It's easy to criticize "Terms of Endearment". Let's face it: because of the last half-hour of the film, it is now only remembered as a sentimental tearjerker with nothing important to say and nothing of substance to offer the viewer (outside of a good, long, cathartic cry). Even my own husband, in the final moments of the film, exclaimed in frustration, "I get it! Just get on with it already!". While I sat there uncontrollably weeping, hooked into this movie that I'd seen several times before, my response to John's outburst was a moment of shock; I couldn't believe someone else was not able to see what I was seeing. Despite my numerous viewings over the years, I had never watched "Terms of Endearment" with the clarity and appreciation as I did this time around.
This film is not, contrary to what you may have been led to believe, a big weepy melodrama. And this is the precise reason that "Terms of Endearment", based on Larry McMurtry's novel, was so unique and powerful when it was released in 1983 -- and remains so today. Before "Terms", movies that culminated in a key character's death (usually of a terminal illness) were big weepy melodramas. I'm thinking of "Love Story", "Doctor Zhivago", and even one I particularly enjoy, "Now, Voyager", just to name a few.
But "Terms" is different. The hour-and-forty-minutes leading up to the tragic finale can't be, and shouldn't be, discounted. Director/adapter James L. Brooks and the exceptional cast come brilliantly together to make movie magic. The story is wonderfully quirky, encompassing all manner of poignant, and often hilarious, subjects: mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, dating and sex, love and marriage, children and parents, friends and lovers. But it is this quirkiness that gives "Terms of Endearment" its most potent, enduring gift: it is utterly, raucously, heartbreakingly REAL. The unadorned reality makes the comedy that much funnier...and, of course, the tragedy that much more devastating. Perhaps this reason more than any other is why most people only remember "Terms" as a five-hankie tearjerker.
Yet how fearless honesty got misconstrued as big-screen soap opera is beyond me. The only reason that comes to mind is that the unabashed realism of the movie, which unarguably presented us with a cold hard look at the death of a loved one, was, for many, entirely too uncomfortable and close to home. So what better way to deal with it than to laugh it off, to ignore the discomfort and the painful feelings it arouses, and relegate it to the realm of the maudlin, the mushy, and the melodramatic? "Hmph! A story about REAL LIFE?!? That'll learn 'em!" Well, that's a cop-out.
"Terms of Endearment" is the story of the relationship between spunky, discriminating widow Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) and her endearingly oddball daughter Emma (Debra Winger). Buzzing around this main relationship are several others: Emma and her lovable loser husband Flap (Jeff Daniels); Aurora and her horny ex-astronaut neighbor Garrett (Jack Nicholson); Emma and her vastly different children, two sons and a daughter; Flap and his student/mistress; Emma and her man-on-the-side (John Lithgow); Aurora and her eternally-devoted circle of Texan suitors (among them, an adorable Danny DeVito); Emma and her best friend Patsy (Lisa Hart Carroll); Aurora and her faithful maid Rosie, who's also sort of a more-accessible mother figure for Emma. So you see, tossing this movie into a category of "mindless fluff designed to illicit tears" is offensive. This is a story first and foremost of relationships. In all their bizarre, frustrating, comic, and yes, even sad, beauty.
It had probably been ten or more years since I last saw "Terms of Endearment". Perhaps because I'm a much different person now than I was then serves as the reason that last night's viewing seemed like an altogether new experience. I picked up on things I hadn't noticed before. Scenes that didn't affect me in the past now provoked gales of laughter, or rivers of tears. I recognized the absolute genius of the script. I saw the performances differently; I saw the relationships differently; I saw the characters differently. As a result, I saw myself differently. I don't need to tell you: only truly exceptional movies have this power.
Shirley MacLaine won a much-deserved Oscar for her work here. In a mile-long resume of flawless performances, it is Aurora Greenway for which MacLaine will perhaps be best-remembered. She is simply extraordinary every second she is onscreen. Hell, she deserved the Oscar for the now-legendary "Give my daughter the shot!" scene alone. But MacLaine goes above and beyond the "spunky older gal" image of Aurora and succeeds beautifully in doing something next-to-impossible: she creates a character with whom we both empathize and sympathize -- and whom we both love and hate in equal measure. As controlling and "proper" as her Aurora is, she is a flawed but forgivable character. Just like all of us.
MacLaine brings this universality to light with great humor, depth, and authentic human emotion. And what she learns in the end is maybe what we all learn in the end: that no matter how controlling and "proper" we are, there are some things we can't control. To see Aurora grasp this is to glimpse some of the finest acting ever put on screen.
In addition to the aforementioned scene, there were two others in which MacLaine really stood out to me during this latest viewing. One is when Emma first calls Aurora to let her know that she's sick. Aurora hangs up the phone, and though the scene is short, its wrenching honesty comes flying through the screen, hitting us with the realization of where this story is headed. Aurora stands and embraces Rosie, telling her, "Rosie, our girl is sick...." Every moment of this exchange is brutally truthful. Watch the reactions. Watch the mannerisms. Watch these woman absorb the painful reality at the exact moment we do. In a movie flowing with authentic and sincere moments, this is perhaps the finest.
The other scene that stuck out to me, which was a bit more challenging but nonetheless a knock-you-on-your-ass depiction of pure honesty, was "the deathbed scene". Aurora is sitting by Emma's bedside. Emma wakes, turns to her mother, and weakly smiles. The camera then fixes on Aurora, which is a wonderfully unconventional touch, as one would expect all eyes to be trained on Emma at this pivotal moment. As we are watching Aurora, Emma dies, and we only know this by Aurora's reaction: she turns away.
Let me say that again.
She turns away.
There was no motherly smile in return to her daughter's. There was no rushing to her aid, no calling of nurses, no big hysterical breakdowns. There was just the heartbreaking honesty of someone smacked square in the jaw with death: a turning away. This might seem cold, and maybe it is. But how many of us would react in exactly the same way? How do we know how we will react when faced with something like this?
And if your heart hasn't already been torn out and Mexican-Hat-Danced on by this point, the moments that follow this will surely make it happen. Yet one thing is for sure: you won't find a single instant of dishonesty or insincerity. Everything...all of it...is terribly real. Too real.
I always knew MacLaine was spectacular in "Terms of Endearment". But I committed this latest viewing to looking closer at Debra Winger's work (inspired, no doubt, by reading her masterpiece of a memoir), and I was blown away by this performance to which I had not previously paid much attention. In watching her, I discovered something huge about this movie: while it's true that MacLaine's Aurora is the "showier" role, it is Winger's Emma that gives the film its sturdy, sensitive spine. And Winger, just 27 when "Terms" was made, does this with the deft talent of the truly phenomenal actress she is. She is so natural, so smoothly organic, that it's ridiculously easy to dismiss the massive complexities which drive Emma as nothing more than idiosyncratic. Yet everything about Winger's performance -- from the biggest emotional expressions to the smallest mannerisms and habits -- are carefully studied and genuinely executed. This is an unconventional, brave, and completely raw performance. It is something to be watched closely because, while MacLaine may get the best lines of the movie, Winger manages to get the heart.
She plays her Emma as a woman who's never really fit seamlessly into the roles she's been assigned in life: daughter, wife, mother, and, eventually, tragic heroine. She's waited a lifetime for the house with the white picket fence and the ship with sails of silk and a trove of gold bullion. In the meantime, she's marched to the beat of her own drummer while trying to make sense of the craziness of her life. It is this fact -- as well, I think, as a last peacemaking effort in her turbulent relationship with her mother -- that I feel propels that final, resigned, wan smile from her hospital bed. Emma has made her peace with a life spent on the edge -- and a mother simultaneously pulling her away from and pushing her closer to it.
One scene in particular between Aurora and Emma really glared brightly at me. It's toward the end, in the hospital, and the two women are talking.
Aurora: "I just don't want to fight anymore."
Emma: "What do you mean? When do we fight?"
Aurora: "WHEN do we FIGHT? I always think of us as fighting!"
Emma: "That's because you're never satisfied with me."
That last line cut me to the core. I think we can all relate to this exchange on some level, especially when it comes to our parents. And MacLaine and Winger, so awake in the moment, let this dialog become a realization for Aurora and Emma as well. It's a breathtaking scene.
And then there's Jack Nicholson, portraying...Jack Nicholson! Actually, his character's name is "Garrett Breedlove", but it might as well be "Jack Nicholson". With the exception of "About Schmidt", which I adored, Nicholson pretty much plays himself in every film he's in. Don't get me wrong, Jack's good at playing Jack. But I'm good at playing Donn -- and I don't have the multi-million dollar paychecks and three Academy Awards to show for it. Nicholson won his second Oscar for "Terms", and this was only because of Shirley MacLaine. The give-and-take between these two actors -- and the white-hot sparks that fly -- are definite highlights of the film. In their scenes together, MacLaine seems to almost be taking a step back in order to let Jack do his Jack Schtick. The result is remarkably successful, and their onscreen chemistry is dynamic. It is a great actress that can do this for a fellow actor, selflessly shifting the balance of the scene so the other actor can shine. And it is a secure actor who can allow an actress to do this for him.
So as you can plainly see, "Terms of Endearment" is not the farcical swan song that many would have you believe. As further proof, it should be noted that "Terms" won five Oscars, including Best Picture, and is regarded by the vast majority of film experts to be among the best movies ever made. Clearly, this is more than a syrupy, mawkish cornfest. Indeed, "Terms of Endearment" is a singular, witty, and altogether real testament to the ties that bind -- and sometimes strangle.
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