To Kill a Mockingbird

After last week's somewhat unpleasant glimpses into the perversion of modern film-making, I felt it was time to take a sentimental trip back in cinematic history. My journey would take me to a time where trees contained trinkets from a reclusive but kind-hearted neighbour, and didn't try to rape you (which is precisely what happens in The Evil Dead, reviewed last week). To a time when actors could really nail a part without frequent pyrotechnical displays of emotion. To a time where sleepy small town America gave you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside rather than made you wallow in the bleakness of human existence (I'm looking at you Winter's Bone!). To a time where the accents were barely discernible. And, unfortunately, to a time where racism was the norm.

The court hopes Atticus's legal skills match his superb dress sense.

To begin with, I must stress that To Kill a Mockingbird is a fantastic book. Although it is relatively short, it contains so much plot that it would be impossible to fit it all into one film. And the reason I sometimes disliked this film is that it often fell short of the book. Dill (John Megna) becomes a completely pointless character instead of an important party of Jem's bumpy road to maturity, which was completely glossed over. Mrs Dubose (Ruth White) was one of the most heartbreaking characters in the book, here the tragedy of her death and her inner courage are completely done away with. So, when compared to the book, it's reasonable to say that the film is a total failure, as is usually the case. However, when taken on its own, the film is a little gem.

It's all shot in black and white as it was made in 1962. At first I thought I'd find this annoying, but it adds to the cosiness and nostalgia of Maycomb. The narration by the older Scout is a feature they emphasised from the book, and I think adds to proceedings, showing the impact the events of Scout and Jem's childhood would have on their adult life. However, the incidental music is truly terrible and about as subtle as being clobbered in the face with a cricket bat. And if you think that's simply a characteristic of the period, then I would refer you to the closing scenes of Doctor Strangelove, or How I Learnt to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Both films are a sign that cinema was doing great things in the Sixties, although Strangelove undoubtedly has the better soundtrack.

Although this sounds facile, the films is very long, and there are many scenes of the children playing that work a lot better on paper than they do in the film. Although the perspective of the innocent is fascinating, it's the adults we're really concerned about. And as this is the case, it's a good thing the adults can act. Gregory Peck is the archetypal Atticus. Although I would have originally liked to see him older and bookier, his liberal calmness is superbly executed. Brock Peters is suitably heartbreaking as Tom Robinson, and his tears make you realise how utterly unfair the whole farce is. Collin Wilcox is blatantly out of depth as Mayella Ewell, and James Anderson is an utterly terrible human being as her father. Even more than in the book, I wanted bad things to happen to both of them.

In the end, I quite enjoyed this film. I think literary adaptations are a mixed bag. Sometimes they almost rival the books they are based on (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and sometimes they are utterly terrible with only a few moments of brilliance (Nineteen-Eighty Four, The Lovely Bones). This falls somewhere in the middle. It's a lovely bit of cuddly nostalgia (although it is fundamentally about the murder of a negro by the state) and screenwriter Horton Foote does keep the books important speeches in their entirety, but I would strongly recommend the book over this adaptation.

Rating: 6/10