The Secret Life of Bees

In the evolving Poetics of Hollywood Cinema, one of the basic rules that never changes is the Law of Human Sacrifice. Specifically, in a dramatic movie that is to have a comedic ending, one or more of the characters must forfeit their lives to achieve the final (happy) state. From a story point of view, the question becomes which character must die, and by one means, and for what purpose?

I meditated on this while I sat down yesterday evening to watch a showing of the The Secret Life of Bees, which has been out over a month, but which is still plugging along in many theaters, and which I was finally getting around to see.

I'm glad I waited, because the screening I attended was one of those singularly interesting movie-watching experiences.

I had planned to see it in a multiplex, but the Google movie times tool (what an incredible online application!) alerted me that it was showing at what was listed as the "Town Cinema" just across the line in southern New Hampshire, in the town of Wilton. I kept it on my radar screen of possibilities, and last night it seemed like the perfect time to explore this particular theater.

My sister had never heard of it. "You mean the drive-in in Wilton?" she asked. "No," I said. "It's shown as being right on Main Street, in the middle of town."

I figured it was one of the ancient downtown cinemas that was still in business, although the fact that it was showing only once an evening, at 7:30, seemed anomalous.

But I figured I would shortly solve all the mysteries, and set out after dinner, having plotted a route on Google maps through the back roads that lead northward across the state line into the Granite State. It was short drive, but the road was dark and mostly deserted, lit by the sporadic appearance of Christmas lights on the rural homesteads and farms. A torrential downpour caught me on NH State Highway 101, causing me to legitimately fear for my safety, but it let up just as I rolled into the edge of the hamlet known as Wilton.

Like many towns in this area of the country, it consists of a snaking main thoroughfare in a river valley surrounded by hills. The small business district was already dark and shuttered for the evening. Along the north side was a hulking huge brick edifice with a clock tower---the town hall and fire station, dating from 1883. Opposite it I saw a couple clothing stores and a yoga studio---but no cinema.

A second pass along Main Street proved fruitless. I wondered if I had been the victim of a joke. Then as I passed by the town hall, I saw a small A-frame marquee propped on the sidewalk with irregular letters spelling out the titles of the movies playing. Mystery solved.

I parked on Main Street and pulled open the creaking door to the Town Hall. Immediately my nostrils were filled with the pungent aroma of an ancient well-used public building, the kind one experiences going into an old school building. I climbed a groaning set of wooden stairs past walls laced with plumbing to a second floor, where a quaint ticket and concession stand was manned by a bearded gentleman about ten years older than me. I was just in time. Admission was six bucks. The ticket was one of the generic kinds one can buy in large rolls at an office supply store. With these kinds, I often write down the movie title afterward on the back of the stub.

A wooden door led me to a small auditorium---just a room with a flat floor about five hundred square feet, with about twelve rows of conventional seats. The audience was already in place---about ten pairs of elderly white couples. I was the youngest attendee by far. The screen was no more than fifteen feet wide. The stage below it had probably the scene of many town presentations, school dramas, and masonic rituals in the 125-year history of the building. Watching a movie in a place like that makes one feel part of the great chain of being.

The movie itself---a period piece set in the racial strife of the South in the summer of 1964---was entertaining and well-written, albeit seemingly full of anachronisms in the dialog and character mannerisms. Often this irks me greatly---the attitude that "people have always talked and acted as they do now." It sometimes feels very sloppy in a negative postmodern sense. But in this case, I was not bothered as much, because the creative liberties were used for a specific purpose, and the movie itself had a gossamer of fantasy about it that was barely noticeable. It was a fable, told through a child's eyes. So be it. Who am I to criticize that?

Like many people, I have instinctual revulsion against cute young child actors, but Dakota Fanning proved that she may mature in a real legitimate adult actor. Her on-screen interracial kiss filmed very well.

The need for human sacrifice in the storyline was apparent right from the beginning. The story starts out with violence and strife. One knows it must end with happiness. This is exactly the kind of drama that demands the healing effects of blood.

What pleased me was the sacrificial character was identified very early on, with subtle clues that leapt out at me. In the classical era, this kind of careful stitching of story lines was ubiquitous. In contemporary cinema, it is the mark of a superior movie, which this certainly was, mostly because it did not extend the sentimentality as much as it could have.

Is there anything more comforting that seeing Queen Latifah on screen? I think not. This is not a Best Picture nominee, but seems the kind of movie that Hollywood likes to reward. I would place my bet on a Supporting Actress nomination for Sophie Okonedo, and possibly one for Best Adapted Screenplay.