a story, we should just put one damn event down after the other, and the other, and the other, and so on. Keep it simple. King was born with unusual wisdom and imagination and the gift of common sense. And a rage to live. I want more delicacy and "care" from him as a prose stylist--but he'll always rank high among my inspirations.
https://www.google.com/search?q=dolores+claiborne+trailer&oq=dolores+claiborne+trailer&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.7312j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
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