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1993-04-08
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REVIEWS, Page 72CINEMAFishing for A Useful Life
By RICHARD SCHICKEL
TITLE: A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
DIRECTOR: Robert Redford
WRITER: Richard Friedenberg
THE BOTTOM LINE: Norman Maclean's evocative novella of
amazing grace is captured with understated artistry.
"I am haunted by waters," Norman Maclean wrote at the end
of A River Runs Through It, his memoir-novella about growing up
in Montana in the early years of this century. The phrase is
both appropriate and curious: appropriate because his little
story (104 pages) is mostly about standing in mountain streams
with his brother Paul, fly-fishing for trout; curious because
Maclean's prose is dry and laconic, nothing watery about it. It
does not rush or eddy or -- heaven forfend -- gurgle. It runs
steady and clear, and beneath its surface you sense the darting
shadows of powerful emotions -- big fish, as it were, which the
writer shrewdly plays but never deigns to reel all the way in.
The art for this old man, a college professor who did not begin
to write until he retired from teaching, was all in the writerly
casting of his lines, not in the melodrama of the catch.
It is hard to think of any recent book that is a less
likely candidate for screen adaptation. As it turns out, it is
hard to remember a serious work that has been more faithfully
or more entrancingly turned into a movie. Partly this is
because the screenwriter, Richard Friedenberg, has gently
expanded the original work, using family history gathered from
the writer (who died in 1990) and his children. He has added
some colorful boyhood anecdotes and, most important, has
developed the boys' relationship with their father, a
Presbyterian minister (Tom Skerritt), as well as Norman Mac
lean's courtship of his wife, Jessie (Emily Lloyd), more fully
than they are in the book. Partly it is because director Robert
Redford has rigorously maintained the understated tone of a book
that never plea-bargains, never asks outright for sympathy or
understanding, yet ultimately, powerfully, elicits both.
River is a film more of images than of confrontational
dramatic scenes. It is held together by a narration drawn from
the book and related (by Redford) over sequences of an Edenic
Montana 70 years ago. Norman (Craig Sheffer) is the dutiful son,
a young man soberly grappling throughout the film with the
question of how to find and lead a useful life. Paul (Brad Pitt)
is the classic younger brother and minister's son, a charming
sower of wild oats. He works casually at a raffish trade,
newspaper reporting. He drinks. He gambles. He womanizes
carelessly. It is only on the river that he asserts his true
strength as a guileful fisherman, a man who makes a hard-won
skill look easy. Here (and here alone) he is clearly a better
man than his father and his brother. But since, as Maclean says
in the first sentence of his book, "there was no clear line
between religion and fly-fishing" in his family, this is no
small matter.
In a sense Paul is the family artist, and that too is a
consequential thing. Maclean again: "All good things come by
grace, and grace comes by art, and art does not come easy." It
is the central irony of this story that this careless,
self-destructive and, as we realize early on, foredoomed figure
achieves with ease that blessed state that his father and his
brother, who are better people in the general, conventional way,
can only envy. It is, perhaps, a further irony that grace
settled upon Norman late in life, when, at last, he wrote about
his brother in a book that is like a fisherman's perfectly
placed fly -- light, dancing, teasing.
All those qualities are preserved in Redford's cool,
quiet, allusive and, in the best sense, poetic movie, rich in
unforced metaphors and unforced, indeed often unspoken,
feelings. It is a measure of this film's integrity that Paul's
tragic and mysterious end occurs as it does in the book, and
where it belongs -- offstage -- and that it is spoken of only
briefly, dryly. We are, though, haunted by it.