I don’t see how I could've picked anything other than a Wes Craven movie to watch this week.
The filmmaker not only left a huge impact to horror, reinventing it three times in his career, but helped formulate my love for the genre as he did for so many film nerds before me. Scream came a definitive moment in my teenage life. It, alongside the Evil Dead series and Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive, tested my understanding of what fright flicks could become or how they could be toyed and mended with to beautifully devilish results. Though the Scream mold has been done almost to death by now, even by Craven himself, his masterfully-handled pacing and fearless lack of restraint — even in regard to his own films — is more than revolutionary to me: it opened my eyes to what boundaries could be pushed in cinema and where not only scary films could go, but where comedy could exceed in the process. All without losing the magic of one or the other.
For these reasons, I debated re-watching Scream, if only to remember Craven as I knew him best. It will likely always remain my favorite from him, though I enjoyed the original Nightmare on Elm Street a great deal too, as well as Scream 2 and Red Eye, just to name a few. But based on my own code, I’ve used this column as a means of expanding my film-watching horizons. I created it to invest me only deeper into film culture, and explore those movies that are timely, relevant and important at the moment. I don’t always follows those procedures, but I try to. Nevertheless, this — in addition to the somewhat limited selection of Craven films on Netflix — prohibited me from checking out some of his most revered classics. Those would include his debut, 1972’s The Last House on the Left, his sophomore feature, 1977’s The Hills Have Eyes, and, what’s often considered one of his most underrated achievements, The People Under the Stairs. But it did give me an opportunity to look outward.
Music of the Heart, his only foray outside the horror/thriller bailiwick, will not be the movie he's remembered by, and it shouldn't be. Its intentions are sincere, but its execution is often tacky, hokey and fairly overwrought. It’s essentially Dangerous Minds by the ways of Mr. Holland’s Opus, occasionally veering its way into Lifetime territory. It’s a little too saccharine to completely succeed. But in light of the pain, I felt it was more fitting to celebrate life rather than bathe in blood and death, like, you know, his other movies tend to do from time-to-time. It also felt better on my conscious and seemed more respectful to the filmmaker, if in a mild way. Craven never sought to become simply a genre director. He, like many, had bigger aspirations and — while it’s far-from-perfect — his 1999 drama demonstrates the softer, sweeter and well-mannered man he was, as recognized by those who knew him, more than his other films really ever could.
Mawkishly dramatizing the life story of Roberta Guaspari, a music educator and violinist in Harlem who fought to keep music and the arts alive in inner-city schools, Craven’s heart is woven inside deep. A former English professor, the fight to keep arts and music programs inside the education system appears of genuine concern to the filmmaker here. The sincere message is genuinely affecting at times, primarily because Craven lets it come through Guaspari’s story rather than overpower it. But too often it can become a little nauseating too. Its heavy-handed score, paper-thin supporting characters and overbearing foreshadowing protrude more than they move. But Craven’s unabashed direction, like Freddy to his victims, sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
The director balances Guaspari’s struggles at work and home well, delicately fleshing her out throughout his two-hour film with the help of his leading actress Meryl Streep (in a role which, naturally, got her an Oscar nomination). Through this, he lets the audience feel her love and dedication rather than simply state it (though he's not innocent of this at times either, necessarily), despite her meaner tendencies and her overly forthright attitude. Guaspari’s character, and Streep’s performance behind her, is where Craven succeeds when he does. And though the other characters, including the all-too-perfect kids and the all-too-snobby other teachers, aren’t necessarily on her level, Craven continues to pluck at what makes Guaspari so captivating just enough to feel her significance. It doesn’t make it all come together in perfect harmony, but it does make the little moment all the more tender and well felt.
Like many great directors, Craven wished to exceed the basics of his stories. He used his movies to speak to something greater to the public, often using their fears and insecurities, as well as his own, to communicate these themes thoroughly. This may very well be his most simplistic film, but it's not absent from these goals by any means. The message is loud, and its presentation is way too glossy. But Craven’s voice as always, is heard. Its didactic approach isn’t for everyone, much like Guaspari, but the director knows those who see the method behind the teacher's madness will shine through. Through this, Music of the Heart lets the filmmaker sing instead of slay, if just a little. It also let Craven define himself beyond his comfort zone and express a side he could never show before. For that alone, this drama is worth hearing, even if it doesn't necessarily deserve the encore his other, better films earned so effortlessly.
Image courtesy of Amazon