The women of ‘Junebug’ make the movie
It’s been at least five minutes since anyone reminded us that, gosh, Southerners sure are quirky. So let us turn to Sundance-darling “Junebug” to remember that people living below the Mason- Dixon line are colorful folks who smoke too much, don’t communicate enough and decorate their houses with tacky homemade arts and crafts.
At the heart of the film are two intriguing women: glossy, well-educated art dealer Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz) and Ashley, a bright-eyed, pregnant chatterbox (Amy Adams). Madeleine and her laconic husband George (Alessandro Nivola) drive from Chicago to North Carolina to meet a folk artist whose bizarre works Madeleine would like to show. They’ll also visit George’s nearby family. Ashley, married to George’s sulky brother Johnny (Benjamin McKenzie), greets Madeleine and George with a gushing enthusiasm inappropriate even for royalty.
Sleek Madeleine, rendered hopelessly awkward for probably the first time in her life, wants everyone to like her, but George’s mother refuses to warm up. Intrusive Ashley just can’t shut up. If she stopped to take a breath, she might realize the extent of her husband’s hostility and that having a baby might not rescue her marriage.
Screenwriter Angus MacLachlan effectively conveys the essential good-heartedness of these women, who click despite their differences, and their scenes together are the best in the film. Ashley is a tragicomic wonder, and Adams is absolutely terrific; so is Davidtz, who brings a centered warmth to her outsider’s role.
Unlike many films that fixate on Dixie and its inevitable clashes with the Big Cities Up North, “Junebug” eschews overblown stereotypes and downplays peculiarities to create a more authentic small-town community. Sometimes this intelligent restraint works wonderfully well, especially with the potentially over-the-top folk artist who paints Civil War scenes in which soldiers shoot with their penises instead of cannons. The filmmakers hit just the right note in capturing his eccentricities.
At other moments, such as when George steps up at – what else? – a church supper to sing a hymn, “Junebug” reflects a gentle wonder. Stunned, Madeleine stares at him. It’s evident she knows nothing of her husband’s past, which has to make her wonder: Do I know him at all?
She probably doesn’t. And George is so thinly drawn that it’s impossible for the rest of us to get a feel for him. Even the inarticulate Johnny, with his sullen attitude and droopy redneck mustache, is tough to read, but we do catch a glimpse of his feelings about Ashley. But George remains a mystery, and his ambiguous feelings about his background, somewhat revealed after a tragedy upsets the household’s delicate balance, appear contradictory and nonsensical.
“Junebug” is too slight to bear up under the weight of this final melodrama, and the film ends too abruptly, as if MacLachlan just ran out of things to write. Still, this visit to the old homestead is worthwhile, if only to meet its unflappable, charismatic women.