Films That Feel Like Fall (pt. III)

Good Will Hunting

All That Heaven Allows

Greetings and warm welcomes, my sweet readers. I hope you’re regulating your temperature as well as humanly possible during this sudden cold-snap into Winter, even though it’s still technically Autumn. Here in Texas, we unfortunately tend to skip right over Autumn, but not for my lack of Autumn appreciation. I dream of gorgeous, orange-toned foliage strung up like dangling lights in each canopy of trees, even though what I see and experience is usually an extended heat that randomly one day switches to coolness. My soul probably belongs somewhere like Oregon or Vermont or New England, somewhere where the seasons still occur in a gradient from one to another, rather than the awkward, jarring skipping through temperatures that happens down here in the South. Each Autumn day that feels like a true Autumn day is a treasure to me. I count every leaf crunched beneath my feet and linger outside a little longer than I probably should (due to my fuckin allergies, of course.) I try to never take this short-lived time for granted, even as the cool days shift into colder, more bitter nights. By now, on what is my third round of Fall Films, you intimately understand my obsession with this time of year, and you may even be sick of hearing about it. But as the climate warms and as the trees around me are slashed in the name of growing gentrification and urbanization, I appreciate what little slice of Autumn that I am allowed to have. As I’ve discovered in my previous Fall Film features, movies set during this time are often riddled with despair. Perhaps the changing of any season brings up regrets and resentments, but there is something about this time of year that tends to send film characters into a wistful spiral where tears are shed, and happy endings are scarce. But given my aversion to objectively, oppressively sad films, I am beyond happy to announce that neither of tonight’s films ended in despair, despite their respective potentials for poignancy. Let’s begin with a film that I’ve been needing to see for awhile now, that I’ve been reading about since I did my Gus Van Sant double feature about four years ago, and that’s Van Sant’s 1997 Oscar-winning film Good Will Hunting. When Gus Van Sant was making To Die For—which is still my favorite among his easily-lovable filmography—a young C*sey Affleck (who was starring in the film) approached Gus and told him that his brother and his lover—I mean his friend, Matt—had been working on a script he might be interested in. At the time, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon were filming Chasing Amy with Kevin Smith, and Matt was writing this script for one of his assignments at Harvard. Matt asked Ben for some help writing, and when the script was finished, a short-lived betting war took place, with directors like Mel Gibson and Michael Mann fighting over it. Matt and Ben actually wanted Kevin Smith to direct it, but Smith instead handed the script over to Miramax who made some tweaks, and eventually these co-writers chose Gus Van Sant to direct it. The trio of Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, and Gus Van Sant would prove to be a match made in Boston heaven, as this threesome collaborated to make one of the most beloved, underdog Oscar contenders of all time. The film follows Will Hunting (Matt Damon) a poor, troubled, 20-year old young man from the South of Boston who works as a janitor at Harvard. Will is a self-taught math genius—the kind who’s brain is just inherently wired to understand any unfathomable calculation that any mathematician may dream up. We learn this after a professor, played by Stellan Skarsgård, leaves a confounding equation on a chalkboard in the hallway, in the hopes that one of his bright-eyed students will solve it by the end of the semester. Instead, while mopping the floor, Will Hunting tilts his head in contemplation before effortlessly-completing the equation. Every student is eager to learn who among them has cracked the code on this impossible equation, and Professor Lambeau is bewildered to learn that it was the young, off-putting janitor who did so. He tracks Will down to the county jail, where Will’s just been arrested after getting into another bar fight with his fellow scumbag townie friends—Ben Affleck, C*sey Affleck, and Cole Hauser. Living in this college town, amongst the pretentious, elitist academics who think they know everything, these bar fights are common occurrences. But while Will bums around town with his gang of Boston bros, Professor Lambeau sees great potential in him, and is desperate to understand him. So the professor makes a deal with the judge: Will is to meet with Professor Lambeau regularly to do insanely-complicated math, and he is also required to see a therapist—a notion that positively sickens Will. After tormenting about five different therapists, the professor enlists the help of his old friend and former Harvard roommate, Sean Maguire (Robin Williams), who is from the same rough part of town as Will. It’s Sean who finally breaks through to the pensive and rage-riddled Will, but not before numerous sessions of quiet, tension-filled indifference. The professor is impatient but Sean knows that a boy like Will cannot just be pushed into a life that he’s never known, and in fact, resents. It’s a slow, steady process of melting Will’s icy exterior, but Sean is up for the challenge. And all the while, Will is proving his brilliant capabilities in mathematics and science, and falling in love with a senior at Harvard, Skylar (Minnie Driver), who is also instrumental in the evolution of Will Hunting. I was very familiar with the famous dynamic between this therapist and this underprivileged, untapped-potential-having youth—I’ve heard the “it’s not your fault” speech parodied more times than I can count—but I was unfamiliar with this film’s slow burning, beautifully-detailed romance. Matt and Minnie were dating at the time, so it makes sense that their chemistry was so palpable, but I had no idea how important this relationship is in this film. The budding romance between Will and Skylar is so cozy and believable, as a girl who fell in love with several townies while she attended a stuffy, boring undergrad, I can speak to the legitimacy of a love affair free of know-it-alls and teacher’s pets. In fact, it was downright cathartic to watch Matt Damon school the obnoxious students at the local dive bar who think they’re above him, as they slowly realize with each biting, eloquently-spoken criticism that he is not only more intelligent than them, he’s more street-wise than they’ll ever be, either. Minnie Driver looked just as enchanted as I felt witnessing this blonde-haired, blue-eyed twink just verbally-obliterate these Ivy League douchebags, it only makes sense that this is what kicked off their spark. My appreciation for Matt Damon as an actor has only grown since viewing The Talented Mr. Ripley, but after finally watching Good Will Hunting, I’m equally-impressed by his writing skills. It must’ve been such a trip for him to have written this screenplay, then act alongside Robin Williams as he said his words out loud. Despite all of the trouble that young Will Hunting finds himself in, despite all of the many needle drops of gut-wrenching Elliott Smith songs (redundant?), this film is incredibly inspiring, life-affirming, and it ends happily—peacefully, even. And even if Good Will Hunting was only an okay movie, even if there wasn’t a beautiful display of both romantic and familial and mentor-types of love, this film would still be extremely romantic and sweet, due to the passionate, enduring friendship of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. You can just see the twinkle in Ben’s eyes as he speaks about Matt—whether it be in this scripted film or a candid interview—there’s no denying their profound connection that has withstood many decades, directors, and lovers. Lately, what’s left of Twitter has been ablaze with the latest headlines and soundbites of these two confessing their love for one another, but this duo is truly timeless, and whatever they have feels like one of the last true, aspirational relationships left in Hollywood. When you type either of their names into Google, the other man’s name is the first to populate alongside of it, not their respective careers or wives, but each other. How many other famous “friendships” have their own Wikipedia page? Their legitimate love for one another makes Good Will Hunting all the better, and adds another layer of depth to what is already a thoughtful, insightful movie, and I can understand why snobs and philistines alike both flock to this film. And to say nothing of the pretty, chilly aesthetic of this movie, which wraps its cast in cozy sweaters and exquisite settings of nature. It seems that any film with a remotely-academic setting takes place in the Autumn—much like Robin Williams’ other Autumnal schoolyard classic Dead Poets Society—and Good Will Hunting was thankfully no different. Tonight’s next film also heavily deals in matters of the heart, as well as complex conversations surrounding class and society during the Fall, this is Douglas Sirk’s 1955 film All That Heaven Allows. The screenplay was written by Peg Fenwick, who adapted it from the novel of the same name by Edna and Harry Lee, and it is one of a handful of collaborations between Douglas Sirk, Jane Wyman, and Rock Hudson. All That Heaven Allows transports us to a fictional New England town called Stoningham, where we are introduced to a lovely but lonely widow named Cary Scott (Wyman), and her gardener slash lawn man slash arborist slash mysterious hunk named Ron Kirby (Hudson.) Because this was shot and edited in the technicolor 1950s, we are immediately immersed in the most vibrant and exquisite fall colors that this elegant sound stage had to offer. None of it felt too manufactured though, including the chemistry between Cary and Ron when they meet. Cary’s entire life since her husband passed has revolved around her adult children, and the shallow chit-chat between country club folk, but just as the seasons are bound to change, so is Cary’s life. Cary’s friend Sara (Agnes Moorehead) begs Cary to attend a soiree at the country club one night, but despite her placement in high society, Cary is clearly uncomfortable in this environment—especially without a handsome man to accompany her. She is rather suddenly and unexpectedly swept off of her feet by Ron, who lovingly educates Cary on the trees he so considerately cares for. Ron is down-to-earth and not of this hoity-toity world in which he is employed. He’s happy just existing in his quaint little cabin in the woods, where he invites Cary to come visit. Ron’s cabin is more of a greenhouse, where the plants clearly take precedent over Ron’s own needs. Cary encourages Ron to spruce up the neighboring old mill, as it would make the perfect home with some slight renovations, and before they know it, these two have embraced one another, and are making plans for Cary to move in. Even in such an idyllic landscape, in such a candy-coated time in history where all of the bad stuff was forced under the rug, All That Heaven Allows presents a problem that is undeniably 1950s and undeniably frustrating. Word spreads quickly in this small town, and before Cary can even celebrate her newfound, second-chance at love, she is being judged by every yuppy in her vicinity. And while the bitchy dialogue in this film was impressively-hilarious, I was surprised by how much it hurt to witness these two lovers face such scrutiny. Maybe it’s because I’m aware of the troubles Rock Hudson faced when it came to his sexuality, maybe it’s because I’m aware that Nancy Reagan stole Ronald right out from Jane Wyman in the Warner Bros. parking lot, but to watch this couple quickly fall in love then immediately have to defend it, was tragic. The stuffy rich whiteys of this era (and still to this day) could not handle the idea that this middle-aged rich woman would be with a younger, semi-poor but impressively-self-made man, and it doesn’t end with the country club clan. The most difficult parts of this film are those in which Cary’s adult children whine and pout and throw hysterical bitch-fits that their mom is in love with a handsome, intelligent, kind-hearted man. Both of her kids are characterized by their curiosity for the evolving-world and their liberal-leaning politics, but when a lower-class individual gets this close to them, they show their cowardly asses immediately. It’s surprisingly a confrontational, penetrative movie for this reason, and it dares to challenge the uptight closed-mindedness of these elite assholes in the exact same way that Good Will Hunting does. It’s so rare for an “older” film like this to present such a bold commentary on class so clearly and explicitly, and this is one of the many reasons that I loved it, and appreciated it far more than I thought I would. And as frustrating as it was to witness Cary’s adult baby children cosplay as woke only to swiftly reveal themselves as horrendously-classist, it’s all resolved in the end, much to my pleasant surprise. So many tear-jerking, soapy dramas of this time simply refused to end happily, but All That Heaven Allows offered a well-earned and satisfying resolution for these lovers—thanks to producer Ross Hunter, who fought for this blissful ending. And I swear, there is a scene in this film that directly mirrors a scene in Good Will Hunting—or, I suppose, that should be the other way around—where Rock Hudson tells Jane Wyman that she’s running away from something important, just because she is afraid. It’s almost identical to the moment when Minnie Driver asks Matt Damon to go to California with her, but he’s so afraid of leaving his small pond that he begins to self-sabotage. Thankfully (spoiler alert) both films show these respectively-hesitant characters that there is a life outside of the bubbles they know, and that they are both free to change their destinies. And in the hopeless time we’re currently living in, it was really nice to watch. All That Heaven Allows has one of the better uses of Autumn that I’ve ever seen in a film, in that it utilizes the fact that Autumn is kind of the only season where you can observe change in real time. When Ron tells Cary that he’ll see her in a few weeks, the camera pans to a giant tree in her yard, flecked with color-changing leaves, just before the camera blurs into an image of that tree once again, now with far less leaves still hanging—a much more elegant way to show the passage of time than any title card could manage. Rock Hudson was just so dashingly, devilishly handsome, but there was something about this working-class, bohemian role that made him even more lovable. Between him, Jane Wyman, the fabulously-Fall setting, and a reliably-chic performance from Agnes Moorehead, All That Heaven Allows was immensely dreamy and hopelessly romantic. My only note for All That Heaven Allows is that Cary should have bitchslapped her bratty, spoiled, neoliberal children, but it’s otherwise perfect. After avoiding these perceivably-sad movies for so long, it felt healing to finally watch them and realize that there is joy within them as well. Well, thank you for spending this Autumn evening with me, dear reader. May the rest of your Autumnal experience be filled with crunchy leaves, cozy sweaters, and lots and lots of wicked love, bro. Later!