The arts and whores Cradle Will Rock
A film review by Michael Redman Copyright 2000 by Michael Redman
**** (out of ****)
Whose whore are you? How far are you willing to prostitute yourself in exchange for comfort?
In one way or another, we all pay for it. "It" in this case being social and economic security. We work boring dead-end jobs so we can pay the rent. We attend meaningless vacuous classes so we can get our degrees. Worst of all, sometimes we compromise our values for financial gain.
In the desperate times of depression-era America, many people were forced into prostitution of one type or another. With starvation just around the next corner, we'd be surprised just what we'd be willing to do for a meal.
Out of work actors were standing in long lines to sign up for the federal WPA theater projects. Most of the WPA workers were out building dams, ponds and sidewalks, but thousands were putting on plays to entertain the masses.
"Cradle Will Rock" follows several plot lines that intersect at various points. Orson Welles (Angus MacFadyen) and John Houseman (Cary Elwes) are producing a pro-union musical by Marc Blitzstein (Hank Azaria). Nelson Rockefeller (John Cusack) hires radical artist Diego Rivera (Ruben Blades) to paint a mural at the Rockefeller Center. Congress is investigating Communists within the theater project. Industrialists are throwing parties and being wooed by the fascists. People are falling in love and babies, being born.
Amazingly the numerous tales flow seamlessly into one another. As the camera zooms in on a piece of background and then pulls back out, you are in a different place with different characters, but there's never a moment of confusion about what is going on.
When the opening credits roll with name after name of renowned actors, you will wonder how they can all fit into one film. Vanessa Redgrave, Joan Cusack, Bill Murray, Susan Sarandon, John Turturro, Emily Watson: the list goes on and on. And they're all great -- not a weak link in the bunch.
The underlying question of the film is the wisdom of public and corporate funding of the arts. It's one big party at the beginning as everyone focuses on their work. Then the modern Golden Rule ("He who has the gold makes the rules") raises its ugly head. Rockefeller wants Rivera to eliminate Lenin from his painting. Congress cuts financing to the pinko plays. Mussolini's beautiful mistress trades old master paintings to the Philistines for contributions to the war effort. Even the actors union, formed to protect its members, gets in the way.
Yet it's all a joy to watch. There are heroes and villains, lovers and enemies, disasters and triumphs. All against the frantic backdrop of prima donas vying for position. It's like a Robert Altman film done by the Coen brothers.
Director and writer Tim Robbins is rapidly becoming a major force in Hollywood. With this, "Bob Roberts" and "Dead Man Walking" to his directoral credit, and a number of wonderful acting roles, he's one to watch.
His brushstrokes are brilliant but a little broad here. The sets are magnificent, the costumes authentic and the color schemes, inviting. But some of the characters are charactures. Perhaps that's inevitable. With so many things going on, the audience needs some shortcuts.
Some of the scenes are grand. The long single-shot opener follows doe-eyed street singer Olive Stanton (Watson) from sleeping behind a movie screen, down an alley out to the street where she washes up from a dripping hydrant oblivious to pedestrians. Like a deer in the urban forest, she's poor but free. The camera then moves up to Blitzstein's apartment. Over five minutes of unedited uncut luxurious filming, it's a pleasure.
The questions the film asks don't belong only in the past. Federal arts funding are currently under attack. Maplethorpe may not have been a Commie but he sure was pink. Workers are being thrown out of jobs, sweatshop conditions abound in other countries, unions are loosing power.
Welcome to the brave new world, same as the old one.
(Michael Redman has been writing this column for a long time, but his memories of the thirties are a little foggy. He's considering taking up selling apples on the street corner as a new career. Email your tales of prostitution to redman@bluemarble.net.)
[This appeared in the 1/27/2000 "Bloomington Independent", Bloomington, Indiana. Michael Redman can be contacted at redman@bluemarble.net.]
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