FAR FROM HEAVEN: Blu-ray (Focus Features, 2002) Kino Lorber

A sexually repressed housewife, a clandestine affair with a black man, an illicit gay romance, and racism to boot. Director Todd Haynes’ Far from Heaven (2002) continues to garner fans, not the least for his obsessive stylistic homage to Douglas Sirk; that fifties' director extraordinaire of syrupy soap operas. Sirk was, of course, working with exceptional material and A-list hunks du jour, like Bob Stack and Rock Hudson. And even if Sirk’s plush piling on of hyperbole and cliché seems laughably ironic, as it must have - even then (I still recall a scene from 1956’s Written on the Wind, where Stack morbidly stares at a young boy being aggressively bounced on a coin-operated pony ride at the supermarket, after his character has just learned from his doctor he is impotent…oh, now there’s subtlety for you!), Sirk’s penchant for over-the-top storytelling somehow fit the conservative Eisenhower decade to a tee, or rather, in retrospect, proved a wonderful anathema to it.  Just think of all those conversations one could not have in public back then. All those repressed inklings of an imploding social structure, quietly hidden behind an antiseptic façade and its proverbial ‘white’ picket fence. Given today’s social climate, I have no doubt Sirk would have relished working in the movies today. But perhaps, Haynes has already addressed Sirk’s milieu in Far from Heaven.

Despite its Sirk-ian use of color to explore even more lurid topics, rustling subtext beneath the crinolines and lace - like everyone’s addlepated verve for discussing the plush pile of the latest living room shag, Far from Heaven has a few hurdles to overcome. Chief among these is Dennis Quaid’s ineffectual casting as Frank Whitaker, the closeted Magnatech exec, who has been slumming in gay bars in his spare time away from wife, Cathy (played by the luminescent – and, at the time, very pregnant, Julianne Moore). Quaid’s appeal has always escaped me; his talents, best suited when appearing in ensemble movies like Breaking Away (1979) and The Right Stuff (1983). But Quaid incapable of carrying a whole movie by himself. And although he is decidedly second-fiddle to Moore in Far from Heaven, Quaid, nevertheless, has a pivotal part to play in Cathy’s burgeoning love affair with caretaker/groundskeeper, Raymond Deagen (the exceptional, Dennis Haysbert). Although Haynes wrote his screenplay with Moore very much as his muse, the director would have preferred the late, James Gandolfini as Frank. Commitments on The Sopranos (1999-2007) prevented the actor’s participation. So, Haynes turned next to Russell Crowe, then Jeff Bridges – both bowing out from consideration; Crowe, because the part was too small; Bridges, for wanting more money to partake. Alas, Quaid is a wan ghost flower of these aforementioned, and thoroughly unconvincing, either as the frustrated homosexual, in his awkward flagrante delictos with various boy-toys, or as Cathy’s desperately confused hubby, spiraling out of control in his failed attempts at ‘conversion’ therapy, and thereafter, turning to the bottle for solace.

Far from Heaven is a tour de force in its period recreations, decimating our fragile need for faux nostalgia by relocating its purpose and plot to an exploitation of racism and miscegenation in mid-twentieth century America.  Haynes’ mise-en-scène, exquisitely lensed by cinematographer, Edward Lachman, stands on end the conventions of the fifties. As a decade, the 1950’s are forever ensconced in the rose-colored reflections of our hearts, perfectly embalmed as that poodle-skirted epoch, teeming in fresh-faced innocence, with perhaps, a rebel or two - with our without his cause - lurking in the shadows. Previously immortalized on film, the illusion of the fifties in the movies has helped promote our golden oldie memories as seemingly Teflon-coated fiction in lieu of the facts. So, it is more than a little off-putting to discover a sort of understated cruelty in Haynes taking the decade to task, deconstructing its social mores until all that is left is the false front of an otherwise thoroughly disemboweled skeleton – applying contemporary jadedness, disillusionment and rank humiliation, inflicted upon all of these fictionalized fools living in their fool’s paradise – or, paradise lost, as it were. And while the movie is undeniably gorgeous to look at – Lachman’s stunning use of light and shadow, and, his palette of ultra-lush hues perfectly evoking Sirk’s milieu, style alone is not enough to brand Far from Heaven as either a classic revisionist ‘take’ on the brand, or, a good, solid story, worthy of our re-consideration upon a second glance.  Haynes wants too much to teach us a rather tiresome lesson, and, it is this: that uppity upper middle-class WASPS, tight-lipped and glowering, were evil racists, denying the one white woman (who cares enough to look beyond pigmentation) her genuine need to find compassion in the arms of a man, neither of her social strata or skin color.

Throwing the whole ‘Frank is gay’ subplot under the bus - Haynes uses this merely as an explanation to launch Cathy at Raymond (after all, why shouldn’t she want a ‘real man’ after having wed one who prefers his extracurricular activity elsewhere?) - Far from Heaven moves into its abject admonishment of white society in totem, completely eschewing one crucial fact - not all whites were racially insensitive or blatantly looking for reasons to keep the black race down. Indeed, at a second glance, the whole homoerotic subtext appears rather lazily tacked on to satisfy an even more insidiously insincere plot point; that Cathy should have considered Raymond as her romantic ideal, but only after being spurned by someone from her own race. So, even Cathy is racist before getting her rude awakening to Frank’s gay lifestyle. The epiphany, that blacks and white can co-exist in harmony beyond the ‘master/mate’ template is therefore moot, since Cathy would never have agreed to entertain a friendship, much less a love affair with Raymond if Frank had remained the loyal ‘straight’ sort.   

To legitimize the racial undercurrent that is the lynch pin in Haynes’ narrative, the action herein is set not only in 1957 – the waning period just before Civil Rights and the sexual revolution – but also in homogenized Hartford, Connecticut – portrayed as bigoted and prejudicial; Haynes, wasting no time to illustrate for his audience the absurd paranoia whites in general have. Our heroine, Cathy is being interviewed for a society circular in her living room. Catching a glimpse of a ‘colored’ face walking past her window, she becomes unsettled. The interviewer, Mrs. Leacock (Bette Henritze) immediately suggests calling the police. But Cate’s not the alarmist type – or perhaps, is, but is superficially interested in ‘doing the right thing.’ Besides, its broad daylight. So, instead, she confidently confronts the man in her yard, who turns out to be Raymond Deagen, the son of her late gardener, who has come to assess the property and offer his services in his father’s stead. Quietly observing Cathy’s ‘kindness to Negroes’, Leacock makes a mental note and a public record of the ‘incident.’ This will later cause even Cathy’s closest friend, Eleanor Fine (Patricia Clarkson) to become grotesquely suspicious of her ulterior motives.

Frank’s sexual identity is the pivot for this segregationist scenario. Cathy’s empathy turns to estrangement. Yet, this is viewed, at least from the outside, as her betrayal of a ‘charming spouse’ rather than his duplicity in the downfall of ‘the ideal marriage.’  It is important to reconsider also that Frank’s homosexuality is not the lie, but the necessary escape from the lie itself – aping the acceptable conventions of a heterosexual life when, in fact, and arguably, he never ascribed to them at all. Even here, Frank’s motivations are severely flawed. His homoerotic tendencies become full-blown, but only after noticing a pair of same-sex partners hurriedly trotting to a basement bar. What was presumably a curiosity for Frank only moments before, now, suddenly, blossoms into precisely the sort of extramarital stimulation he requires, merely to keep his other stressors at bay. Homosexuality, predictably, gets tempered as a subtext for rebellion against the status quo. Haynes inquires: Why can’t Frank act on his gay desires? Why can’t Cathy take a black man into her heart and bed? Yet, these questions, once asked, are never entirely addressed as Haynes elects merely to point the finger of condemnation at white-bred affluence – naïve and half-baked characters, more of a generalization than a generational snapshot in its totality; the hatchet, chiseling away at staunch-conservatism without first inquiring whether all conservatives think alike. The expectation, via fifties’ crass consumerism - code for attaining the perfect suburban life, with 2.5 children, a TV in the living room, and, a ‘brand new’ chrome and tail-finned automobile parked in the garage - gets steadily eroded. As far as Haynes and Far from Heaven are concerned, this is the deviant and self-destructive behavior from which all critical understanding gets expunged and only those who do not subscribe to it, are either marginalized or made outright the social pariah by default, to protect the insular and misguided façade – the demigod of faux respectability.

In contrast, we get Cathy and Raymond, the latter, empathetic to a fault, comforting a weeping Cate with an innocuous enough invitation to spend a day in the country with him.  Alas, this too is inadvertently perverted by notorious town gossip, Mona Lauder (Celia Weston), the particulars spread thick with fork-tongued tittle-tattle back home, destined to devastate Cate’s reputation. Ironically, while Haynes implies Frank’s peccadilloes are cause enough for pushing Cathy into Raymond’s arms, and therefore, to bring shame upon the family by default, Haynes as broadly applies a sort of double-edged social justice to Cathy and Raymond’s burgeoning romance. Theirs is the just cause in Far from Heaven – to find authenticity in friendship and love, regardless of skin color. Meanwhile, Frank’s pursuit of as much with someone of the same sex is never afforded legitimacy. Even more curiously, those same societal conventions to deny Cathy and Raymond their ability to fully express passion, nevertheless are the trespass and stimulant to get them as far into their friendship as the times and fate will allow. By contrast, society’s homophobia denies Frank any such concession, and, in fact, makes him the forever outcast who will never experience even a glimmer of happiness – or salvation. Even if Cathy’s penultimate farewell to Raymond is tinged with those predictably bittersweet tears that make for a time-honored ‘farewell’ at the movies, Frank’s journey into self-discovery is met with indifference, disgust, and, arguably, a never-to-be personal satisfaction.  

Far from Heaven begins with an idyllic snapshot of suburbia in autumn: Cathy Whitaker, our maven of perfect domesticity. She’s middle-class, middle-age, white, affluent and wed to a dashing ad man. What could be more wholesome? Frank is leading the charge in TV advertising for Magnatech, a company with a very promising future. Then, it all turns to gumbo. Cate is informed by the local authorities her husband is being held at the county jail. Rushing to his side, the ever-loyal Cate is met with a smoke-screen. Frank suggests it has all been a misunderstanding. What has? Well, Frank was seen, presumably to procure a certain type of after-hours ‘companionship’. But no – the police have it wrong. Frank is a straight arrow. Or is he? Actually, Frank has been hitting the gay bars nightly in Hartford, while lying to Cathy about working late at the office. As her perfect little existence begins to show the first signs of cracking, Cathy is interviewed for a lady’s circular. In the middle of her Q&A she spies a black man skulking about the yard. This turns out to be Raymond Deagan, the son of Cate’s late gardener. Reconciling her prejudice with a modicum of Cheshire-grinning charm, Cate agrees to allow Raymond to take over managing the property.

Believing her husband, Cate is stunned when, after planning to surprise Frank with a late supper at the office, she instead gets the startle of her life, discovering hubby passionately making out with another man. Frank nervously reveals he ‘has problems’ and reluctantly agrees to sign up for ‘conversion therapy’ to rid himself of these homoerotic tendencies. While supporting Frank in this decision, Cate can no longer excuse his behavior. Frank is gay. Cathy needs to face it. The marriage suffers and Frank, unable to reconcile his attraction to young men, turns to alcohol to drown his anxieties. Meanwhile, Cathy discovers Raymond at a local art show with his daughter, Sarah (Jordan Puryear). She learns Sarah’s mom died and finds Raymond’s relationship with the girl endearing. The two discuss modern painting, much to the small-minded consternation of several onlookers. Returning home, Cathy prepares to entertain several couples at home – old friends, including her best, Eleanor Fine. The evening, alas, is a disaster, as Frank makes an early pitch to seduce his wife. Unable to work up a passion for her, Frank is ashamed. He gets soused at the party and becomes belligerent, losing his cool and striking Cathy, who does her utmost to console him.

The next afternoon, Cathy elects to take Raymond up on his offer to spend the afternoon with him in the country. The couple experience a golden afternoon, capped off by a quick stop off at a bar in an all-black neighborhood. Regrettably, Mona Lauder witnesses the two exiting the establishment, and quickly starts a spiteful rumor, that Cathy is cheating on her husband with a black man. Despite Mona’s reputation as a wicked gossip, even Cathy’s closest friends cast their disparaging glances. Cathy’s first hint, that the tide of convention is turning against her, comes during their daughter, Janice’s (Lindsay Andretta) ballet recital. Afterward, the other mothers prevent their children from socializing with Janice. Frank is furious. After all, aren’t these ‘our friends’? Besides, he does not blame them – or even himself - but Cathy, for being seen with Raymond in public. To keep the peace, Cathy tells Raymond their friendship is not ‘plausible’. Newly reinvested to make her marriage work, Cathy and her husband take a Christmas vacation to Miami. During their stay, Cathy is privy to the hotel’s policy of segregation when a young black boy dives into the pool. The white guests, some of whom are already in the water, quickly retreat. The black child is forcibly removed, and, the hotel management makes plans to drain and clean the pool.  Much to Cathy’s chagrin, their change in venue does nothing for Frank’s proclivity to procure another transient gay relationship.

Returning to Hartford, Cathy is appalled to learn Sarah has been assaulted by three white boys. She is also wounded when Frank informs her that he fully intends to pursue a relationship with another man after seeking a divorce from her. Rushing to the Deagan home, Cathy learns Raymond has decided to move to Baltimore. Ever since they were first seen together, Raymond has been getting rocks thrown at his windows. And it isn’t only the whites who are responsible either; rather, the African-American community are as opposed to the idea of his mixing with a white woman. Tearfully, Cathy throws herself at Raymond’s head, suggesting they can be together, since she is soon to be a single woman. But Raymond declines, reiterating he has ‘learned his lesson’. Whites and blacks should not mix. Ultimately, he has Sarah’s welfare to consider. Realizing she has missed her chance at happiness, Cathy nevertheless goes to the train depot to see Raymond off. As the train pulls out of station, she raises her hand in a silent goodbye; his tender expression from the window seat, seemingly a solemn nod, he too is already regretting they can never be together.

In its visual style, Far from Heaven superficially evokes Douglas Sirk’s verve for telling tales about men and woman suffering through their quota of setbacks in that inexhaustible quagmire of social regrets, laughingly lumped together as flawed romantic love. Yet, while Sirk could almost always be counted upon to interject a note of campiness – even good humor – into his socially-constructed melodramas, Todd Haynes seems incapable of referencing anything that is not deadly serious at a glance, and devastatingly painful upon further recollection. Far from Heaven is too intense to be enjoyable – even as a moralizing parable about racial inequity. The visualized emulation of Sirk's lushness suggests the ole-time master, but it is driven down and into a finite point until it becomes deadly dull and meaningless to a fault.  Playing fast and loose with Frank’s feeble attempts to break free of his homosexuality, weakens the subplot as just a means to an end. Haynes’ commentary on hypocrisy is a heavy-handed reminder at best – the ‘message’ so transparent, he needn’t try so hard to convince us of its validity.  The ‘affair’ between Cathy and Raymond is made problematic as there is zero spark beyond a coy smile, and polite exchange of highly-scripted dialogue. Julianne Moore’s antiseptic WASP is chronically constipated, going out of her way to feign a lack of prejudice while not going far enough to convince it is not all just an act of contrition – the stand-in and/or substitute for white moralizing angst.  What is lacking here is, of course, the arc of passion. Drama is no substitute for on-screen chemistry, and alas, Dennis Haysbert and Julianne Moore lack it in spades. One can no more imagine them becoming ‘very good friends’ than lovers. Cathy does not want Raymond. She is merely on the rebound, left un-tethered from her seemingly secure lifestyle, prematurely, having cut short their relationship, and merely, to silence waggling tongues. In the end, Far from Heaven is far from a perfect entertainment. It is a story of improbable romance with a ‘50's pastiche.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray is a quality affair. The old Alliance Home Entertainment DVD was solid. But this hi-def incarnation easily bests it. The image snaps together with a mind-boggling assortment of rich colors. Contrast is bang-on solid, and fine details are given their due. Close-ups are the most impressive, with lots of fine detail in skin, hair and fabrics. It all looks quite lovely. We get two audio tracks – DTS 2.0 or 5.1. The only subtle differences to be unearthed are in the separation of Elmer Bernstein’s exquisitely lush orchestrations. Otherwise, dialogue is front and center, with limited spread of SFX.  Kino ports the old DVD audio commentary from Haynes, who is extremely magnanimous in his praise of his cast and crew. We also get a very brief junket, put together at the time the movie was being shot, to promote it, plus a half-hour study of shooting a scene, and, barely five minutes of Moore and Haynes talking about their experiences, plus - a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Far from Heaven continues to find new fans. But its motifs are strained and its acting, middle-of-the-road at best. The Blu-ray is the perfect way to experience this movie in all of its faux homage to Sirk. But it still is not a great movie in my not-so-humble opinion. Judge and buy according.

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

2