The Beguiled (2017)

Director/Screenwriter: Sofia Coppola

By Marilyn Ferdinand

I’ve read a few reviews of Sofia Coppola’s revision of the 1971 The Beguiled, made by Dirty Harry director Don Siegel with Dirty Harry star Clint Eastwood at its center. Some of the reviews have been sincere engagements with the newly released film; others are desperate attempts to wrest this Civil War drama of a Union soldier mixed up with a small group of females in an exclusive Virginia girls school from its feminine focus and return it to its lurid, macho, misogynistic roots. To the latter I say, ‘I’ll give you this movie when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

Coppola’s The Beguiled has no clichés to spin about repressed schoolteachers, deviant headmistresses, Lolitas in cotton bloomers, and slaves who stand by their masters. It isn’t particularly interested in the Civil War either. The director’s films are not intended to be history lessons—they are explorations of timeless, therefore contemporary, human nature, fleshed out but not overwhelmed by their period detail. Coppola made that point perfectly clear in her sometimes reviled, but truly brilliant biopic Marie Antoinette (2006) by, among other things, scoring it with contemporary music. It is ironic (and partially proves my point) that the Cannes crowd booed her for her sympathetic, updated look at their executed queen, but gave her the Palme d’Or for a similar treatment of women and girls from slave-holding families.

Coppola’s film reaches beyond the usual narratives of the war and Southern gothic genres to present a psychologically plausible story about real people in real circumstances. The handful of women and girls who are holed up at the Farnsworth Seminary for Young Ladies, run by Miss Martha Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman), are relatively isolated from the war not only because of their location in the middle of a dense forest, but also because leaving would not be safe. Nonetheless, the war gnaws at the fringes of their world, with the occasional boom of cannon fire, small groups of Confederate soldiers and captured “blue bellies” passing by their front gates, and smoke rising above the treetops. Finally, it enters their sanctuary.

Mr. Stranger Danger is the injured Cpl. John McBurney (Colin Farrell), who tween Amy (Oona Lawrence) finds while she is gathering wild mushrooms in the forest and brings back to the school. Christian charity motivates the ladies to tend to his wounds and shield him from discovery. An object of curiosity not so different from Steve Trevor in the Amazon colony of Themyscira in Wonder Woman (2017), he rouses in each of them a desire to attract his attention. All of the ladies (always addressed as “Miss”) dress beautifully for dinner, with young Marie (Addison Riecke) borrowing pearl earrings for the night, and the oldest student, Alicia (Elle Fanning), stealing away from evening prayers to plant a kiss on the sleeping soldier.

It is important to emphasize that while most of the residents of the school take Cpl. McBurney into their confidence at one point or another, it is at his urging, and he remains largely a stranger and potential enemy. Indeed, Edwina (Kirsten Dunst), an unhappy woman who teaches at the school, greets his professed ardor for her with, “but you don’t even know me.” The tables are turned here, with McBurney as a male Blanche du Bois depending on the kindness of strangers to see him through. At the same time, it makes him a perfect screen to project back to the ladies their fondest wishes—Amy, his greatest friend; Edwina, the woman with whom he will escape to a new life; Miss Martha, a paragon of virtue and strength; and Alicia, a woman men find irresistible. These projections are really the only insight we are allowed into these characters, as Coppola is more interested in their self-defining fables and prejudices than their personal histories.

Of course, even flattery has its limits. Miss Martha, the ultimate authority of the house and a Southern aristocrat and astute judge of character, questions McBurney’s honor and, though wavering, maintains her resolve to return him to his outfit once his wounds are healed. A recent immigrant from Ireland who took money to take another man’s place in the Union Army, he deserted after landing in the thick of battle. While he is unconscious, Miss Martha carefully sews his gaping wounds and washes him with mounting sexual excitement, but reprimands him later for his dirty fingernails, evidence of his attempt to hide from battle in a hastily dug ditch. We know what he’s up to as well as she does, but until his essentially selfish and greedy nature asserts itself, we enjoy the game the entire household is playing and don’t blame McBurney for wanting out of a fight that’s really not his own. However, one seeming throwaway line, “There is nothing more frightening than a Southern woman with a gun,” sets us up for the violence to come.

In some ways, The Beguiled is reminiscent of Coppola’s first feature The Virgin Suicides (1999). In that film, boyhood friends recall their teenage years and the mysterious Lisbon sisters who haunt their memories as beautiful, desirable creatures who, one by one, killed themselves. I’ve long been convinced by the clichéd details of some of the deaths—the sister hanging herself while in schoolgirl attire is particularly relevant here—that there was only one death and that the men created the mythology of mass suicide as an expression of their own sexual frustration. In The Beguiled, Coppola and cinematographer Philippe Le Sourd create a look that has heavy psychological overtones. The colors are muted, almost desaturated in many scenes, like a period black-and-white photograph, with candles and sunlight seemingly the only lighting sources. The images of lush forest and overgrown garden offer a primal splendor and interiority to the formerly grand Farnsworth estate, while the women almost always wear light-colored clothing, without even a trace of dirt at the hem despite the manual labor they must perform to keep home and hearth together. We can also surmise that perhaps with the exception of Edwina, who may have been farmed out to spinsterhood by her rich family, all of the ladies are virgins.

Coppola is greatly aided by the performances of her skilled cast, particularly Nicole Kidman. Miss Martha never loses her cool save for the need to splash cold water on her face after she bathes the corporal. The girls follow her lead without question and trust in her judgment implicitly. When she tells Edwina to fetch a saw and the anatomy book so that she can amputate the corporal’s leg after Edwina, in anger, has pushed him down a long flight of stairs, we are inclined to believe that the leg is irreparably torn and broken. Yet, her protestations that she doesn’t know how to set a broken leg, but can saw it off with the aid of an anatomy book, leads our thoughts in another direction. Why the leg must come off is anyone’s guess at this point, but his serial seductions of members of the household certainly pose a threat to her authority.

Reportedly, Don Siegel said the underlying ethos of his The Beguiled was women’s desire to castrate men. Coppola picks up that thought, but twists it. Women have a great capacity for love and kindness, she suggests, but will defend their power and honor when men seek to undercut it. In the protracted war between men and women, circumstances may force us all to become warriors.

Leave your comment






(*)mandatory fields.

What others say about us

"You put a lot of love into your blog." – Roger Ebert, Roger Ebert's Journal
"Marilyn and Roderick … always raising the tone." – Farran Smith Nehme, The Self-Styled Siren
"Honestly, you both have made me aware of films I've never seen, from every era. Mega enriching." – Donna Hill, Strictly Vintage Hollywood




Subscribe to Ferdy on Films

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Recent Comments

Recent Posts

Blogs

Chicago Resources

Collected Writings

General Film Resources

Categories

Archives