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Abraham Lincoln looms large over the whole country, and
always will. There is a certain ambivalence about the man still in the South,
where he came to represent the tragedy of the war in which so many were lost
and the terrible years after in which, without his leadership, the country was
left to mend itself through chaos and dissent, a certain amount of which still
blankets the hearts and minds of its people. Writers of the nation’s history
tell us he was a great man, truly a hero, but he looks strange and almost
surreal. Photographs reveal a serious man, rawboned and perhaps brokenhearted
by the tasks put before him in his lifetime. We read his stories and his quips,
we know of his personal burdens and challenges, and we know of the conflicts he
faced, internal and external.
Earlier plays, books and films have portrayed him as
stentorian and wise, perhaps also depressive and inaccessible, always larger
than life, and bearing up under unimaginable pressure. Stephen Spielberg
dispels some of that awe in Lincoln, his masterly new film which, it is assumed,
will sweep the Academy Awards for the year 2012. Written by Tony Kushner, one
of the country’s great playwrights, and based on several newer histories
including Doris Kearns Goodwin’s A Team of Rivals, the screenplay covers the
period in which Lincoln’s primary goal and focus is to pass an amendment to the
Constitution which will outlaw slavery in the country for good, once the war is
over. It’s a brilliant stroke, forcing us to consider what might have happened if
this project had been in the hands of someone less forceful and sure.
His casting of Daniel Day-Lewis as Lincoln was inspired.
Seeing this performance one realizes if there were no more reason than to allow
Day-Lewis the opportunity to play this role it would be enough to mount a major
motion picture. Day-Lewis studied all he could about Lincoln, and the most
impressive choice he made was to use a very human, non-godlike voice in
speaking Lincoln’s words. One sees the pictures, reads the prose, and just
naturally assumes Abraham Lincoln’s voice to be deep and booming, but those who
heard him wrote otherwise. Important actors of previous generations, like
Raymond Massey, played Lincoln’s words in rich, Shakespearean tones, but
Day-Lewis’ Lincoln almost seems to wish he had such a voice. He has so very
much to say, but he seems so human in struggling to say it in folksy,
all-American terms, telling a joke or an offhand comment, as a bit of comedy
relief for the great sorrows of his life and times.
Sally Field adds a very real, almost modern aspect to the
character of Mary Todd Lincoln. Surely this woman is one of the most complex in
American history. Male writers never quite seemed to know what to do with her,
as the men of her time didn’t. She is usually seen as shrewish and perhaps
psychotic, a shopaholic before the term or condition was known, and surely a
drag on Abraham himself, who had enough to worry about without her drama-queen
persona at his side. Field, however, does not seem all that neurotic; she tells
us she has endured the unendurable loss of a child, and that she adores her
husband far more than he does her—which may have been true, and probably was
the way she looked at her life.
The main achievement of Lincoln, in my mind, is its
portrayal of the raffish, rough world of American politics of the day. The
sessions of the House of Representatives looked more like the English House of
Parliament today—slanging matches of insults and impolite back-and-forth by men
who might well be friends in other venues. We meet a crew of motley
near-ruffians known as “operatives” or even lobbyists in the 21st century, who add a note of
comedy to the proceedings of serious democracy. They know whom to pay and how
to do it, even if their lives are threatened and an occasional gun may be waved
in the face. James Spader, once a pretty-boy actor in sexy roles, has graduated
to the status of a character actor, and his work here is outstanding in
creating a genuine American original.
No doubt in many minds Tommy Lee Jones walks away with the
picture. Thaddeus Stevens was a name I recognized, but Jones makes him real and
endows him with a personality and character I will never forget. Jones’
mud-fence-homely face looks even worse now in close-up, and his Stevens is
hardly likable although the audience is induced to wish him to prevail. We
enjoy his heated scenes on the floor of the House. His last scene is a filmic
treasure. I will carp, however, at the choice of such a contemporary,
Dynel-looking toupee for him. I know it’s in the script that he is wearing a
wig, but no self-respecting man (and I’m sure Stevens was that) would have put
on one that looked like that in those days. Also, at the moment he takes it off
he looks as if he has Alopecia or has shaved his head, not like a balding man.
It makes him comic, which neither Tommy Lee Jones nor Thaddeus Stevens, would
want to be in this context.
There are probably some missteps in the historical accuracy
of the movie. I never heard that William Seward was such a supportive
lieutenant in Lincoln’s goals, nor that he was so effective; however, that may simply be a
gap in my historical knowledge. But over all, the movie Lincoln presents such
an accurate picture of the man and his times that it is transformative. I’ve
seen it twice so far and probably will see it again.
