Sheesh. Some people will call anything “romance,” won’t they? One can only hope this biopic wasn’t true to life because, quite frankly, there are minion/supervillain relationships more endearing than this one. I would sooner believe Igor French-kissing Dr. Frankenstein than Maudie (Sally Hawkins) and Everett (Ethan Hawke) getting down in their sofa-less shack.
Maud, who is referred to as “Maudie” exactly zero times in two hours, needs to escape her relatives. It’s clear at the onset that her kin have passed her around like doobie at a Grateful Dead concert and are now fairly frustrated with the middle-aged, hunchbacked, bow-legged and heavily arthritic chain smoking wallflower who spends the majority of her time painting … wallflowers. Given her physical issues and meek disposition, Maud mistakenly strikes one as mentally challenged as well. When she misses social cues, we might instantly chalk it up to lack of cognizance rather than lack of desire, but the latter is almost certainly the case. She knows full well her people see her as a burden and so when the local hermit fishpeddler Everett advertises the need for a house cleaner, Maud is all over the change-of-scene possibility.
Oh goody, Everett is even worse at communication than Maud. An awkward interview yields no fruit. Encouraged by the local pastor, however, Everett takes Maud on so he can accuse her of sloth and theft. It takes a special kind of mentality to examine your two-level, two room, 200 sq. ft. hovel and insist the place gets locked up whenever you leave. If I could stomach the director’s cut, I’d eagerly await the line, “but somebody might steal mah filth!” 1950s Nova Scotia was a magical land thousands of miles and decades removed from dust bowl Okies, and yet Everett clearly reveres the Joad’s lifestyle and fashion sense.
After delivering no instructions on what Everett wants done, Maud starts to feel out the place, is once again accused of theft, and gets tossed on her ass where she -now- has nowhere to go. Maud, of course, doesn’t go down that easy as folks tend not to when the have no recourse. Neither does she leave when the stoic Everett insults her, hits her (yes, hits her, hard, in the face with the back of his fist), and eventually gives in to room and board, but she’s gotta sleep in his bed for lack of other options. Ah, romance.
I don’t believe these two ever kiss in the film. If I didn’t describe this well enough already, Everett is just as messed up as Maud (which should tell you something about how awful Maud’s life was pre-Everett). His scowlish perspective lies independent of society, hygiene, beauty, companionship, and thought. His default move is a grunt and a scoff. He doesn’t smile or talk, and has no understanding that these are things one might want in life. Romance in the world of Everett amounts to an admission that Maud has surpassed the livestock (but not the dogs) in the non-negotiable microfarm hierarchy. I’m sorry, but my romance needs a little more smoke, you know?
And then, paint. Maud is a painter. A terrible, terrible painter. I don’t believe Everett lives in a world of color, hence paint means nothing to him, so he grudgingly lets Maud have her hobby until he sees there’s profit to be had at which point, she still has her hobby and he’s one shade less grimace-y. Of course, they don’t own a proper receptacle to display her art [read: a refrigerator] so she pretty much paints crap wherever she pleases. For Maud, whose standards are lower than the 1950s Nova Scotia GDP, this is bliss: “Dear Diary: I now have a man who tolerates me and the ability to draw a cat on used plywood! Jackpot!”
I have been overwhelmed in attempting to explain the popularity (7.7 currently on imdb, several film festival awards to its credit) of this pathetic and fairly dull love story. I finally got it – this is the ultimate Republican romance. [Ironic, given the Canadian setting, huh?] And by that I mean one in which the master-servant relationship develops into husband and wife. Our hero Everett is the conservative throw-back icon: self-made, paranoid, and simple. He is the very embodiment of the current Republican philosophy “I got mine, now fuck off.” His curiosity and understanding of the world extends exactly as far as the front door. Maud is the perfect companion – practically a mail-order bride, she’s meek of
body and countenance, and subservient beyond a fault. When she’s out of line, Everett abuses her and is rewarded with loyalty, not unlike the kowtowing of a whupped mongrel. Of course this appeals to the MAGA crowd – here’s a guy who is tough, stoic and completely independent; it doesn’t matter that he has the IQ of a potted plant and the manners of a spider monkey; he has “earned” the right to be in charge at all times. Women aren’t allowed that right. Compromise to him means: you do what he wants and he’ll allow you to do some things he doesn’t care about. He doesn’t have to change one iota. You can call this charming, but I call it several levels of awful. Look, I know I’m beating a strawman here; I know several Republicans who are wonderful, free-thinking and generous people. Thing is, the rhetoric and voting pattern describes this paragraph to a $, and until all Republicans start entertaining the inevitable, well-earned, and democracy-saving impeachment procedures, I’m not going to stop the frequency with which I voice my POV.
I can see how some, especially critics, might see this simple romance as a beautiful interlocking of misshapen puzzle pieces. “It looks odd, but it works!” I agree, it does work. But when I fit all the pieces together, I get a grotesque evil clown design. No offense, Canada, but whatever desire I might have had to visit Nova Scotia is long gone now. Bleak, dour, and painfully boring, this whole picture is like a graffiti’d smiley face hastily scrawled in an abandoned war zone. At the end of the day, I’d rather that puzzle stay in the box.
♪If Maud had some taste what would she paint?
And would you buy it from her place?
If you were faced with Her and hubby Everett
Where would she live if she displayed reflection
And yeah, yeah, Maud is slight
Yeah, yeah, almost bright
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if Maud put up a fuss?
Had some issues to discuss
Acted like a succubus
When she made her way home? ♫
Rated PG-13, 115 Minutes
D: Aisling Walsh
W: Sherry White
Genre: Stockholm Syndrome
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Critics
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Aesthetes
♪ Parody inspired by “One of Us”
