“Everyone just . . . pretend to be normal.”
This film fits into two pedagogical categories for me. First, it stands as an undisputed Film Lit success story. I went from loving the film, to including it as a fun film to watch and have small discussions about at the end of the semester, to asking students to design their own guides about it, to incorporating it fully into the curriculum. As I write, it’s paired with Lady Bird in Film Lit’s “Navigating the American Wilderness” unit.
(Historical Footnote: officially, our course is now named “Composition and Literature of Visual Media.”)
(Editor’s Note: in these parts, we’re still going to call it Film Lit.)
Second, and as important, it’s part of an unrealized Film Lit dream. (Editor’s note: see?) Or, rather, a part of a unit for an unrealized course I’ve fantasized about teaching. In this fantasy, I would teach a multimedia unit about the American Dream, and three related but distinct portrayals of it: The Grapes of Wrath, Little Miss Sunshine, and Interstellar.
I’ll pitch Interstellar later, and I won’t belabor the connections between Little Miss Sunshine and The Grapes of Wrath here. (There are a lot!) But the more I watch this film, the more I’ve grown interested in the film’s critiques of American systems, and, indeed, the American Dream.
This pitch won’t be a political treatise. And yet any serious analysis of the film has to recognize that class and American capitalism are never too far removed from the film’s major plot points. In the iconic and never-gets-old opening sequence, we learn that everyone agrees that Frank would be better off staying at the hospital, and not with Sheryl, but, “the insurance.” The negotiations about the journey to California center on financial concerns. Yes, the Hoovers own a Miata; and it’s also the case that their second option is a beat-up VW van. When they finally get to Redondo Beach, it’s clear the Hoovers are at a tactical disadvantage, because the other contestants are from families with means to pay for—at least—professional coaches and elaborate costumes. (I mean, given that we know Olive is in the competition only as a result of a diet pill scandal disqualification, who knows how many “nutritionists” the contestants’ families have hired?)
And yes, at the moment, Sheryl is the only breadwinner in the family—a dynamic that is a cause and effect of many of the Hoovers’ problems. But take a look at the cups Sheryl puts on the table for the opening dinner: they include some stadium souvenir plastic cups and a Hamburgler promotional glass from days long gone. These cups complete a picture of a family that has been scraping by for a while, certainly since before Richard began his ill-fated venture into motivational speaking.
“I’m just saying. I’ve come around.”
More broadly, the film rejects a dangerous binary that by turns lurks at the core of many people’s American Dreams, and animates Richard’s 9 Steps: that “there are two types of people in this world. There are winners, and there are losers.”
9 Steps purists, I think, would classify Richard as a loser. And, I have to say: a fun Film Lit discussion or guide question would ask, “Would Richard classify himself as a loser?” And maybe a logical follow-up: “Does his opinion ever change?”
To be sure, Richard is a flawed man. He is professionally unsuccessful, having given into a toxic philosophy that, as evidenced by Olive’s tearful assertion that “Daddy hates losers,” has traumatized his daughter. (And alienated Sheryl and Dwayne.) (And put him on a path toward financial ruin.) His descent has also led him to some all-time awful takes. His ice cream object lesson is monstrous. His suggestion that there’s no point in entering a contest you don’t think you can win is myopic. His belief that apologies signal weakness is despicable. And amid a crowded field of bad takes, one that always stands out to me is his declaration that “luck is a name that losers give to their own failings.”
But as tempting as it is to laugh at and bemoan Richard’s wrongheadedness, the film gets a lot better when we—in addition to showing him grace given his dire financial straits—look to give Richard his due.
That starts with recognizing that for all his faults, he genuinely loves Olive. (In fact, I’m here to tell you the movie falls apart pretty fast if you don’t believe that.) After he declares that “we’re going to California,” his Act-I ending hug is heartfelt. He’s misguided in many ways, but he is determined to see Olive happy and successful. And this determination inspires resiliency and resourcefulness on multiple occasions. Think about the guts and charisma it takes to convince a complete stranger to lend you their scooter. Think about the room-reading it takes to recognize that no amount of logic will convince Pageant Official Jenkins to relent; and the humility it takes to kneel and beg for her clemency.
To be fair, some of his most resourceful moments tend to involve criminal acts—I’m thinking, of course, of stealing Grandpa from the hospital and then committing a flurry of vehicular code violations in Redondo Beach’s parking lots and sidewalks as he refuses to be late to the pageant. And yet, if there’s mental and philosophical room to say that crimes can evince good parenting, these acts seem to fit into that room.
It’s in Richard’s failures, though, that we can reverse-engineer some credit for Richard. His marriage to Sheryl is in shambles. (An obvious Film Lit discussion question is, “What happens to the 9 Steps when the Hoovers return to New Mexico?” A related and important one is, “Do Richard and Sheryl go through with the divorce once they return?”) But if we believe Sheryl is noble and grounded and loving—and come on, who doesn’t?—then we should agree that her seeing enough in Richard to marry him is quite the character witness testimony.
Along those lines, think about what we learn in the Stan Grossman scene. Richard has struck out. But we know that in the “Idea Expo” space, Stan Grossman is a big deal. We also know that Richard somehow sold Stan Grossman on the 9 Steps. Now, Stan is an opportunist (and perhaps a bit of a grifter) for sure, but I for one believe that he is sincere that he tried his best to sell the program. I believe he is disappointed (but not devastated) that “no one bought it.” What I’m saying is—and Richard would not want to hear this—a lot has to go right in order for Stan Grossman to break your heart like that.
And, not to put too fine a point on it, but Grandpa is right. In his one moment of sentimentality with his son, he articulates an effective endorsement for Richard. Richard is just doing what the American ethos encourages people to do: he had a dream, and he went for it.
“I’m just . . . uh . . . worried about the time.”
I love the shots of the southwestern landscape; they set a pattern of a world that is sparse and unforgiving; as such, they very much pay homage to The Grapes of Wrath. One of my favorites is after Grandpa has died, and the camera looks straight up into the sky, its vision interrupted by the maze of overpasses.
It’s a good sign, I think, that so far, and without a close second, the shot most students say is their favorite is the one of Olive consoling Dwayne after he has learned he is colorblind. As is the case for so many things in this film, it’s presented patiently and methodically. We see a low angle wide show with Dwayne and Olive in the foreground, and the adults in the background, standing on the ridge. Dwayne has just ripped into them, and they look (and feel) small and pathetic. What he has said hurts, precisely because he has articulated nothing they haven’t said to themselves at one point.
Olive’s empathy here crystallizes why she’s the perfect protagonist for this film. She wants to win more than anything—except being a kind human. It’s a beautiful moment visually, and emotionally. (I’ll just add here that I’ll die convinced that the wonderful Inside Out paid homage to this scene when Joy and Sadness take turns consoling Bing Bong.) Dwayne is right about her: at least as the pageants are currently constituted, Olive is not a beauty queen. She is exceptional, but not in any way that will win her the awards she wants. And at the same time, I think she’s self-aware enough to know that—at best—she is a long shot to win. She knows who she is.
“I want to dedicate this performance to my grandpa . . . who showed me these moves.”
One small but telling moment merits mention here: Olive is backstage checking herself out in the mirror when Sheryl asks if she’s okay. She replies simply, “Yeah. I’m fine.” This line tells us she is not delusional. She is brave.
Her earnestness puts the pageant’s absurdity into clear relief. The spray tan is a moment that irks me, but no less so than the impeccably acted emcee, who is by turns creepy and sincere: he honestly believes he’s doing a good thing out there. And I should mention that thus far, every class I’ve watched this film with has featured audible groans from the students when he launches his rendition of “America the Beautiful.” Mission accomplished, filmmakers.
Her performance—which she adorably owns—also takes a major swipe at the pageant. It forces us to ask: where exactly do the pageant officials and attendees draw the line? Let’s grant that it’s inappropriate for a seven-year-old to be doing a stripping routine. But what exactly makes it so disgusting to this particular audience? Haven’t they smiled on 7-year-olds competing in a swimsuit competition? Are they seriously blind to all the inappropriate hyper-sexualized elements that gird this competition? Are they unaware of all the damage they are doing to these girls?
In this light, I have to say I love Miss California’s reaction; I’m not sure what it says about her that she’s super into it, but I can’t help but smile.
“You’re not nearly as stupid as you look.”
This movie is just about perfect. The one critique I have is about a moment that is both very popular and, in my view, excessively on the nose. It’s Dwayne’s beauty pageant rant to Frank on the pier. And again, I know people love it. (And, to be sure, I love Frank’s Proust life lessons speech.) But think about it this way: if you take that moment out, do viewers still get the core message that judging yourself by toxic standards isn’t a good idea? I think you do.
Until the day comes when I teach this film with The Grapes of Wrath and Interstellar, it’s a welcome member of the Film Lit curriculum. It takes on well-covered societal issues and does so with humor that is multifaceted and genuine, unquestionable heart, and a relentless commitment to its characters’ humanity.
If I may: it’s a real winner.
See you May 3rd, when we discuss the final film in the Film Lit Pitch Phase One: The Prestige (2006).
P.s. Did anyone else notice that Phase One has three movies from 2006?