By Stephanie Zacharek
By Charles Taylor
By Chris Klimek
By Chris Klimek
By Amy Nicholson
By Amy Nicholson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Alan Scherstuhl
When the women in this film say bitch, they don't mean the run-of-the-mill movie bitch. The Dolores Claiborne bitch is not a manicured vamp accenting her wry remarks with a ten-inch bamboo cigarette holder. The Dolores Claiborne bitch is a forlorn, shaky-legged cur at bay; beaten, but going out with a fight.
This women-as-dogs analogy works all the way through the movie -- Dolores is a tough mutt, Selena is a high-strung indoor dog and Vera ... Vera is the purebred who suffers from inbreeding. She looks good through middle age and then falls completely to pieces. Though big hunks of the movie are corny and predictable, as in any good dog movie, the scenes that are supposed to make you all choked up make you all choked up. The odd truth is that Dolores Claiborne combines the best elements of The Chalk Garden, Enid Bagnold's psychodrama about a confused young girl, and Old Yeller.
Being a Stephen King tale, Dolores Claiborne is set in Maine, on a cold and lonely island. The story is about three women, and told half in the present and half in flashbacks. When we begin, Dolores has been accused of murdering Vera; in the opening sequence we see the old woman tumbling down a flight of stairs and Dolores standing above her crumpled body, a rolling pin raised as if to deliver a coup de grace. Dolores' daughter, Selena, now a magazine journalist working in New York, receives an anonymous fax -- a newspaper clipping about the murder charge from the Bangor paper with Isn't this your mother? scrawled on the cover sheet. Selena, a little tense under the best circumstances, wigs out and returns to Maine. She hasn't been home since college, because when she was 13 her mother was accused of murdering her father, who was found dead at the bottom of a well. When her father died, Selena had what her mother calls "a bad patch," i.e., a nervous breakdown. Selena still travels with a pharmacological arsenal. And chain-smokes. And starts drinking as soon as the sun goes down.
The reunion of Selena and Dolores is not a Kodak moment. Dolores, in her stoic New England way, struggles to make small talk. Selena hears every word as an accusation.
Bates plays the older Dolores as a worn-out woman resigned to almost everything, as a woman who no longer has any expectations, save one: Dolores cannot stop herself from hoping that one day her daughter will understand her. As Selena, Leigh offers a high strung young woman who clearly has some unresolved issues. Where Dolores is tough and responds to hurt with fangs bared, Selena is willing to snap a little, but is basically defenseless.
Selena retrieves her mother from the police. They drive home from town to find their house defaced by vandals. Windows are broken, "bitch" has been spray-painted on the walls and someone has drawn a fat woman, bending over, on the door with the caption, "Kiss my fat ass." Selena can't look; Dolores sets about cleaning up. At night, a truck full of louts with shotguns buzzes the house. Dolores grabs an ax and dares the "piss squirts" to fight. Selena watches through a screen door and weeps. In the beginning, the mother and daughter have different responses to pain. Still, it's clear that part of their suffering is from sympathy for each other, sympathy that they both, for different reasons, don't express.
We learn from flashbacks that Dolores' relationship with her employer, Vera, was hardly warm. Vera, Dolores says, certainly had her ways, and she was ruled by them. She chided her housekeeper to "use six clothespins, not five," to hang the sheets and she wanted the silver cleaned every week. But Vera wasn't just a tyrant. She did insist to Dolores at least once "that women who have hysterics in my drawing room call me by my Christian name." Still, the relationship between Dolores and Vera was strained. In fact -- and Dolores admits this to anyone who asks -- she talked about killing Vera almost every day for decades. Of course, Vera had a mouth on her, too. Their banter, with Bates mashing out flat Maine vowels and Parfitt sipping martinis and being snide, is delightful. If this weren't a "women's film," and if the two of them weren't always fussing about housework, the scenes between Dolores and Vera would look an awful lot like something from a buddy movie.
Let's not forget those two murder accusations, though. When Dolores is shown buying her alcoholic husband (David Strathairn) a bottle of scotch on the day of an eclipse, she's obviously up to something. And, of course, earlier that day Vera had told Dolores that "husbands die every day." Dolores is obviously planning something, but whether or not the events that lead to her husband's tumble down the well were part of a plan she created for that exact purpose isn't clear-cut. Dolores Claiborne puts forth moral issues with some wiggle room. At two points Dolores has to make life-or-death decisions. And then she has to live with her choices.
Director Taylor Hackford has taken an interesting, and successfully arty, tack with Dolores Claiborne. He films the present in blue tone, leaving the viewer stuck in an icy now, while the past is warmly lit. In the scenes of Selena's childhood, Bates plays the young Dolores as wide-eyed and looking forward. These scenes are always in the warm sun, or a brightly lit kitchen. In the present, the colors are all the dark hues of northern waters. Dolores and her house have not worn well. The house is falling in on itself, and Bates plays the older Dolores as someone whose gaze is turned constantly inward. She spends her time thinking about her life 18 years ago, and her life as Vera's housekeeper. Though she's a murder suspect because of Vera's death, she is not really interested in that. She doesn't want a lawyer, she doesn't care what they do to her and she insults Detective John Mackey (Christopher Plummer) every time she opens her mouth. For Selena, her mother's stubbornness is maddening. The two fight constantly. About the case against Dolores, and about memories that don't match.
Hackford's time sequencing and lighting make one of the movie's major points clear -- the past is full of possibilities; and from a distance, one can review, reflect upon and finally understand it.
Although the question "did she or didn't she?" is at the forefront of Dolores Claiborne, the movie isn't really about being guilty or innocent in the eyes of the law, or even about being guilty in the eyes of the community. Sure, one could hunker down with a big box of Milk Duds and have a fine time enjoying Dolores Claiborne as a Stephen King story about a weird old lady who knows how to handle an ax, but for those who like stories about people, King and Hackford have given us more. Dolores Claiborne is about making decisions you can live with and being understood by the ones you love. Not liked, necessarily, but at least understood.
Directed by Taylor Hackford. With Kathy Bates and Jennifer Jason Leigh.
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