Blog Directory CineVerse: September 2024

It would be a Shame to miss this Bergman standout

Tuesday, September 24, 2024

It may not be as renowned or heralded as some of Ingmar Bergman’s other classics like Persona, Wild Strawberries, or The Seventh Seal, but Shame (1968) remains a powerful examination of the human cost of war and the fragility of relationships, standing out as one of the most compelling anti-war films in cinema.

The story centers on Jan and Eva Rosenberg, a married couple and former musicians played by Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, who flee to a rural island to escape a civil war in an unnamed country. However, as the conflict reaches their refuge, they are forced to confront the brutal realities of war and the unraveling of their relationship.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Shame, conducted last week, click here.


Although Bergman claimed this was not a political commentary on the Vietnam War, the fact that this film was released at the height of that conflict makes comparisons unavoidable. While it’s true that this is an imaginary civil war within Sweden—not Vietnam—Shame seems to capture the zeitgeist of violence, discomfort, and unrest that permeated the late 1960s. Interestingly, the civil war itself is not explained or contextualized; we don’t know what each side stands for, although each side seems equally awful in its treatment of the civilians affected.

Cinematographer Sven Nykvist enhances the psychological tension of the film with stark black-and-white visuals that lend the island an eerie beauty, making it both a place of refuge and terror. The black-and-white canvas is fitting, creating a template more suitable for moral ambiguity and ethical shades of gray.

Bergman often prefers long takes where he lets the actors carry a scene, forcing the viewer to pay closer attention to small details as the camera often remains static, as demonstrated in the earlier picnic scene and the later kitchen table sequence with Jacobi.

The film doesn’t try to explain why characters do what they do. Per Roger Ebert: “Eva has sex with the colonel in charge…Does she do it to save them? Probably, but hard to say. Her own marriage is painfully uncertain. Later, Jan conceals money that could have bought the colonel’s freedom from the other side. Does he do it to punish their adultery? Hard to say if he has actually witnessed it.”

(SPOILERS AHEAD) The narrative ends abstrusely, with Eva and Jan likely facing death adrift on the ocean as she recalls a strange dream. There is no resolution here.

So what are we to make of Shame? It’s an obvious polemic on war’s corrosive effects on humanity, innocence, and civilians. Bergman explores how war erodes what makes us human, including our empathetic qualities and moral values. Eva and Jan, apolitical and initially detached and uninterested in the conflict, are drawn into the violence, illustrating how ordinary people can become enmeshed in cruelty. As their innocence is lost, their relationship begins to deteriorate, revealing underlying selfishness and betrayal.

Criterion Collection essayist Michael Sragow wrote: “As the sixties neared their end, even Bergman, the screen’s foremost investigator of private life, intimate behavior, and postreligious faith, felt the need to make a statement on that turbulent decade and the legacy of World War II. His vision of how sadism and paranoia fuel martial conflicts and spread from society’s fringes into middle-class living rooms (and bedrooms) permeates Shame, the only Bergman film that could be called primarily political or antiwar. The relentless, Kafkaesque backdrop of a never-ending war puts a troubled marriage into stark relief, dramatizing the end of fellow feeling and the dehumanization of death… Throughout, Bergman gets us to feel what it’s like to be a displaced person in one’s own homeland.”

True to its title, the film delves deeply into shame and culpability, which both Eva and Jan feel. Jan acts passively and cowardly earlier in the story, Eva gives in to Col. Jacobi sexually, Jan betrays Jacobi by keeping his money, and Jan kills a deserted soldier. These and other actions trigger guilt and disgrace, seriously impacting the couple’s relationship. As the narrative progresses, their need to survive leads them to abandon their principles, showing how desperation erodes personal integrity. The title of the film, posits Alternate Ending blogger Timothy Brayton, “can refer to Bergman's shame at dodging politics or Jan's shame at the same, God's shame at creating a violent world; humanity's shame at embracing war as a first resort; the same of being a bad and weak husband; and that's without even pausing to think about it.”

Bergman also confronts the fallacy of neutrality or remaining uninvolved during wartime. Jan and Eva’s efforts to remain apolitical and uninvolved—including living on an island amid a civil war—ultimately fail, as they are eventually embroiled in the very conflict they sought to avoid. Shame suggests that trying to remain neutral in a crisis is not only futile but can entangle individuals more deeply in the destructive forces of war. Yet the film also espouses that it doesn’t really matter which side you support: you’re likely to lose as a human being. “Bergman’s lack of specificity here comes to suggest that war is inevitable and circular and will eventually engulf most of us, who might be currently enjoying the sojourns of Shame’s opening passage,” according to Slant Magazine critic Chuck Bowen. “Bergman fillets his interests in this film, forging a vision of annihilation that is, understood, itself, to be yet another bourgeoisie toy. In one scene, Eva wonders if she’s in a dream, and if such a dreamer is capable of feeling shame. The film’s existence is her unattainable answer.”

Lastly, Shame examines how, as pressures increase, relationships suffer, causing each party to become more estranged from the other, making isolation and detachment a further thematic underpinning. The psychological strain of the conflict exposes the weakness in their marriage, which slowly falls apart under mistrust and the instinct to survive.

Similar works

  • Hour of the Wolf and The Passion of Anna, two films that, respectively preceded and followed Shame and form a trilogy each featuring Liv Ullmann and Max Von Sydow as a similar type couple living under duress on a Swedish island
  • Films depicting an imaginary civil war, including Children of Men, Civil War, The Rover, and Bushwick
  • Come and See
  • The Sacrifice
  • The Painted Bird
  • Lacombe, Lucien
  • The Road

Other films by Ingmar Bergman

  • The Seventh Seal
  • Wild Strawberries
  • The Silence
  • Winter Light
  • Through a Glass Darkly
  • Persona
  • Cries and Whispers
  • Scenes from a Marriage
  • Autumn Sonata
  • Fanny and Alexander

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All aboard Jarmusch's Mystery Train

Saturday, September 21, 2024

If you haven’t yet discovered the distinctive pleasures of Jim Jarmusch’s cinema, there’s no time like the present. This idiosyncratic indie filmmaker earlier worked around the fringes, ever pushing the envelope with unconventional films and quirky characters. But his style encompasses a wide range, and he’s dabbled in many genres, from westerns to horror films. 

One of his early standouts is Mystery Train. Released in 1989 and set in Memphis, the movie weaves together three interconnected stories that take place over the course of a single night. One follows a young Japanese couple, portrayed by Masatoshi Nagase and Yuki Kudo, visiting the city to pay homage to Elvis Presley at Sun Studios. Another focuses on a recently widowed Italian woman (Nicoletta Braschi) who ends up sharing a hotel room with a stranger. The final story centers on a British immigrant, played by Joe Strummer, whose night spirals into chaos after a series of unfortunate events. Supporting roles include performances by Steve Buscemi, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and Tom Noonan.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Mystery Train, conducted last week.


The eccentric personalities in this triptych tale characters share a commonality beyond their presence in Memphis: They eventually all end up in a fleabag motel in the city, with America not being the native country for the three main characters. We learn that each of these story segments occurs at roughly the same time, as evidenced by each set of characters hearing the radio DJ and the gunshot within the hotel simultaneously.

Most of the soundtrack features music by early rock and rollers who presumably recorded in or left a major mark on the city, including Elvis, Junior Parker, Roy Orbison, Otis Redding, and the Bar-Kays. The title derives from the famous cover of the song of the same name by Elvis, which kicks off the opening of the film. Speaking of, Elvis appears as a ghost to the widow; it could be a dream or hallucination, or it could be a real apparition, giving the narrative a tinge of the supernatural that wouldn’t feel out of place in Memphis: a mecca to the King of Rock and Roll.

The film relies heavily on small moments and relatively trifling exchanges between major and minor characters as opposed to a weighty plot dependent on action, twists, or rising and falling drama. Also, Mystery Train is arguably more a comedy than a drama, although there are dark moments such as the shooting of a liquor store owner and when Luisa is followed by three men on the street at night.

A major thematic appeal of Mystery Train is, of course, the pervasive influence and powerful impact of music. Pop music, particularly by American rock 'n' rollers, plays a significant role in shaping the characters' experiences. The film explores how music bridges cultural divides and forges connections between diverse individuals. “Mystery Train is a singularly enthusiastic American anthem that trenchantly interprets the cult of audiophilia as filthy gas stoves roasting marshmallows, raspy radio DJs hawking fried calamari, and ill-equipped racial armies ignorantly clashing by night,” wrote Slant critic Joseph Jon Lanthier.

Jarmusch himself said in an interview: “What I like about the Japanese kids in Memphis is, if you think about tourists visiting Italy, the way the Romantic poets went to Italy to visit the remnants of a past culture, and then if you imagine America in the future, when people from the East or wherever visit our culture after the decline of the American empire – which is certainly in progress – all they'll really have to visit will be the homes of rock'n'roll stars and movie stars. That's all our culture ultimately represents. So going to Memphis is a kind of pilgrimage to the birthplace of a certain part of our culture.”

Mystery Train also marinates in serendipity and random chance. Fate is a prominent message, showcasing how seemingly unrelated characters' paths cross by accident. These incidental encounters underscore the arbitrariness of life and how unanticipated moments can bring people together or force them to cross paths.

To the surprise of no one who has seen other Jarmusch films, the inability to communicate and connect is examined. According to Bright Lights Film Journal essayist Alan Jacobson, “Jarmusch makes films that focus on the subtle nuances of communication…the failure for human beings to connect and then spark and the consequences of this typical human failure to communicate is not only a running concern through one of America’s best filmmakers’ work, but it is his strong suit.” We observe how the Japanese couple encounter difficulty interpreting Americans around them and can’t communicate easily with each other, either. Luisa, meanwhile, can’t seem to easily connect with her hotel roommate; and Charlie and Will struggle to talk sense into Johnny, whose impulsive, violent behavior puts them in danger.

Moreover, Mystery Train gives voice to personalities from different backgrounds and countries, delving into cultural alienation and the outsider’s experience of America. The first story centers on Japanese tourists, the second on an Italian widow, and the third on an Englishman—each navigating the unfamiliar terrain of Memphis and trying to better understand America and its people through this music-famous city. It emphasizes the feeling of estrangement that cultural differences create. Likewise, each of these foreigners is depicted as physically or emotionally isolated to some extent and unable to fully assimilate into the American way of life or mindset. Their respective travels through Memphis underscore these ideas.

Similar works

  • “Hyperlink cinema” films with intersection narratives/characters, including Short Cuts, Grand Canyon, Crash, Pulp Fiction, Amores Perros (2000), Babel, Magnolia, Traffic, Love Actually, and Syriana
  • Paris, Texas (1984), a poignant journey through isolation and reconciliation set against the vast backdrop of the American Southwest, imbued with a reflective, melancholic atmosphere
  • Bagdad CafĂ© (1987), a quirky, heartwarming tale of unlikely friendships forming in a remote desert motel, blending offbeat humor with a touch of magical realism
  • Slacker (1990), also featuring a meandering collection of interconnected scenes featuring oddball characters in Austin, Texas, with a casual, free-flowing narrative style
  • Chungking Express (1994), a visually stylish, emotionally driven film set in the vibrant streets of Hong Kong, weaving together stories of lonely souls seeking connection
  • Buffalo '66 (1998), a quirky and bittersweet tale of an ex-convict confronting his past, blending awkward humor with underlying sadness in this unique character study
  • Smoke (1995), a series of interwoven stories unfolding in a Brooklyn cigar shop, spotlighting human interactions and conversations, wrapped in a gentle air of melancholy

Other films by Jim Jarmusch

  • Stranger Than Paradise (1984)
  • Down by Law (1986)
  • Night on Earth (1991)
  • Dead Man (1995)
  • Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999)
  • Coffee and Cigarettes (2003)
  • Broken Flowers (2005)
  • The Dead Don't Die (2019)

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Shawshank redeems our belief in the power of great movies--even popular ones

Wednesday, September 18, 2024


1994 is remembered as the year when Pulp Fiction commanded the zeitgeist, Forrest Gump captured the hearts of moviegoers and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (which awarded the film six Oscars, including Best Picture), and The Lion King became the highest grossing picture of the year and animated film of all time to that point.

But the most rewatched and cherished work from 1994 is also the one that has proved to be the most popular of the last 30 years: The Shawshank Redemption, directed by Frank Darabont.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode honoring The Shawshank Redemption, click here.


So, what makes Shawshank worthy of celebration over the past 30 years? First, it’s the popular champion in the modern era. The Shawshank Redemption has commanded the crown as the crowd favorite over the last three decades, as evidenced by its repeated ranking at the top of the IMDB top 250 films list, where it has reigned supreme among movie watchers for most of the past 27 years. It first topped the IMDB list in 1997, dropped to second place for a few years, and then recaptured its top ranking in 2008.

The Wizard of Oz may likely be the most-watched film in history, Avatar and Gone With the Wind may have sold the most tickets, and Citizen Kane remains the critics’ darling, but when it comes to the picture that most pleases the masses, Shawshank wins. This is a perfect example of a film that didn’t blow the critics away—its Rotten Tomatoes score is 89% and its average critical score is an impressive but far from perfect 8 out of 10—yet it’s hard to find an everyday person who has seen The Shawshank Redemption and not loved it. Consider that its Rotten Tomatoes Popcornmeter score, representing its fans, is 98% while its IMDB fan rating is 9.3 out of 10.

Many believe these are the best performances in the careers of both Morgan Freeman and Tim Robbins. This film is superbly cast, and kudos are deserving of the supporting roles by James Whitmore as Brooks, Bob Gunton as the warden, Clancy Brown as Captain Hadley, and others. But Freeman easily steals every scene he’s in while Robbins looks born to play this role with his boyishly innocent yet often expressionless face that helps Andy remain mysterious to the viewer.

This is also the film that cemented Freeman’s status as perhaps the most respected and compelling actor of that era, a versatile thespian who brought gravitas to every role he was cast in from 1989 onward. Additionally, Shawshank is where Freeman proved his considerable mettle as a voiceover powerhouse, and he has consistently been in demand for years following this film for his voice alone in documentaries, commercials, video games, and even the Waze GPS app. His voice drizzles over you like melted butter: It’s that rich, smooth, and savory.

The two lead performances are often cited as Shawshank’s greatest strength, but more credit should probably go to the A+ screenplay and the original story by Stephen King on which it’s based. The narrative is exemplary, gripping us with tension and twists, provoking deeper thought with its philosophical monologues and enriching dialogue between Red and Andy, and thoroughly satisfying in its redemptive conclusion in which the karmic scales are balanced. The Writers Guild of America slots it at #22 on its list of the greatest screenplays.

This is almost universally regarded as the best prison film of all time within a strong subgenre that includes, chronologically, Grand Illusion, Brute Force, Stalag 17, Riot in Cell Block 11, A Man Escaped, Bridge on the River Kwai, Bird Man of Alcatraz, The Great Escape, Cool Hand Luke, Papillon, Midnight Express, Escape From Alcatraz, Kiss of the Spider Woman, and The Green Mile.

Speaking of Mr. King, this could be the finest cinematic translation of one of his works. Rotten Tomatoes places it #3 behind Carrie and Stand by Me as the best movie sourced from a Stephen King story, but many would fight tooth and nail to defend The Shawshank Redemption as tops. King himself said it was his favorite adaption of one of his tales. There are a lot of worthy contenders to choose from, as other acclaimed and popular films based on King stories include, chronologically, Carrie, Salem’s Lot, The Shining, The Dead Zone, Christine, Stand by Me, Misery, Dolores Claiborne, The Green Mile, 1408, The Mist, It, Gerald’s Game, and Doctor Sleep.

One of the movie’s secret weapons is the painterly craftsmanship of cinematographer Roger Deakins, who conjures incredible thematic depth with deep shadows, for instance, in scenes involving Brooks, as well as golden-tinged pictorial splendor in outdoor shots such as the rooftop tarring sequence. Deakins has demonstrated mastery of light and darkness in numerous classics, especially Fargo and No Country For Old Men by the Coen Brothers, and more recently in visually spectacular works like Blade Runner 2049 and 1917, but Shawshank stands as a continually underrated triumph in his resume.

Shawshank remains endlessly quotable, too, containing priceless pearls of perfectly written dialogue and monologue that are regularly cited in pop culture and across social media. Cases in point:
  • I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
  • There are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours.
  • Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
  • Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.
  • I believe in two things: discipline and the Bible. Here you'll receive both. Put your trust in the Lord; your ass belongs to me. Welcome to Shawshank.
  • The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.
  • The funny thing is - on the outside, I was an honest man, straight as an arrow. I had to come to prison to be a crook.
  • They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.
  • Salvation lies within.
  • How can you be so obtuse?
  • Every man has his breaking point.
  • I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.
The Shawshank Redemption was nominated for seven Academy Awards, but unfortunately didn’t land a single Oscar. IMDB isn’t the only source that ranks it highly: It was named the greatest film of all time by Empire magazine in 2006; the American Film Institute’s 2007 list of the greatest American movies has it at no. 72, ahead of Pulp Fiction and Forrest Gump, two other critically acclaimed works released in the same year (1994); and in 2015 it was named Britain’s favorite movie after polling by YouGov. It was also voted as New Zealand's favorite film in a 2015 poll.

Like It’s a Wonderful Life decades earlier, The Shawshank Redemption is a phoenix of a film, proving that an overlooked masterwork can be resurrected and rediscovered by viewers years later.

After quickly fizzling out at the box office and disappearing from theaters, the movie became a word-of-mouth phenomenon and enjoyed one of the greatest audience comebacks in cinema history. It tapped into an incredible second wind on the small screen, where a loyal following was cultivated. It became one of the most in-demand VHS and DVD titles of the 1990s (the most rented film of 1995, in fact) and was aired more than 100 times on TNT and TBS, becoming a juggernaut on cable.

Sunday Guardian critic Saumya Mehrotra credits Shawshank with helping to seed the growth of what became “prestige TV,” where exclusive television series and programs boast cinema-quality content, as evidenced in shows like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Breaking Bad. Per Mehrotra: “It was The Shawshank Redemption that made Hollywood producers think seriously about tapping into the television industry. After this point in cinema history, films were made for both the big screen and for the small one.”

It’s easy to trace the rise of prison-themed TV shows, docuseries, and films that came in the wake of The Shawshank Redemption, including The Green Mile, The Hurricane, American History X, Oz, Prison Break, The Escapist, Felon, Orange is the New Black, and Inside the World’s Toughest Prisons.

Director Frank Darabont consistently uses clever misdirection, skillful surprises and twists, as well as the withholding of key information to keep us from guessing what will happen next or to upend our expectations for a character or outcome. Brooks’ suicide, Tommy’s revelation of Andy’s innocence, Tommy’s murder, Andy’s secret escape, and Red’s unexpected parole are the major twists and surprises. Meanwhile, examples of red herrings include:
  • We don’t learn of Andy’s true innocence until 90 minutes into the film. There are enough false clues to taint him as possibly guilty, including his introductory scene where he holds the revolver and the courtroom sequence when he lacks a believable defense against the circumstantial evidence presented.
  • We see a figure approach the parole board and assume it’s Andy but are surprisingly introduced to Red, who establishes his voiceover narration at this point.
  • The veteran inmates take bets on the new crop of “fresh fish” inmate arrivals, but what are they wagering on? Is it who will be assaulted first? Eventually, we learn it’s a bet on who will be the first to break down into tears.
  • Brooks asks for the wriggling maggot Andy picks out of his food. Is Brooks senile or insane? No, it’s rapidly revealed that he has a hungry pet bird.
  • We and Red quickly accept that Andy truly is the “rock hound” he describes himself to be—that the small rock hammer will not be used for escaping but for crafting chess pieces.
  • Andy has kept such a steady poker face in the first third of the movie that when he asks Captain Hadley if he trusts his wife, we are taken aback by this imposing question and wonder what Andy’s motivation for the confrontation is. He soon convinces Hadley to entrust him with financial planning.
  • After being released, Brooks says he’s “decided not to stay.” We assume he means to relocate to another town or become a paroled fugitive, but he’s actually talking about suicide, which he soon commits.
  • Warden Norton asks Tommy if he’s willing to testify about Andy’s innocence in court. We presume Norton is having second thoughts about Andy and may be willing to do the right thing here, but he shockingly opts to have Tommy killed.
  • We and Red fear that Andy may follow Brooks’ path and use the rope to hang himself in his cell, a possibility milked for maximum effect via several tense shots in which we see Andy appear to be a forever altered, utterly defeated man. However, it’s eventually revealed that Andy uses the rope to escape, and has timed his breakout to perfectly coincide with Norton’s belief that he’s finally broken Andy’s spirit.
  • When the authorities arrive at the prison to arrest Norton, he grabs his pistol and we believe that the warden won’t give up without a fight. Instead, he uses the weapon to kill himself.
  • Red appears before the parole board for a third time; we’ve been patterned to believe that, as before, he’ll be rejected—especially after making comments the board would deem disrespectful—but, remarkably, his parole is granted.
The movie also benefits from maintaining a careful tonal balance designed to satisfy more viewers and prevent fewer watchers from abandoning ship. Yes, it is often violent, dark, and depressing, but these harsh qualities are buffered by the recurrent messages of hope, sporadic bits of comic relief, and the poignant and captivating camaraderie between Red and Andy.

Additionally, Darabont uses foreshadowing, inside jokes, and puns to punctuate the narrative and reward repeat viewings. Among the foreshadowing examples are the instances of holes made in walls, as when the warden removes the framed “His judgment cometh and that right soon” cross-stitching from the wall to reveal a safe, or when the crew demolishes a wall to build the prison library; Andy carving his name into the stone wall, followed by Brooks later carving “Brooks was here” into the wooden beam, and then Red repeating the latter; and the warden locking himself in his office while the authorities try to break it, which mirrors an earlier scene involving Andy sequestered in the warden’s office. In-jokes include the warden’s “Inside Out” program and insistence that “salvation lies within” (literally within a bible concealing Andy’s escape tool) along with the poster of Einstein sticking out his tongue in seeming mockery of the warden standing below it.

The Shawshank Redemption is a throwback of sorts to previous prison classics created by Hollywood like The Great Escape, The Birdman of Alcatraz, and Cool Hand Luke—referencing those three pictures and a few others in its look, old-school set design and costumes, escape techniques, and other ways. But it deviates from these predecessors in several respects. First, it features a spoken narration throughout that guides the viewer along, with a likable homespun voice and vernacular, impeccably delivered by Freeman, that helps weave a wholly absorbing tale and creates a more personal, emotional story.

Interestingly, the narrator is arguably not the central character. Red is a third-party witness to the story of Andy, the character whom we most identify and sympathize with. We get the story from Red’s point of view, which makes it increasingly interesting because Red is more credible as a grizzled, jaded, experienced inmate. This is Andy’s story, but it’s told by Red; that’s important because to us the most significant “redemption” of the film, it turns out, is Red’s, not Andy’s.

In his four-star reappraisal of the film, Roger Ebert wrote: “Red is our surrogate. He's the one we identify with, and the redemption, when it comes, is Red's…If Andy had been the heroic center, bravely enduring, the film would have been conventional, and less mysterious. But we wonder about this guy. Did he really kill those two people? Why does he keep so much to himself? Why can he amble through the prison yard like a free man on a stroll, when everyone else plods or sidles?”

Unlike other films about incarceration, which usually concern themselves early on with an elaborate escape plan plot—such as The Great Escape, Papillon, Escape From Alcatraz, and Stalag 17—this picture doesn’t try to tip its hat that the later payoff will be an escape; we see many years elapse during which Andy and his friends are imprisoned, presumably without hope. Therefore, the main meat of this narrative concerns both psychologically and physically coping with an interminable life in prison. There’s enough action and interesting subplots and characters here to make for a fascinating two hours without being focused from the beginning on an inevitable breakout.

Consider that inmates seldom triumph in prison films. Often, the incarcerated main character is killed (as in Brute Force or Cool Hand Luke) or the escaped or rebellious prisoners are captured and re-incarcerated by the authorities (recall The Defiant Ones, Riot in Cell Block 11, and The Great Escape). Shawshank is an exception to these rules and a repudiation of “the system” and the kinds of authority figures that run that system.

Another way Shawshank bucks the prison subgenre formula is in how it’s about the forging of a strong relationship between two friends. Papillon did this, too, but The Shawshank Redemption takes it many steps further. Some have even equated this narrative to a love story, albeit a platonic one. Morgan Freeman said in an interview: “I always think of this as a love story — two men who just totally bonded…At the very end of the movie, when they hook up — it’s complete.”

The deftly employed misdirection keeps you from prematurely guessing that Andy will eventually escape, and the clever details about how he accomplishes the breakout make for an incredibly satisfying third act in which the audience feels Andy’s uplifting sense of release, freedom, and vindication and revels in the execution of his plan. This is one of the best deliverance/revenge films ever made, and you don’t need to be a former inmate or wrongly accused victim to savor the powerful emotional payoff at the conclusion.

Of course, the film may not be very realistic in its depiction of a prison of this era or his escape efforts. It’s highly unlikely that Andy would have been allowed to remain in the same cell for 19 years, not attracted attention with his wall chiseling, or pulled off this breakout so seamlessly.

It’s the themes in The Shawshank Redemption that resonant strongest with viewers, and this film is chock full of them. Three of the most prominent explored are hope versus pessimism, opposites attract, and unlikely friendships. To help illustrate these three corresponding ideas, consider how Andy and Red are perfectly juxtaposed characters based on their differences: Andy is white, Red is African-American. Andy truly is innocent and wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, while Red is a guilty criminal, although one who accepts that he has to pay his debt to society. Andy is younger and more sensitive, attuned to cultural sensibilities and the arts, idealistic, book smart, and hopeful; Red is older, hardened and jaded, street smart, and more pessimistically realistic, which makes him skeptical of the power of hope. Red is a man who can get things in from the outside for himself and others; Andy is a man who can get things out from the inside (his intelligence and optimism) for himself and others.

Therein lies the crux of the film’s main message: making Red, a doubting Thomas, see the light of hope, as exemplified in his savior, Andy, who serves as a messianic character (recall the 12 disciples surrounding him during the rooftop beer-drinking scene). Red is redeemed by Andy, not by helping him escape from the prison, but by making him believe in a life worth living outside the prison walls.

In addition to espousing that true, deep friendships last forever, Shawshank teaches us that true freedom has no boundaries and is often more a state of mind than a physical state of being in a free place. As Washington Post journalist Zachary Pincus-Roth put it, “Walls cannot confine you and do not define you.” Freedom, or “salvation” as the warden reminds, comes from within. You have to liberate yourself, first in your thoughts and attitude, to enjoy true independence. Remember that the final scene, featuring Red and Andy, occurs in Mexico. The fact that their reunion occurs outside of the boundaries of the familiar (the United States) and within a paradise-like setting is important: It suggests that they’ve graduated to a metaphorical “heaven,” an afterlife-of-sorts on earth far removed from their familiar place of confinement. It’s also wise to show only the two of them on the beach, as if this is their own private paradise they’ve earned. In the original story, Red is following Andy’s hidden trail and hopeful that he will rendezvous with his friend eventually someday. That ending was changed for the film because viewers responded more enthusiastically to a visible, conclusive reunion between the two.

“Art saves the soul,” as suggested by Unspooled podcast host Amy Nicholson, is a further takeaway. She and critic Mark Kermode believe The Shawshank Redemption is a love letter to the power of movies, as evidenced by how the inmates are mesmerized by Rita Hayworth while watching the film Gilda and how Andy uses a film can to fend off his attackers later in that scene. Ponder, too, how the convicts stand motionlessly and silently enraptured as they listen to the beautiful female operatic duet segment from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. Think back, as well, to when Andy gifts Red a harmonica; music in this narrative is equated with hope and freedom.

A final significant subtext to chew on: One small man can make a big difference in the lives of others. Andy improves the lives of nearly everyone he encounters at Shawshank State Prison, from Red and Tommy to the warden and Captain Hadley. His efforts result in a fantastic prison library as well as high school diplomas for several of the inmates.

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Cineversary podcast honors The Shawshank Redemption on its 30th birthday

Thursday, September 12, 2024

In Cineversary podcast episode #74, host Erik Martin commemorates the 30th anniversary of the most crowd-pleasing picture of the past three decades and the greatest prison movie ever: The Shawshank Redemption. Partnering with him on this installment is Mark Dawidziak, author of The Shawshank Redemption Revealed: How One Story Keeps Hope Alive.
Mark Dawidziak
Together, they chisel away at this impressive cinematic edifice and examine why this film remains so beloved, how it has stood the test of time, resonant themes viewers appreciate, and more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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Blurring the lines between documentary and dramatization

Wednesday, September 4, 2024

Not to be confused with the 1938 film of the same name helmed by Michael Curtiz, Four Daughters is a compelling documentary, directed by Kaouther Ben Hania, which premiered last year at the Cannes Film Festival. This co-production between Tunisia, France, Germany, and Saudi Arabia tells the harrowing true story of Olfa Hamrouni, a Tunisian mother whose life is shattered when her two daughters are radicalized and join ISIS. The film skillfully intertwines reality with dramatization, utilizing interviews, re-enactments, and archival footage to delve into the profound emotional and psychological impact on Olfa and her remaining daughters.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Four Daughters, conducted last week, click here.


The “documentary” approach here by female director Hania is meta-realism, which means a style that draws attention to its own nature and narrative structure. Common in postmodern works as metafiction, it appears in various media and encourages reflection on storytelling. This style often features self-aware characters or narrators, as seen in Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair, where the protagonist interacts with characters from Jane Eyre. Metafiction also breaks traditional narrative conventions, such as in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, where the main character directly engages with the audience, breaking the fourth wall.

It’s a refreshing take on dramatic reenactments, having Olfa, Eya, and Tayssir play themselves while also interacting with actors portraying Olfa and her older missing daughters. It blurs the lines between documentary and dramatization. Per Slant Magazine critic Derek Smith: “In a particularly canny move, Hania never presents reenacted sequences as standalone scenes in their “finished” form, instead using the mostly unrehearsed collaborations between Olfa, Eya, and Tayssir and the actors working with them as the raw material for her film… As Olfa is always on set, and frequently in the frame as Sabr plays her, she’s forced to deal with her own culpability in real time, whether through revelations she makes on her own or Sabr questioning why she was so strict with her daughters… It’s the unique spirit of this collaboration—not only toward getting realistic performances, but plumbing the motivations and emotions of everyone involved—that makes Four Daughters so compelling. And because it’s so open about its behind-the-scenes process, we’re witness to how the artifice of performance and reenactment enhances, rather than diminishes, the depth of emotions of Olfa’s story.”

This exercise is less about re-enacting past events accurately or thoroughly and more about (1) evoking unscripted, spontaneous emotions and memories in the three remaining family members, (2) getting the mother and younger daughters to talk about their traumas, resentments, and difficult feelings, (3) exploring the familial dynamics between these real people, and (4) observing how even the actors playing the mother and older daughters—who are trained to compartmentalize their work and not get personally involved—are inevitably affected by their exposure to the real women and their recollections.

Film critic Peyton Robinson wrote: “Four Daughters” prioritizes empowering its women to take ownership of telling their story while also allowing its actors to participate in it… As Olfa and the sisters give perspective on their shared trauma and heartbreak and discuss the underlying principles of it with each other and the actresses, what ensues is not simply the story of a family but a tour de force examination of women’s place in the world and the costs of how they choose to cope with it.”

However, while we trust in what the family relays to the viewer, this is not exactly an objective doc. The testimonies could be biased and the recollections altered by distorted memory. We do not hear from the real Rahma, Ghofrane, or any of the actual men depicted by the sole male actor. The fates of Rahma and Ghofrane are truthfully told, but there are many subjective POVs here that prevent us from completely knowing who or what was responsible for many of the traumas and outcomes.

The filmmakers seem to be non-judgemental, showing Olfa and her sisters in both good and bad lights by allowing the real persons to speak for themselves and propel the narrative. There is no omniscient, faceless narrator whose disembodied voice navigates us through this story; we rely completely on the real family and the actors playing the missing persons for information, at least until toward the end when archival news footage reveals exactly what happened to Ghofrane and Rahma.

Four Daughters’ main message is breaking the cycle of trauma and family dysfunction. Olfa reveals that she turned out exactly like her mother and that “the curse will continue” with her daughters. But the agency and modern sensibilities that Eya and Tayssir demonstrate give us hope that their generation can progress from the restrictions and closed-mindedness that characterized her mother’s generation. However, the final still frame shot of her young granddaughter reminds us that progress and improved lives aren’t guaranteed; the future is decidedly uncertain.

The intricate dynamics of family relationships, particularly the connections between the four sisters and their mother, are also at the heart of the film. It’s a coming-of-age, self-discovery, and identity evolution story, too. We discern that each daughter has transformed the course of the film: the two eldest have become radicalized pariahs who remain loved and missed by their family; the two youngest demonstrate greater independent thought and lifestyle choices that deviate from their mother as they mature; and Olfa appears to be reckoning with and taking responsibility for many of her mistakes while also refusing to accept culpability for others.

Additionally, the extent to which cultural and societal expectations influence individual decisions and family roles is explored. A major character in this narrative is Tunisia itself: the religious traditions of its people as well as the government’s role in shaping its society. And sexual politics, patriarchal values, and freedom of self-expression are put under the microscope, as well. The film tackles traditional gender roles, revealing the pressures these roles place on women and how the daughters resist and question these norms.

Similar works

  • Mustang
  • Inshallah a Boy
  • Films influenced by the revolutionary theatrical style of Bertolt Brecht, including Palindromes, The Arabian Nights Trilogy, Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story; Dogville; and Entranced Earth
  • Robert Green’s Procession and Bisbee ’17
  • May-December
  • Dick Johnson is Dead
  • The Rehearsal
  • Capturing the Friedmans

Other films directed by Kaouther Ben Hania

  • The Man Who Sold His Skin
  • Beauty and the Dogs
  • Le Challat de Tunis

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