Heart on its Sleeve

When the kind of major, society-altering tragedy as happened recently in New York occurs, critics and creators of entertainment should be prompted to ask, "In times of strife, is entertainment relevant?"

It’s an important consideration. For how, one might ask, can we continue to fiddle while Rome burns? Yet the issue is not simply one of fluff versus substance.

In Sullivan's Travels, the classic film written and directed by Preston Sturges, this issue is confronted directly. The story’s main character is John Sullivan (played by Joel McCrea), a screenwriter who has made a great living writing hit comedies for his studio. Weary of creating what he considers to be irrelevant work, he desires to write films that tackle weighty social issues. He therefore disguises himself as a bum and sets off on a quest to understand poverty and need firsthand. He later ends up getting arrested, and while imprisoned, his chain gang is ushered into a church to watch a film. His fellow prisoners, a miserable, somber lot given their circumstances, laugh with delight at the showing of a cartoon. Sullivan realizes on the spot that for people who are already suffering, light entertainment is welcome and needed relief.

When I watched Hearts in Atlantis, it was only two days after the World Trade Center disaster had occurred. I had already watched hours of TV news coverage, read numerous newspaper articles, and had even browsed for further information on the Internet. I was saturated with tragedy and suffering.

Hearts in Atlantis proved to be escapism in the truest sense of the word. It allowed me to leave ugly reality outside, and enjoy the simple pleasures of an imaginary place and time. The film is adapted from a Stephen King short story, and plays like a modern fairy tale. It has the same sense of archetype and poetry evident in his other non-horror film adaptations -- especially Stand by Me, with which Atlantis shares the exact same kind of nostalgic, idealistic sensibility.

The plot concerns an older man named Ted Brautigan, played by Anthony Hopkins, who moves into the upper floor of a house occupied by an eleven-year-old boy, Bobby Garfield. Bobby’s father died years ago, and he lives alone with his well-meaning but self-absorbed mother. Bobby finds Brautigan mysterious and intriguing, and as he longs for a father figure, he soon befriends him. Brautigan, we learn, is psychic, and he also possesses the ability to temporarily pass his power to other by touch. Brautigan’s presence soon changes Bobby’s life in strange and wonderful ways. Eventually, trouble looms in the form of mysterious men who are hunting Brautigan down, presumably because of his power to read people’s minds.

The story has a major flaw, which is that Brautigan’s ability to pass his power by touch is completely inconsistent, as it is arbitrary when it works and when it doesn’t. Also, the manner in which the true identity of the hunters is revealed is clunky. Yet I found myself willing to ignore these glaring problems, as the script is intriguing, the performances solid, and the atmosphere enchanting. This film is the perfect antidote to the cruel events of late, and reaffirms one's faith in human nature.

A few years ago I interviewed a Yugoslavian actress named Mirjana Jokovic. She had participated in a film called The Powder Keg, which had been shot in Yugoslavia right in the midst of its bloody civil war. I asked her how it was possible that such a project was accomplished given the extreme and dangerous circumstances. She replied, quite correctly, "Film is magic."