| Through
the eyes of "Scout," a feisty six-year-old tomboy, TO KILL A
MOCKINGBIRD carries us on an odyssey through the fires of prejudice and
injustice in 1932 Alabama. Presenting her tale first as a sweetly lulling
reminiscence of events from her childhood, the narrator draws us near
with stories of daring neighborhood exploits by she, her brother "Jem,"
and their friend "Dill." Peopled with a cast of eccentrics,
Macomb ("a tired and sleepy town") finds itself the venue of
the trial of Tom Robinson, a young black man falsely accused of raping
an ignorant white woman. Atticus Finch, Scout and Jem's widowed father
and a deeply principled man, is appointed to defend Tom for whom a guilty
verdict from an all-white jury is a foregone conclusion. Juxtaposed against
the story of the trial is the childrens' hit and run relationship with
Boo Radley, a shut-in who the children and Dill's Aunt Stephanie suspect
of insanity and who no one has seen in recent history. Cigar-box treasures,
found in the knot hole of a tree near the ramshackle Radley house, temper
the children's judgement of Boo. "You never know someone," Atticus
tells Scout, "until you step inside their skin and walk around a
little." But fear keeps them at a distance until one night, in streetlight
and shadows, the children confront an evil born of ignorance and blind
hatred and must somehow find their way home.
STEVEN
SNYDER'S REVIEW
The power
of “To Kill A Mockingbird,” and the reason it has endured as
one of the finest motion pictures ever made, is its willingness to let us
down as an audience. It does not apologize for its messages, does not focus
on pacifying the viewer, but is honest enough to admit that sometimes the
world just isn’t fair.
It was released on Christmas day, 1962, in the midst of a swirling civil
rights storm, and its impact forty years ago was no doubt greater than it
is even now. It is one of the few films that dared to make a bold statement
in a time of controversy. Much like “Dr. Strangelove,” released
during the red scare, and “Wall Street,” released during the
boom of capitalism, “To Kill A Mockingbird” contributed to a
trend while it was actually occurring.
It tells the story of Tom Robinson (Brock Peters), a black man wrongfully
accused of raping a white girl in the 1930’s south. The town is racist,
and ready to convict him outright.
It is told from the perspective of young Scout Finch (Mary Badham), the
six year-old daughter of Atticus (Gregory Peck). Atticus is an attorney
in this depression-ridden area, and his belief in Tom’s innocence
has outraged his racist neighbors and friends.
We see this world and Atticus’ dilemma as Scout sees it. She goes
about her daily routine unaware of the hatred that surrounds her. She has
her innocent fear of the bogeyman living down the street. She loves her
father and sees him as the statue of honor and safety.
And through her innocent and naïve eyes, we see the ridiculous nature
of racism; the folly of the townspeople’s fear, bigotry and hatred.
In one notable scene, as a crowd of enraged citizens converges on Atticus,
director Robert Mulligan admirably remains true to Scout’s perspective.
In what easily could have been shown as a heated situation with impending
danger instead reflects only a little girl’s sense of security by
her father’s side.
For a film that so easily could have become melodramatic and preachy, Mulligan’s
style is the anchor for “Mockingbird’s” message. In remaining
true to Scout’s vision, Mulligan avoids the trappings of a standard
narrative. There are no fist fights, court theatrics, sudden changes of
heart or emboldened speeches that save the day. Through Scout’s eyes,
the loss of a child’s innocence and the persecution of an innocent
man are enough to drive the story forward. Real issues make “Mockingbird”
a success, not plot twists.
And, as mentioned in the first paragraph of this review, “Mockingbird”
refuses to sell out. The film’s final moments are immensely depressing.
Just as the courtroom scenes build to a verdict, and the horrific trends
of the town’s behavior seem poised to reverse themselves, “Mockingbird”
refuses to gloss over the fate of Tom Robinson. The film is honest about
a time in this country when happy endings were few and far between.
Up against another great film, “Lawrence of Arabia,” “To
Kill A Mockingbird” lost its bid for best picture of 1962. It almost
seems like a travesty that one work had to be chosen over another. They
are so different in scope. “Lawrence” is an epic battle picture,
about one dominating ego and the havoc he wrought.
“Mockingbird” couldn’t be more different. It features
an Oscar-winning performance by Peck, as the stoic Atticus, but the film
is much more about a time, a place and an environment than a particular
storyline. Its characters and its dialogue mean something greater than their
face value, and I would contend that while “Mockingbird” is
not a better film, it affects a viewer much more strongly. Its messages
and its meaning live on long after “Lawrence’s” have been
forgotten.
Being shown this Thanksgiving weekend, “To Kill A Mockingbird”
takes on a special significance. At a time of family gatherings and celebrations,
a film about our country’s darker times achieves a different level
of poignancy. After rereading the brilliant Harper Lee novel, and revisiting
this great film, I know one thing I’ll be thankful for this weekend:
That, even for its faults, modern America is a vast improvement over the
archaic world of Atticus Finch.
  
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