May December More Dull than Shocking

 

 

 

MAY DECEMBER (2023)

Directed by Todd Haynes

Netflix, 117 minutes, R (nudity, drugs, language, subject matter)

★★

 

May December is a Todd Haynes film based upon the true-life story of Mary Kay Letourneau in which she, a teacher, seduced 12-year-old student Vili Faulaau. When her crime was discovered, Letourneau was pregnant with their first child. She was sentenced to six years in prison for child-rape, which was reduced to 6 months on the condition she avoid contact with Faulaau. She violated her parole, was pregnant with their second child, and spent seven years in prison. She was 35 when she initiated sex with Faulaau, then a 6^th grader. The two married in 2005, shortly after she was released. They stayed wedded for 14 years until they divorced in 1999.

 

May December is a lightly veiled (in more ways than one) version of May Kay and Vili that relocates the affair from Washington State to Savannah, makes her student 13 instead of 12, and rechristens him as Joe Yoo (Charles Melton), who is Southeast Asian rather than Samoan. May Kay is fashioned as Gracie Atherton (Julianne Moore), who dumps her husband to play rockabye baby with Joe. Director Todd Haynes insisted that his movie was an homage to Ingmar Bergman’s Winter Light (1963) and Persona (1966). Yeah, and I’m Henry VIII, I am, I am.

 

The film was reviewed positively, won a few awards, and Melton was singled out for excellence as a supporting actor at various cinema festivals. Yet, it was a box office bomb that lost 75% of its $20 million budget. It seems that audiences found the content creepy, no matter what the critics said. I wasn’t offended by the subject matter nearly as much as I was bored. A very old movie adage holds that if you’re going to go over the top, go way over. May December could have been done as camp and it would have been a better movie.

 

A filmmaker corollary says that if you intend to make a serious film and you aren’t Ingmar Bergman, be sure to have something to say. I generally like Julianne Moore, but May December turns her into a fading magnolia rather than a MYOB spitfire. She just wants people to see her and Joe as good Georgia neighbors and community members. Fat chance when they have three biracial kids, one a college student and twins in high school. You can imagine the hazing they undergo from peers who know the deeper story. As we meet Joe, he’s a big hunk, a lunk, and blue-collar guy with a flat affect.

 

Into their lives comes a movie company wanting to film their story. Sure, there’s nothing like having a famous actress, Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman) coming to town to “study” for her upcoming role to protect one’s privacy. Berry talks to people all over Savannah about the Yoo family. Surprise! Gracie is viewed as immoral, a bad role model, and a criminal. It doesn’t help that her ex-husband badmouths her and is happy to play the role of victim, which wasn’t quite the case. Joe is cast in a victim’s role, something Berry presses him on. Did he ever feel he was groomed? Was Joe too young in 6^th grade? Did Gracie took advantage of him? He contemplates the last question, though he mostly rejects it. In more candid moments he admits to having enjoyed the sex. I’ll bet; what 13-year-old boy wouldn’t wish to get up close and personal with Julianne Moore? But he’s flirting with 40 now. 

 

Melton is the best part of the film. He plays Joe as a dim-bulb who, apparently, hadn’t thought about these matters before. That stretches credulity, but Melton almost makes us believe it. If only he hadn’t bedded Elizabeth/Portman, the story would have been more believable. (They are the pair that has the steamiest sex in the film.) Even less believable is his instant guilt, which doesn’t jive with the boredom he displays toward Gracie. We know from later in the film that Gracie and Joe separate, just before Gracie (like Mary Kay) dies from cancer.

 

The Mary Kay Letourneau story is a sad one that should have made for a dramatic retelling. “Boredom” is a word one would never expect from such material.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

Bear With Me: Dan Horowitz and Human/Bear Interactions

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEAR WITH ME: A CULTURAL HISTORY OF FAMOUS BEARS (2025)

By Daniel Horowitz

Duke University Press, 209 pages.

★★★★ ½

 

I was watching a movie a few nights ago when I got a warning from my neighborhood listserv that a large potentially dangerous bear had been seen in my neighborhood. I get these regularly and tend to ignore them. What am I supposed to do, lasso it? Besides, Massachusetts has black bears and I’m only in danger if I’m a blueberry bush or if I’m stupid enough to get between a sow and her cubs. Your encyclopedia of choice will tell you that black bears are omnivores, but that just means that an emaciated one might resort to eating road kill. If that’s me, they’re welcome to have a nibble.

 

Understanding how humans perceive bears has been done with more panache by Smith College professor emeritus Dan Horowitz in his newest book Bear With Me. To state bias upfront, Dan is a friend and former colleague. Among the things I admire about him is that he takes popular culture seriously. After all, a solid case could be made that popular culture is American culture. He wants to explore why bears are probably the most represented animal in our culture.  Some–white and brown bears like the polar, Grizzly, and Kodiak–are indeed potentially deadly. But is popular culture to blame for dangerous encounters?  Yesterday, I saw a little girl in a park hugging her Teddy Bear. I hope that her parents have taught her that Teddy is make-believe but wild bears should never be touched.

 

Horowitz opens with “Folkloric Bears and Actual Ones.” Is the lesson of Goldilocks that bears can harm you, or merely that you shouldn’t intrude upon the property of others? Horowitz draws upon global folklore wends his way into African- American tales to highlight the ambiguity: American culture doesn’t send clear distinctions between folkloric and humorous bears from “actual” ursids. How many colleges have friendly bear mascots? What do we do with Brer Bear, Garfield’s Pooky Bear, or Yogi Bear? Fat Bear Week videos from Alaska’s Katmai region give us bears snatching salmon from the air as if they are Joey Chestnut-like competitive eaters. Horowitz follows with tales of Hugh Glass, Grizzly Adams, and Timothy Treadwell to underscore the potential fury of bears, though he speculates that bears can be linked to Manifest Destiny, a manly conquest of obstacles embedded in the wild.

 

In chapter four he returns to children, specifically tales in which bears are personified: the Three Bears, Winnie-the-Pooh, Paddington Bear, Care Bears, and the Berenstain Bears. (The latter provide an opportunity to look at backdoor antisemitism.) His dissection of Grizzly Adams again sounds an alarm. The TV series and Adams’ penchant for giving bears human names gloss reality:  “Adams forgot that he was James Capen Adams and [the bears] were not Ben Franklin or Lady Washington but rather wild bears he apparently both loved and violently trained.” In 1858, one captive bear bit through Adams’ skull and into his brain. This ultimately proved fatal.

 

Horowitz often uses the word “domination” when it comes to human/bear interactions. He makes it explicit in “Captive Bears and Their Captors as Workers,” which looks at bruins in zoos, circuses, on TV, and in films and video games. Changing mores have sparked debates over whether captive animals are being denied their natural roles. This may seem obvious, but saying so has also empowered defenders of capture practices. Mark Dumas claims to have domesticated a polar bear; others have “rescued” cubs to “teach” them how to be wild. Horowitz does not use the word “enslavement,” but he implies it. He further pinpoint sthe central dichotomy between bears as veritable monsters– “Cocaine Bear,” for instance–versus “cuddly,” friendly bears. Horowitz takes a deeper dive on Teddy Bears and Smokey the Bear, each of whom has appeared as cuddly and scary. Are bears racialized? His comparison of bears to golliwogs deserves serious contemplation.

 

Although I understand why he went there, his separate chapter on bears and gay subcultures is cursory and could have been reworked and folded into his final chapter on “bears, humans, and dangerous eroticism.” But Horowitz is spot on to make the plight of Arctic polar bears his coda. This intriguing book will please both scholars for its meticulous documentation, and general readers, who will debate his vivid examples.

 

Rob Weir