I
set out this morning to write a very personal response to my recent viewing of
the adaptation of John Green’s best-selling novel, The Fault in Our Stars… but that will have to wait until the end of
this piece because I just stumbled upon a review of the movie that I found so
ill-thought out and irksome that I must first respond to it.
In
a review for The Guardian, Peter
Bradshaw aggressively mocked the film, arguing that its teen-centered melodramatic
love story about two kids with cancer was manipulative and crass. Bradshaw then compiled a laundry of list of
things that irritated him in the film, especially dwelling on scenes which he
felt revealed the movie’s overall “phoney-baloniness.” Because I
had been prepared to praise the film for some of the ways in which I think it
authentically portrays the ways in which adolescents and their families
struggle with terminal illnesses I was taken aback by his critique. However, I was mostly disheartened that he
seemed to be primarily criticizing the film for conforming to the larger genre
conventions of young adult literature and Hollywood melodrama, which does not
seem all that productive.
For those
unfamiliar with the plot of the film/book (spoiler alert), it focuses on sixteen-year-old Hazel
Grace Lancaster (Shailene Woodley), who almost died at age 13 when her thyroid
cancer metastasized to her lungs.
Although she recovered miraculously due to an experimental drug
treatment, her illness has left her bound to her portable oxygen tank, feeling depressed
and unable to experience adolescence as a typical teenage girl should. The narrative starts when she meets Augustus (Gus)
Waters (Ansel Elgort) after being forced by her mother to attend a local
support group for teenage cancer patients.
The two physically collide on the way to the group session (reminiscent
of a typical “meet cute” in the romantic comedy film genre) and soon after they
engage in fast-witted verbal banter as the charismatic and confident Gus spouts
his optimistic life outlook which contrasts greatly with Hazel’s own more
skeptical perceptions. And, as would be
expected of any romance-centered drama (let alone a young adult one), the
courtship blooms into an epic love story.
As is the case
with all of Green’s fictional teenage characters, they have an intellect and
maturity that doesn’t quite represent the normal teenager. Bradshaw references their “quirky, smart,
back-talking” as, perhaps, one more instance of the film’s phoniness, instead
of noting it as a typical feature of Green’s oeuvre. Sure,
the two love-struck teens can seem a bit pretentious with their extensive
vocabularies and deep philosophical debates.
And, when Gus explains his act of continuously placing an unlit cigarette
in his mouth – what Bradshaw dubs his act of “existential defiance” – saying “it’s
a metaphor, see: you put the killing
thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its
killing,” it is hard to imagine an average 18-year-old boy having this
exchange. (Most of the high school boys
I taught only used the word metaphor when forced to do so in the answer to an
essay question). However, this practice
of portraying teens as fast-talking, witty, and mature-beyond-their years is
not limited to Green’s popular novels. I
spent my young adult years eagerly consuming the verbal banter of the deep,
soul-searching teen characters of Dawson’s
Creek. And a cursory viewing of any
given CW show on the air today will likely find at least one such character
similarly demonstrating this phenomenon.
The majority of
Bradshaw’s criticisms are launched at the over-the-top romantic arch of the
plot. Hazel is obsessed with a book about
a girl who dies of cancer leaving her family and loved ones behind – a text
that embodies her very own fears. This
novel, An Imperial Affliction, ends abruptly
(mid-sentence) and she has always longed to know what happened to the
characters who live on after the death of the main character, Anna. In the typical “big romantic gesture” that is
common for the genre, Gus uses his cancer wish (that he had saved) to take
Hazel and her mother to Amsterdam to speak to this author, a reclusive man who has
refused to publish any further work or correspond with fans. And while it’s true that not most teens
struggling with terminal illnesses get such extravagant trips around the world
and dramatic encounters with their personal heroes, isn’t this the staple of
the romantic genre: a larger-than-life
romantic experience that we can all vicariously live through? (Just watch read any Nicholas Sparks novel
or watch any of adaptation of such and you find comparable moments.) So chalk this up to another criticism that
should be directed our entertainment genres and not this particular film.
Bradshaw was
particularly critical of the film’s quintessential first kiss scene (and the scene
which followed shortly after where the two end their virginal statuses
together). And, this may be the only
point where I can understand his concern.
This was the one moment in the film where I was jarred out of the movie
experience and sat momentarily wearing my media critic hat. In the
film, Hazel and Gus visit the Anne Frank house and, despite the physical strain
it causes, Hazel forces herself to climb (oxygen tank and all) up the various steep
steps and daunting ladder to the attic that hid the Frank family. It is here that the two share their first
kiss, which is followed by a round of applause from the international tourists
who surround them. The public,
crow-approved first kiss is another staple of the romantic genre, so that in
and of itself is not a surprising inclusion.
It is the setting that, for me, caused a momentary moment of discomfort
(just as would any kiss, first or otherwise, taking place at a public memorial). Leading up to this kiss, viewers see Hazel
looking at the pictures of Anne’s family and of the horror that was Auschwitz. And while I don’t think that Hazel was
necessarily equating her own star-crossed love affair with Gus as equal to the
experience that Anne and Peter shared in that space, I can see why Bradshaw
would worry that “now there will be a nonstop traffic jam of sad snogging teens
in Anne Frank's bedroom.” (And,
please, let that not be the case.) What
I think the scene was intended to do was show that, in that moment, Hazel,
whose life outlook was always a bit more pessimistic than Gus’s, realized that
some tragedies are greater than struggling through a disease even as horrific
as cancer. That said, the narrative
practice of pairing traumatic experiences in this way has been critiqued by
many before. For example, in an article
for Modern Fiction Studies, Ilka
Saal, analyzed this problematic practice of what she calls “trauma transfer” in
Jonanthan Foer Safran’s equally popular, best-seller-turned-blockbuster-film, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
where the events of 9/11 are strategically paired with narrative recollections
of the Dresden bombing and, to a lesser extent, the Hiroshima bombing and
Holocaust. Such practices, Saal argues,
creates a false parallel between events, often serving to raise one trauma
(e.g. 9/11) to the level of another (e.g. the Holocaust). But this isn’t a new practice and it’s
extremely common especially when it comes to the Holocaust. I’ve watched multiple films where characters come
to some personal revelation about how their own personal tragedies are that
great after reading The Diary of Anne
Frank or walking through a Holocaust museum (e.g. The Freedom Writers). So, again, while there likely is
something to criticize in regard to Green’s choice concerning the location of
Hazel and Gus’s first kiss, he’s far from alone when it comes to this narrative
misstep.
Bradshaw’s review continues on to criticize other random
factors of the film. For example, he is
especially critical of the fact that both teens seem to come from comfortable middle
class families (as if cancer can’t strike the rich as easily as the poor?). Basing his criticism largely off of the “starter
man-cave” that is Gus’s extravagant basement bedroom, Bradshaw ignores the
moment when Hazel’s mother (whose sole mission in life seems to do anything
that will make her daughter happy) looks crestfallen after she tells her daughter
that they cannot afford a trip to Europe to meet her dream author. And even if, despite that scene, other
elements of the plot and setting indicate a level of financial stability or
affluence for both key families, this is pretty common for film (and television
for that matter). Narrative settings are
skewed predominantly in the favor of white, upper-middle class suburbs. Now had Bradshaw’s point been that what this film
doesn’t allow for is any commentary on how their financial stability actually
played a huge role in how the families were able to deal with their children’s battles
with cancer, I might have agreed. Having
lived in a lower-middle class family – headed by a single mother – that had to
deal with an adolescent’s diagnosis and recovery from cancer, I fully realize
that the situation presented in this film is an ideal. Hazel’s mother does not work and is able to
spend every waking moment with her child from age thirteen to sixteen. She has a husband who is there to support her
through every health relapse and emotional trauma that their daughter goes
through. While Bradshaw calls the parents
in this film “too-good-to-be-true,” I simply think they just don’t represent
the means and support systems that all families – especially those from lower
socio-economic brackets – have during such times.
But besides for this element of class – which is not the
point of the film really – I actually really enjoyed the scenes devoted to
Hazel’s family, and particularly those focused on her relationship with her
mother. It is this relationship – not the
love story – that originally inspired me to write this review, so I will spend
the remainder of this piece responding to what I felt was the moment in
Bradshaw’s review where he missed the point almost completely. He writes:
Hazel's
mom appears to have whispered something extraordinary to Hazel, when she was in
a grave situation in hospital years previously. It is something
that Hazel has not forgotten and that should theoretically deepen and
complicate their relationship profoundly. But the pair just hug it out.
It's like it never happened.
When I read this I wondered if he had seen a different
version of the film than I. Bradshaw is referencing
the flashback scenes in the film – the most emotionally difficult scenes in my
opinion – in which an extremely young looking, frail, bald thirteen-year-old
Hazel is dying in a hospital bed unable to breathe as her lungs fill up with
liquid. The first time we are presented
with this scene it ends with Hazel’s mother trying to comfort her, telling her
that it’s okay to let go, and then collapsing into her husband’s arms
crying. However, the second time we see
this scene it continues on a minute longer as we hear the next line of dialogue
that has haunted Hazel for years. Her mother,
in between sobs, says to her husband in a pained voice: “I won’t be a mom anymore.” This comment is the origin for Hazel’s many
concerns about how her inevitable death will affect those who love her. It’s the concern that accounts, in part, for
her fixation with the aforementioned novel.
Bradshaw argues that the remark should have complicated their
relationship profoundly. And I think
that it did. While it’s true that the
remark goes unaddressed for years, it certainly does impact Hazel and her
dealings with her parents (as she notes in the film that everything she does
was to make them happy). And Bradshaw ignores the powerful scene in which Hazel
finally confronts her mother about the comment.
As the film nears its close, Hazel repeats the comment and shares with
her parents her fear that they will completely unravel when she is gone
(especially her mother who has devoted the past few years completely to her
care). Her mother apologizes, saying
that, she was wrong to say that and that even after Hazel is gone, she will always be her mother. Hazel’s mother expresses how difficult it will
be to move past losing her when the time comes, but shares that she does, in
fact, have a plan for life in the after:
she hopes to be a social worker helping families who are faced with similar
situations.
Although these were the more dramatic mother-daughter scenes
in the film, there were others that were equally emotional although more subtly
delivered. I felt that Green did a
terrific job of accurately representing the unspeakably difficult role a parent
is placed in when a child is struggling with a potentially terminal illness. The many scenes in which her mother ran
frantically into Hazel’s bedroom expecting a health catastrophe after Hazel
called out in excitement (which was misinterpreted as pain) demonstrate that
tense feeling of always fearfully waiting for the other shoe to drop. The scenes in which Hazel would grow
frustrated with her mother’s ceaseless optimism (e.g. when she naively suggests
that even though they didn’t get to see all the sites in Amsterdam on this trip
maybe they could all come back one day), display the emotional tightrope dance
that such a parents will go through to try to raise their children’s spirits,
to foster (and cling to) hope.
It was while watching these scenes in the theater that I felt
like I had two simultaneous movies running through my mind: the fictional one on the screen and a real
one comprised of memories from my family’s past. My younger sister was diagnosed with leukemia
at the turn of her eighteenth birthday.
Like Hazel, she made a miraculous recovery, despite having only been
given a 10 percent chance of survival. Her
battle with cancer, although no less horrific and grueling, was shorter and
ended on a happier note than this fictional tale as she will soon celebrate her
twelfth year in remission. She will turn
thirty as a married woman with three beautiful kids (something she was also
told would likely not be possible after the extensive rounds of chemotherapy
she underwent).
Since the teen characters in The Fault in Our Stars were a bit larger-than-life, I didn’t always
see my sister in them even though they were close in age and circumstance. But, at times, I did. What rang true the most was the moments when
Hazel and Gus (and Isaac) showed that, cancer aside, they were still teenagers focused
on teenage things (e.g. like the devastation of break-ups). It reminded me of how it was my sister’s then
boyfriend who was able to convince her to go through with the first blood
transfusion she needed when the rest of us could not get her to overcome this
fear. The scenes of the characters
hanging out in Gus’s basement playing video games or driving around egging cars
reminded me of how in those long days in the hospital it was my sister’s
friends who could more readily draw out the easy smiles and laughs as they
talked and acted like normal teen friends, hanging out and munching on fast
food, ignoring the medical backdrop. And
it was the scenes that showcased Hazel’s longing to just lead a normal teenage life
that made me remember how frustrating it was for my sister to abide by the many
restrictions placed upon her after first being released from the hospital (e.g.
avoiding public places, wearing face masks).
But it was not her alone who I saw within this fictional
story. It was also my mother. The scenes of young Hazel almost dying as her
mother watched on were difficult for me on one level because I am now a mother
of two young daughters and it is my greatest fear (perhaps because of my sister’s
history) that I will outlive either of them.
Like many mothers, I cry easily at any narrative involving a sick or
dying child. But this is not the only
reason these scenes were so painful for me to watch. Becoming a mother has also provided me with
that type of clarity we only get in retrospect – that ability later in life to fully
empathize with our parents’ experiences only after we have become parents ourselves. Every scene with Hazel’s mother conjured up
thoughts of my own and made me realize just how unaware I was at 22 years of
age of what my mother was going through as she watched her child teeter at the
edge of death. I don’t think I thought
for a second that my sister would die. I
don’t think I knew how grim the statistics were and – knowing that my peculiar
response to personal tragedies is to go numb, and that even in less dire
circumstances I have been known to play the role of the ostrich in the sand – I
likely didn’t ask. But even if I had
known every medical fact, I still wouldn’t have understood the sense of fear
and the anger that arises when you contemplate the unfair possibility of burying
your own child. That Hazel’s mother
would put her life on pause to be there every moment for her daughter rang
completely true to me as my own mother spent every day of my sister’s hospital stay
alongside of her – only running home for a shower and change of clothes when
relieved by another visitor or for a weekend night when I could take her place
while she slept, I imagine, fitfully, in her own bed. When I cried during these scenes I realize
that I was crying as much for my mother as I was Hazel’s – and that I was
crying for myself as well, and for how incredibly guilty I felt for not being
able to see then what I see now: what an
incredibly lonely time in my mother’s life that must have been… what an
incredibly lonely time it would be for any parent facing such a situation.
So for me this film, despite the extra layers of spectacle
that come from being marketed as a young adult romance, does a good job of
revealing some of the very difficult, sad realities that families are faced
with when children battle cancer. While
we could – and perhaps should – continue criticizing some of the genre trends
discussed above, that seems like a task separate from critiquing this
particular storyline. So I’ll just end
by saying that any critique of this film that rests primarily on the ways in
which it conforms to such genre conventions is never going to be overly
convincing (or useful) to me.
