Sally Field – Bitch Flicks

Insubordination and Feminism in ‘Norma Rae’

A primary question about social fiction is whether the story remains relevant, or if the sociopolitical situation remains mired in the past. ‘Norma Rae’ does retain relevance, though she’d likely be working in Walmart today instead of a textile mill (as I watched, I wondered how many textile mills still operate in the U.S.). While the movie seems to be a window on a past time in working America, it’s still relevant—and progressive—on many levels.

This repost by Amber Leab appears as part of our theme week on Women and Work/Labor Issues.

Sally Field’s career, honestly, hasn’t meant much to me. Aside from recent Boniva commercials, Forrest Gump, and Steel Magnolias, I haven’t seen much of her work. She’s always struck me as a respectable actress, but not someone I seek out from a personal interest. Not being familiar with her early career, her so-called serious turn in Norma Rae was lost on me. What wasn’t lost, however, was an honest portrayal of a working woman, and a social issue that continues to dog women and men (though women, I suspect, suffer more from lack of unions) everywhere.

A primary question about social fiction is whether the story remains relevant, or if the sociopolitical situation remains mired in the past. Norma Rae does retain relevance, though she’d likely be working in Walmart today instead of a textile mill (as I watched, I wondered how many textile mills still operate in the U.S.). While the movie seems to be a window on a past time in working America, it’s still relevant—and progressive—on many levels.

The plot of Norma Rae is inspired by the real life experience of Crystal Lee (Jordan) Sutton, a woman who worked in a North Carolina mill to unionize its employees, spurred on by an out-of-town organizer, until being fired on a bogus charge of “insubordination.” Norma Rae (played by Field, who won the Best Actress Oscar for the role) lives with her parents in the beginning of the movie, and reunites with an old friend who she marries after a brief courtship. As Norma Rae becomes more involved with union activities, she experiences the usual relationship (romantic, familial, and work) strains, but doesn’t quit until the mill bosses force her out. It’s at this time she makes her famous stand; she refuses to leave, scrawls “UNION” on a piece of cardboard, stands on a table in the middle of a busy factory floor, and stoically remains–in an exhilarating climax to the film–until all her fellow employees shut down their machines and stand with her. She’s arrested and fired in the end, but finishes what she started and believed in.

It’s true that Field gives a standout performance, and the union-organizer Rueben (played by Ron Liebman) isn’t bad either. But what stands out for me in the film–and what makes this, in my opinion, a good piece of feminist muckraking–is the character’s relationship with men. We don’t learn too much about her relationship with other women, but what’s striking about her relationship with men is the lack of romanticism involved. Norma Rae has a couple of kids from a couple of different men–neither of whom are present in their lives–and when she marries Sonny, it’s for entirely pragmatic reasons. He proposes while on a date with both their children present, and makes his case to her that he’s a good man and that their lives might be easier if they lived them together. There’s no grand romance, and it’s refreshing to see marriage represented as the economic institution that it essentially is–particularly in the face of contemporary Hollywood, which just can’t seem to make a movie without a romantic sub-plot geared toward female viewers.

The other–and more prominent–relationship in the movie is between Norma Rae and Rueben. I admit that while watching the movie I waited for romance to blossom between these two characters, but felt great relief when it never happened. We see their relationship go from cautious skepticism to a fully fledged friendship, as Norma Rae becomes dedicated to the union cause. There are few representations of purely intellectual relationships (not to mention asexual friendships) between men and women that come to mind in movies, and though one could certainly argue that there is sexual antagonism underlying their interaction, it’s an emotion that stays below the surface, never consummated–all the way to their farewell handshake at the end of the movie.

Norma Rae isn’t a super mother, nor does she fit the description of a woman we’re typically supposed to look up to. She’s made mistakes in her life and she’ll probably make a few more. She’s not looking to move away from her roots and improve her life based on others’ terms; she doesn’t act out of selfish desire. In other words, she’s a rarity in film: a real woman.

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:

“Listen: People don’t know what method is. I am method! I studied at the Actors’ Studio. I studied with Lee Strasberg. That’s where the term “method” came from. Daniel and I work exactly the same way. I always stay in character. Any good actor does that.”

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.

From the Archive: Norma Rae

I’m feeling a little nostalgic (and I’m on vacation), so today I’m reposting the very first review I wrote for Bitch Flicks, way back in March 2008. It’s a movie I loved and still love, and is definitely worth your time if you haven’t seen it.

Norma Rae

A primary question about social fiction is whether the story remains relevant, or if the sociopolitical situation remains mired in the past. Norma Rae does retain relevance, though she’d likely be working in Wal-Mart today instead of a textile mill (as I watched, I wondered how many textile mills still operate in the U.S.). While the movie seems to be a window on a past time in working America, it’s still relevant—and progressive—on many levels.

The plot of Norma Rae is inspired by the real life experience of Crystal Lee Jordan, a woman who worked in a North Carolina mill to unionize its employees, spurred on by an out-of-town organizer, until being fired on a bogus charge of “insubordination.” Norma Rae (played by Field, who won the Best Actress Oscar for the role) lives with her parents in the beginning of the movie, and reunites with an old friend who she marries after a brief courtship. As Norma Rae becomes more involved with union activities, the she experiences the usual relationship (romantic, familial, and work) strains, but doesn’t quit until the mill bosses force her out. It’s at this time she makes her famous stand; she refuses to leave, scrawls “UNION” on a piece of cardboard, stands on a table in the middle of a busy factory floor, and stoically remains–in an exhilarating climax to the film–until all her fellow employees shut down their machines and stand with her. She’s arrested and fired in the end, but finishes what she started and believed in.

Movie Review: Norma Rae

A primary question about social fiction is whether the story remains relevant, or if the sociopolitical situation remains mired in the past. Norma Rae does retain relevance, though she’d likely be working in Wal-Mart today instead of a textile mill (as I watched, I wondered how many textile mills still operate in the U.S.). While the movie seems to be a window on a past time in working America, it’s still relevant—and progressive—on many levels.