John Patrick Shanley, a prolific playwright best known in Hollywood for writing the Cher vehicle Moonstruck and directing Tom Hanks in the misunderstood Joe Versus the Volcano, brings his own Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award winning play to the screen in Doubt, a transfixing story about the pursuit of truth, the winds of change, and the devastating, irreversible consequences of gossip and myopic justice.
Doubt takes place in the Bronx, circa 1964. At St. Nicholas, principle Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep) rules the school with an iron fist, controlling the terrified student body through ridged discipline and abject terror. Her truth is the only truth. A stale traditionalist, she is mortified by the liberal methods of the charismatic new parish priest, Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who believes that kindness and empathy are far better motivators than fear. Sister James (Amy Adams), an optimistic innocent who jumps to see only the best in people — and the youngest member of the sisters by decades — appreciates Father Flynn’s compassionate reforms until a situation with the school’s first black student, Donald Miller, causes her to begin questioning everything.
Though she cannot believe that someone so good could also be capable of something so heinous, Sister James begins to suspect that Father Flynn’s exorbitant personal interest in Donald may be more than simply shepherding a lost sheep, but may, in fact, be of an inappropriate sexual nature. When she voices her diminutive, half-formed suspicions to Sister Aloysius — who had already commanded her fellow nuns to watch for anything untoward in Father Flynn’s behavior — the older woman leaps tenaciously into a personal crusade to vanquish the allegedly predator priest.
Sister Aloysius moves forward with a deep moral certainty and what can only be described as experiential ESP. Though she has no proof whatsoever of wrongdoing, the razor-taloned matriarch locks into a battle of wills with Father Flynn, which threatens to tear the community apart. Though Flynn is a breath of fresh, modern air, he still enjoys the church’s medieval pecking order — he views the nuns under him as subservient, second-class citizens and certainly nothing to be feared. But as events spiral out of control, dreadfully out of proportion to the rumors that set them going in the first place, Flynn learns how gossip and innuendo, feeding on itself, can lead to disaster.
How do we address the suspicions and uncertainties that we have with our fellow human beings, family members, friends and neighbors? These are the issues Doubt aims to illustrate, evoking but never actually addressing everything from McCarthy’s political witch-hunts to post 9/11 America. Doubt, which borrows a page from David Mamet’s Oleanna, is a film that operates on two levels, a surface level that is comprised of a story about alleged pedophilia, and a deeper level that uses the base story as a metaphor for a provocative examination of the tenuous nature of faith — faith in God and faith in our fellow man. Shanley’s original play was titled Doubt: A Parable, cluing us in instantly to the fact that there is much more to his words than meets the eye.
It was Oscar Wilde who said, “The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.” Too often, truth is the first thing lost in the assumption of certainty. Certainty, the opposite of doubt, can be just as destructive when misguidedly applied. Behind the bluster of our first convictions is the nagging voice that keeps us up at night — how can you know for sure?! Or, are you so committed to your cause that you simply can’t back down now? Sister Aloysius is a model of hard-won conviction trumping human indecisiveness. She is a testament to remaining sure and steadfast in a world of irresolution and vacillation. But absolute belief does not guarantee correct outcomes. The fatal folly of arrogance is the unwillingness to accept that doubt too is a powerful tool, stymieing unchecked belligerence and bringing us back around to the truth with ever-greater conviction.
Doubt is a film in which both leads wear masks. Father Flynn’s comes in the form of his homilies, the revealing and self-incriminating nature of which is open to interpretation. Sister Aloysius, on the other hand, may be happy to portray herself as a crone, but we know better. Her masks manifest themselves as self righteousness though Shanley dollops out just enough real righteousness so that we know she is human after all. Her dogmatic insistence on a code of personal behavior matching her own moralistic rigidity camouflages virtues embarrassed to be seen in the light of day — bashful compassion and timid tolerance.
Like Frost/Nixon, Doubt is not a film you go to for visual grandeur or technical wizardry. This is a simple story simply told. Doubt’s pleasures are crackling dialogue, top-rate acting, provocative themes and serious convictions. The performances are uniformly tremendous. Prepare yourself for Meryl Streep’s 15th (!) Academy Award nomination and very possibly, her third win. Her steely, ferocious portrayal of a tyrannical nun, whose starch-stiff values and obsessive need to maintain order may blind her to the truth, is nothing short of formidable. We have gotten so used to Phillip Seymour Hoffman delivering breathtaking performances that we may begin taking them and him for granted. Let’s hope not, because, as usual, he is phenomenal here, a magnificent mix of jaunty magnetism and crestfallen vulnerability. The ever-delightful Amy Adams is also outstanding, especially in several key scenes, but it is Viola Davis, who plays the mother of the allegedly abused boy, who shines in the supporting role. Though her time on screen is brief, Davis fills it with a titanic performance.
Director Shanley manages to deftly balance graceful compassion with cold detachment. Know now that Doubt may not gift-wrap the resolution you desire. Ambiguity is assured in the very title of the film. Some will walk out of the theater convinced they know the truth, though they may find their interpretation of the truth conflicts with their neighbor’s. Others will find frustration in a script that gives us no more omnipotent insight than that available to the characters. Is there a clear confession? An admission of guilt? A vindication of innocence? Who is right and who is wrong is an exercise in which the audience is expected to participate. Certainty is impossible. And that’s both the exasperating and the reassuring point.
© Copyright 2008 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.
