Forgotten Films: "The Designated Mourner" (1997)

Phil Nugent — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 21:00:00 GMT

Mike Nichols really doesn't direct movies that often, so maybe it's not so surprising that whenever he does unwrap a new film, such as Charlie Wilson's War, the critical response tends to run from polite to rapturous, the occasion treated in the media as a serious cultural event. (Even Regarding Henry inspired thoughtful meditative pieces exploring the question: what heavy object might have fallen on Mike's head?) But for some of us, the real puzzler is, why doesn't Nichols act more? He made his name doing revue sketches with his old partner Elaine May. Elaine May doesn't act much, either, but she seems to be a far less social creature to begin with, and between her appearances in Enter Laughing and Luv in the 1960s and her most recent on-screen role, in Woody Allen's Small Time Crooks in 2000, she has done enough — turning up with some kind of almost-every-ten-years regularity — to keep the movie world aware that she has a corporeal form. Nichols, on the other hand, has in the course of his career taken exactly one on-screen acting role in a feature film. It was a doozy, though — the title role, which is one-third of the cast, of David Hare's 1997 film version of Wallace Shawn's play The Designated Mourner.

Having chosen to be exclusive, Nichols also went out of his way to make his big starring debut in a project guaranteed to be seen by as few people as possible. In terms of potential mass-audience appeal, The Designated Mourner is not an ingratiating work in either its form or its content. It's a theater piece written for three actors, who never interact; they deliver their accounts of how the world fell apart in long monologues delivered straight to the camera. David de Keyser plays Howard, a distinguished literary figure and political thinker; Miranda Richardson is his daughter, Judy; and Nichols plays Jack, her husband, an English professor. The main action that the characters describe is the collapse of their country (America? Maybe.) into a thugocracy, a fascistic police state that uses the threat of a revolution by a communist guerrilla movement said to be taking root. The government sees Howard and the world he represents as the enemy — the "elitists" — and members of that world, friends of the central triumverate, have begun disappearing and being jailed and executed. Though Howard and Judy rail, in their elegant, cultured way, against the government repression, they're just as likely to be targeted by the lower-class guerrillas, who don't like elitists either. The joker in the deck is Jack, who is assumed by the members of Howard and Judy's circle to be in staunch sympathetic agreement with them about everything, including Howard's magisterial saintliness. In fact, he confesses to the audience, he has never felt entirely comfortable around Howard and resents the standards that Howard and Judy, just by their own conduct, have always seemed to be demanding that he live up to. When the changing tide of the country forces him to adjust to a less cultural exalted way of life — by basically wiping out "highbrow" culture through a climate of fear and the systematic extermination of its more dedicated adherents — Jack has to admit that he finds himself happier, under less pressure. He takes on the identity of the "designated mourner" for that culture because there's no one else left — he is the last person, he says, who can understand a poem by John Donne — but whatever remorse he may feel over the loss of Judy, he wouldn't really have things back the way they were.

How are we supposed to feel about Jack's confession? Elitism and John Donne aren't cool subjects to be defending these days, and the Howard that we see is indeed both an admirable man of principle and more than a bit of a stick. At the same time, Jack, whose plea for the unambitious, unoffending pursuit of basic, self-interested modest enjoyment of one's time on earth, is a monster, even if he sometimes sounds not so different from Wallace Shawn himself, in My Dinner with Andre, saying that he'd rather sit at home reading Charlton Heston's diaries and sipping a cup of cold coffee than head out to reinvent theater in a Bavarian forest. (in live performances of the play, Shawn has often played Jack.) It's a disturbing, ambiguous role, and Nichols seems to embody it down to his flesh tones. (Jack keeps his soft-looking, pale, doughy hands in view, as if he enjoyed reminding you that for all his whining, he's never done an honest day's labor in his life.) As a text and as a piece of staging, The Designated Mourner has none of the show biz pizzazz that made Nichols phenomenally successful directing in both movies and the theater, but something in this weird little play must have spoken to him very deeply: both he and Hare are credited among the film's producers, and if it remains his only extended piece of screen acting, it'll serve an important function in determining the way he's remembered after he's gone. Future biographers looking for clues about what it was like to be in the room when Mike Nichols was there will turn to it, and see the director of The Graduate and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? talking about how liberating it felt to place a book in the bathtub and shit on it.

When Good Directors Go Bad: Regarding Henry (1991, Mike Nichols)

Paul Clark — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 20:00:00 GMT

In the past four decades, the career of Mike Nichols has gone through its share of ups and downs. Nichols made his name as a director with a number of popular, acclaimed films, but he also has several inexplicable films to answer for. I might have spotlighted 2000’s awful What Planet Are You From? had Nathan Rabin not done so already. But Regarding Henry is a more than acceptable alternative, with the bonus of demonstrating the worst tendencies of Nichols’ later films.

Nichols has long been one of Hollywood’s go-to filmmakers for classy star vehicles, particularly “dramedies” geared to adults like Working Girl, Postcards From the Edge, and Primary Colors. But much of Nichols’ enduring critical rep still rests on his seminal early classics Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Graduate, and (my favorite) Carnal Knowledge. Without these films, Nichols would be little more than a slightly more upscale version of Lasse Hallstrom.

In short, Regarding Henry is a pandering comfort blanket of a movie that’s smothering instead of cozy. It’s also a textbook White-Collar Guilt movie, in which an affluent protagonist (in this case, a lawyer played by Harrison Ford) suffers a tragedy (here, a shooting that causes memory loss) that forces him into a crisis of conscience that makes him a better person. Movies like this invariably divide people into two categories- morally-compromised rich people, and salt-of-the-earth poor people. This dichotomy feels like a cynical attempt on Hollywood’s part to flatter the less financially successful viewers while allowing the more privileged to vicariously experience the hero’s awakening before speeding home in their BMWs.

Regarding Henry, based on the first produced screenplay by Jeffrey (later J.J.) Abrams, contains no surprises on this front. In fact, the film is so intent on concentrating on the psychological stuff that it skates right through the physical healing process. Once Henry learns to walk and talk (his first word is “Ritz,” the significance of which feels like a bad joke) again, he’s soon ready to go home. After he arrives back in his expensive apartment, everything happens as it should- his once-rocky marriage is quickly mended, he becomes a better father, all that. Heck, the movie begins with Henry successfully smooth-talking a jury in defense of a hospital that’s being sued by a dying old man. If you can’t see where that subplot is going, then congratulations, because you’ve finally seen your first movie! Too bad it’s this one. And let’s not get started on the film’s simplistic view of minorities, especially Bill Nunn’s ever-cheerful Magical Black Man caregiver.

After his shooting, Henry’s memory loss causes him to regress to a state of childlike naïveté. But while Ford is about the 500th actor one would cast to play childlike, the movie itself does a bang-up job of regressing to a grade-school mindset. Regarding Henry is a movie in which the hero’s problems are solved by getting a puppy, moving to a new house, quitting his job, and pulling his daughter out of her exclusive boarding school. Sure, the money won’t hold out forever, but you don’t think about those things when you’re young, do you? The way Regarding Henry paints it, it’s a wonder more rich people haven’t tried to put themselves through the profound spiritual experience of getting shot in the head.

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The Screengrab : regarding henry

Forgotten Films: "The Designated Mourner" (1997)

When Good Directors Go Bad: Regarding Henry (1991, Mike Nichols)