The Green Mile Reviewed

ROVIN' AND RAVIN' WITH MIKE

The Not So Long Green Mile

At the end of its three hours The Green Mile throws out an almost irresistible challenge. "The green mile"—the death row on which most of the movie is set, but which comes to represent life itself—"is so long." The three hours of The Green Mile, however, is not too long, even for someone who starts ravin' every time a movie ventures very far past its second hour. I no more begrudge this film its third hour than I begrudge a novel by Charles Dickens its final two hundred pages. In fact, I haven’t been able to get Dickens out of my mind since I saw The Green Mile. That is not just because this film is such a touching portrayal of life in prison, where people are reduced to such extremes that a pan of cornbread is a great gift and a man about to die has nothing to leave behind, nothing to worry about, but a mouse.

Somewhere in the pursuit of a graduate degree in English, I decided that Dickens is the 4-H writer: heroism, horror, humor… and hogwash. All those four, at their best and their worst, are present in The Green Mile. Of course, a fifth H in this movie is Tom Hanks, who has more than any other actor of his generation has become a national treasure—and that comes to you without a trace of irony. Hanks plays Paul Edgecomb, who is in charge of death row at a Louisiana prison in the 1930’s. This is no ordinary prison and no ordinary prison official. Hanks actually treats the condemned men (a politically correct mix of Native American, black, and white) on "the mile" with respect. He steps into the cells with them, shakes hands with them, does not raise his voice at them.

In short, he seems almost too good to be true. At the Cold Mountain prison, however, the good guys are good guys—and the bad guys are good guys, too. That could lead to some Dickensian excesses of sentimentality, but each side has one very bad guy indeed. There is a sadistic guard (Doug Hutchison), who owes his job to his aunt, the governor’s wife, and who torments guards and prisoners equally; there is also a natural born killer "Wild Bill" Wharton (Sam Rockwell), who is equally an equal-opportunity dispenser of misery.

And there is John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan), a huge man who suddenly appears with the bloody bodies of two little girls in his arms. It is in the South in the thirties. He is black, and the girls are white. He is condemned to die. So far, there are no surprises. But, then, the surprises start coming on very fast. Coffey, it seems, has some sort of mystical empathy, so much so that he not only (and literally) can "feel your pain" but also can cure it.

The story goes in many directions but stays focused on the prison ward. One reason that it holds interest so well is that the film is lushly, almost lovingly detailed—special praise for designer Terence Marsh. The prison feels like a prison, but it feels like so much more. Director/script writer Frank Darabont repeats the success he had five years ago with The Shawshank Redemption in bringing a Stephen King prison story to the screen. The prison becomes a sort of laboratory for moral and spiritual experiment and experience.

This is a very gentle movie with very violent content. The film is divided into acts by three executions. In fact, part of the narrative drive of the film is the implicit countdown to the next trip to "Old Sparky." There are three murders. This is not your typical holiday fare, but neither is it a typical prison film. There is some obscenity, but not as much as might be expected. All in all, the proceedings maintain a level of dignity. Perhaps the worst missteps involve Coffey's mysterious healings, in which some unnecessary, almost comic, special effects are added, which for some reason made me think of similar effects in The Mummy. Actually, they are closer to the grotesque talking dog of Summer of Sam which had the audience laughing. There are some spiritual realities that just do not need and cannot support visual imagery.

The actors perform their tasks with an almost radiant nobility—perhaps, a bit too much nobility. Newcomer Michael Clarke Duncan, as John Coffey, works his own wonders with a role that allows him little normal human interaction. As one character remarks, he seems almost to have fallen out of the sky, and like the anatomically-challenged angels of Dogma, he seems to be lacking some human dimensions.

James Cromwell (Hal Moores), who held his own with a photogenic porker in Babe, has been brightening the screen more and more, bringing a quiet moral center to his roles. Michael Jeter (Eduard Delacroix) holds his own with Mr. Jingles, a mouse who can give Stuart Little a run for the cheese. But it is unfair to single out members of a superb ensemble.

Hanks, once more, does what he does best. As good as that is, it just may turn into playing Tom Hanks. He gets stuck in a lot of "no gurlz allowed" movies (Saving Private Ryan) and rarely plays a character involved in a fully-developed relationship with a woman. As Forrest Gump, he worshipped more than related. In You've Got Mail! there was a convenient computer screen shielding his character from many complexities of a relationship. Watching the moments Hanks and Bonnie Hunt as Paul's wife Jan share the screen--some of the most truly magical moments of this magical movie--I wondered how films like For Love of the Game and The Story of Us would have fared with Hanks in the leading roles.

This is a film that I very much like. It was not until I walked out of the theater into the garishly decorated megaplex and heard "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" (perhaps my most unfavorite song of Christmas) that I realized just how outright gruesome it is. Be warned. But, if you do go to see it, be prepared to shed a few tears and perhaps to wake up in the middle of the night with a feeling that you can't decide is painful or comforting.

Charles Dickens, as I said, has been on my mind lately, doubly, with a well made prison film at the Christmas season. He has also been thoroughly, amazingly present on my computer, thanks to The Dickens Page, which could keep a Dickens fan busy for a millenium or two.

No matter what color your miles, or how many hours you walk, keep your feet dry and your heart full of noble thoughts of the healing that we all need.