In Praise of Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln

When Mary Todd Lincoln, played by Sally Field, first appears in Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, I got nervous. With a weary voice and a far-off manner, she analyzes one of Mr. Lincoln’s dreams as a portent of doom. Looks like we’re getting the “batshit crazy” take on Mary Lincoln, I thought.

Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln in Lincoln

I was particularly upset by this because the characterization of Mary is especially crucial to the success of the film from a feminist perspective, because it is otherwise almost entirely focused on men (although Gloria Reuben is great in her small role and S. Epatha Merkerson brings as much as she can to her even smaller one). 

But as the film progresses, it becomes clear that just as it does with her husband Abraham, Lincoln is merely incorporating the legend of Mary Todd—stated eloquently by the character herself as “all anyone will remember of me is that I was crazy and that I ruined your happiness”—into a much more nuanced depiction of a complex character.

Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln in Lincoln

I have to admit, my initial reaction to the Mary in Lincoln was not helped by my preconceived opinion on the casting of Sally Field. My issue was not the age difference (Field is 10 years Day-Lewis’ senior, the reverse of the real-life age difference between the Lincolns) that required Ms. Field to fight to keep her role. I was rather concerned with the contrast in acting style between Field and Day-Lewis. I recalled the film version of A Streetcar Named Desire, where Marlon Brando’s then-revolutionary method realism left Vivian Leigh’s remarkable (and Oscar-winning) yet much more theatrical performance as Blanche DuBois in Stanley’s dust. 

In an interview with Sharon Knolle, Sally Field insists:

Ms. Field obviously knows her own technique better than I do, but I doubt I am alone as a moviegoer in thinking of her as an actress whose screen presence is largely defined by her personal charm and her ability to turn the melodrama up to eleven rather than an ability to disappear into a character.

But Field’s performance style actually fits in well among a universally strong but stylistically-varied ensemble. While Tommy Lee Jones is uncharacteristically reserved even playing the bombastic abolitionist Thaddeus Stevens, and the inimitably restrained David Strathairn does fantastic work as Secretary of State William Seward [Tangent: my greatest beef with this film is that Seward is largely absent from the third act—just when his story gets really good!—because it diminishes Strathairn’s awards chances, and I think he’s still owed statues from Good Night and Good Luck]; there’s also plenty of delightful scenery chewing among the supporting cast, from Lee Pace as pro-slavery Democrat Fernando Wood, who ought to have a mustache just for twirling at the appropriate beats in his racist speeches on the Congressional floor, to James Spader’s cartoonishly uncouth political trickster.

Although Field plays most of her scenes against Day-Lewis, they play off each other surprisingly well. Lincoln as a whole walks a fine line between humanizing and further mythologizing one of the greatest figures in American history. Despite Day-Lewis’s historically-accurate adoption of a slouched posture and gentle high-pitched speaking voice, the film unquestionably presents Lincoln as the Great Man of the Lincoln Legend. But these indulgences are brilliantly counterbalanced by having the character aware of his place in history and the inevitable myth-making about him. 

Fittingly, this vulnerability is no more apparent than when he is with his wife. Playing off Field, Day-Lewis is perhaps at his most actorly, but the effect is subtly demonstrating to the audience that Abraham is the one acting as the character of President Lincoln when he is politicking and speechmaking. Field’s work in Lincoln makes the central performance and consequently the film itself better, which is exactly what a supporting actor should do. My misgivings about her casting could not have been more wrong.

And thankfully, neither could my first impression of the film’s overall take on the character. While Lincoln‘s Mary is indeed emotionally erratic, occasionally difficult, and haunted by grief, the film doesn’t damn her the way some historical accounts have by making these her only characteristics. She’s treated as an intellectual equal by her husband, we see her watch the congressional debates on the 13th Amendment from the balcony with keen interest, and in Field’s best scene, she epically takes down Thaddeus Stevens with a smile while playing the role of First-Lady-as-Gracious-Hostess.

Field’s best scene in Lincoln

Tony Kushner’s script and Sally Field’s game performance evade the two traps of fictional portrayals of Mary Lincoln: she’s neither the crazy shrew undermining her great husband nor the equally sexist and hoary cliche of the Great Woman Behind a Great Man. Instead, Sally Field’s Mary Todd Lincoln is one of the many compelling elements that make up Spielberg’s excellent Lincoln.