As Doubt's Sister Aloysius, the headmistress of a Catholic school in the Bronx, Meryl Streep reminds me of my fifth-grade science teacher, a former cab driver who commuted to Central Jersey every day from Hoboken. She was a woman who had no interest even in the idea of being pleasant and, furthermore, took a self-righteous pride in her peevishness, as though, if she bothered to consider the feelings of others, she'd merely be kowtowing to an intellectual force less trustworthy than she. She regarded her thoughtless bile as spiritual bravery. Think of someone who boasts that he "doesn't take any shit" but really means that he doesn't take in anything at all.
I had never before spotted a resemblance between Streep and this teacher, and I don't think I will again. Her performance in Doubt is a remarkable transformation -- or it would be remarkable if this were not Meryl Streep, who has transformed herself again and again. Here, her accent is not distractingly potent, and the physical changes are confined to wardrobe and complexion (she's whiter than normal, I think, or perhaps only seems that way in her black habit), yet Streep disappears into sharp-tongued, severe Sister Aloysius. Her character succeeds both as comically over-the-top camp (she delivers deadpan zingers and fiery harangues with gusto) and as chillingly believable, human villainry.
Doubt was directed by John Patrick Shanley, who adapted the script from his own stage play. It takes place in 1964 at St. Nicholas Church and its attached grade school. It hinges on the possibility of sexual misconduct by Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), an eloquent, compassionate priest. I can't recall when, exactly, the brief period during which the biggest story on the news was the sexual abuse within the Catholic Church transpired, but I think it was not long before Doubt's 2004 premiere on Broadway. Yet, by making his story a period piece and expanding its focus to cover issues not merely timely but also timeless and and sometimes forgotten, Shanley avoids a ripped-from-the-headlines flavor; it doesn't seem dated now, and I don't think it will in the near future. The director brings his setting to life without dwelling on it. The school, with its antiseptic early-morning sheen, seems closed off from the outside world, yet we hear echoes of the issues that concerned Catholics in that era -- among them, JFK's assassination, the changes under Vatican II, the role of women in the church, and racial integration.
The boy at the center of the scandal is Donald Miller (Joseph Foster), the school's first black student. A shy, self-conscious newcomer, he needs adult guidance and friendship. Father Flynn provides it. Sister James (Amy Adams), a kindhearted, young teacher, points out their closeness to Sister Aloysius, who instantly becomes convinced of impropriety. But Sister James wonders if the headmistress believes this only because she resents Father Flynn's progressive attitude: He takes sugar in his coffee and encourages the children to sing a secular song ("Frosty the Snowman") at the Christmas pageant.
At first, Father Flynn seems beyond reproach. By the middle, we're not so sure about him. Gradually, it dawns on us that we'll never find out the truth. Doubt's title is especially fitting; it is legal doubt, religious doubt, and finally the viewer's doubt. The film navigates a moral and spiritual minefield without disarming any of the mines; the problems continue to lurk, and it's frequently hard to tell what Shanley's stance is on the issues he brings up. The dialogue is strikingly crisp and precise, but its precision leads us only deeper into ambiguity. Doubt might have been a more conventional problem play, and it would have been less engrossing, but Shanley's approach is not entirely satisfying, either.
I do not want answers from him. In fact, it's tough to say what I want. It's a tricky movie to get ahold of, either as a critic or as an admirer. I believe, however, that the neatness of the ending is unfortunate. The problem is not solved, but it is dismissed, and the resolution imposes only small repercussions upon its characters. Shanley offers a token revelation in the closing moments.
Regardless, Doubt deserves praise. It is one of the most compelling dramas of recent months, beginning as a brisk entertainment with a series of deft, comic juxtapositions and gradually increasing in tension until it becomes an ominous sort of thriller. The actors' lines are loaded with metaphorical significance, but they rarely seem cumbersome.
The cast, moreover, is outstanding. I'm not sure 2008 gave us a better collection of performances. Movie directors have often detected a touch of sexual abnormality in Philip Seymour Hoffman; I think he owes his roles in Boogie Nights, Capote, and, especially, Happiness to this. Reserved and intelligent here, he allows nothing in his behavior to suggest any erotic malignancy, but he does not convey stoic nobility, either. There is a damaged frailty in his well-scrubbed homeliness.
In support, Amy Adams is convincingly sweet, and Viola Davis, as Donald's mother, has a particularly vivid scene, in which a brutal reality suddenly sweeps through the cloistered atmosphere that the film heretofore has protected.
And, as I mentioned before, there is Meryl Streep. I'm a little disappointed when, once again, I feel the Academy Award must go to her. She's received enough acclaim already, and it would be nice to see another actress outdo her. But I can't imagine who may have topped her here.
Coincidentally, I happened to see Doubt today, so your is very timely. Your review captures the film, except you choose not to mention the heresy of ballpoint pens. Also, I like Philip Seymour Hoffman a lot better when he doesn't have any sex scenes. However, I'm not so convinced that Meryl Streep should win the Oscar. She was very good but I wonder if acting so severe isn't the greatest challenge. Are flickers of emotion more difficult to portray than outbursts? Her final scene seemed fake and out-of-character, at least to me.
Posted by: Roy | January 14, 2009 at 01:48 AM
For those who may be confused by the above comment, he means that he prefers Hoffman in Doubt, which has no sex scenes, to Hoffman in Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, which has several. No one gets naked here.
I don't know whether flickers of emotion or outbursts are more difficult for actors, but Streep's awfully good at both. What I like about the role is that it permits explosive garishness in some scenes and a subtle realism in others. But I agree that the final scene is hard to accept. I'm sure it seemed thematically correct on the page, and maybe it worked on stage, but it seemed artificial on screen. I don't think that was Streep's fault, though.
Posted by: Brett Yates | January 14, 2009 at 06:30 PM
Roy only likes gross sex scenes when they're listened to on audio book, not watched in a movie!
Posted by: Shelly | January 17, 2009 at 05:24 PM