Perfection: hope, emancipation and the inviolability of the human spirit

Rating: Null/10 (5 March 1999)

The Shawshank Redemption is a wonderful film. It is flawless fundamentally because of its deep love of storytelling, and because underneath each layer of the film lies a whole world of meaning. It has universal appeal and can teach everyone something about the power of hope and the inviolability of the human spirit.
I love this truly inspiring film because of its boldness to persuade people to never give up hope, even in the direst of circumstances. Its audacity can be seen in its choice of setting: in a prison, where hope is fragile and can easily become a casualty. But this situation is readily adaptable to any other. People, habitually, are trapped. Trapped by relationships, fear, responsibilities and their own inadequacies. The prison metaphor just serves to give shape and direction to this feeling of entrapment.
We identify with Red (Morgan Freeman), because Andy (Tim Robbins), for quite a substantial amount of the film, remains an enigmatic and aloof character. But we know that Andy's state of mind and hope is such that it has the potential to transcend prison walls. Metaphorically. Literally. This is explored in the scene where Andy, after spending a fortnight in solitary confinement for sending operatic music resounding through the prison, says the time was easy because he had the music in his head and heart. He notes: `here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget there's something inside that they can't get to, they can't touch, it's yours  hope'. Indeed his mental well being is akin to an ideal state, and as such the average audience cannot identify with him. At this stage neither can Red. When Andy gives him the harmonica, a symbol of hope, Red is still not ready to accept it as a means to salvation. However, in the book Red acknowledges that `Andy was the part of me they could never lock up, the part of me that will rejoice when the gates finally open for me and I walk out.'
But Andy is after all only human, and the trials he undergoes makes us deeply sympathetic to his situation. The possibilities that had previously given him hope rapidly erode as the harsh realities of prison life bear down on him. Before he had noted facetiously that a `convicted murderer who provides sound financial planning' was a `wonderful pet to have', but now realizes that the warden and the guards simply and fundamentally, don't care whether he lives or dies, as long as it's on their terms. He acknowledges his only choice left, deceptively elementary but truly universal in scope: `Get busy living or get busy dying'.
This choice is evinced through the character of Brooks. When his parole comes through he sadly frees his bird Jake who flies away, instinct taking over his initial domestication. Brooks is also in a sense a bird, but of a different feather  a `jail bird', who is `institutionalised', or domesticated and thus cannot cope with the immensity and the possibilities of mental and spiritual freedom. Walls bind his world, and as such, he cannot bear to live in a world without boundaries. As depicted in this film, prison restrains physical freedom, but ironically enough, its lasting effects restrain the spirit. As Red bitterly notes: `They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The parts that count anyway.'
A wonderful shot of Red near the end sees him narrate that on the outside he feels as scared as Brooks did, and frequently entertains the idea of breaking his parole so he can return to prison, `where things make sense'. The fact that he repeats a lot of Brooks' dialogue shows how close Red came to succumbing, and the strength of Andy's friendship with him. The camera sweeps over a selection of guns, but an array of compasses step into view. Red fingers one and remembers the promise he made to Andy. This signifies an immutable truth: that hope and direction combined can see a man achieve grandeur.
The audience's collective spirit soars with Red who takes Andy's advice, and lets the possibilities of freedom penetrate his self, which is his ultimate redemption. An element of the film surpasses the novella  that of the phrase Warden Norton utters to Andy: `Salvation lies within.' This is shown to be wholly accurate on both a metaphorical and literal level.
The film judiciously avoids trying to make the audience sympathise with the other prisoners who are collectively rapists, murderers and deviants. As such, their reason for imprisonment is either humorously blamed on incompetent lawyers or not touched upon at all. This prevents the sympathetic focus straying from Andy and Red; Andy who is innocent and Red who describes himself as the `only guilty man in Shawshank'.
Morgan Freeman is characteristically excellent as he has the ability to effortlessly inject integrity and a noble presence into each of his roles. He should have won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar in 1995. Tim Robbins is sublime, though to a lesser degree than Freeman. Supporting cast is wonderful: James Whitmore's poignant representation of Brooks, Bob Gunton's anal-retentive Warden Norton, Gil Bellows' cocky but well-intentioned Tommy Williams. William Sadler and Clancy Brown are also strong.
One tagline of the film descriptive of Andy is `It takes a strong man to save himself, and a great man to save another.' In King's novella Red describes Andy through bird imagery, repeating the motif associated with Brooks: `We're glad he's gone, but a little sad too. Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go  And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.' Not so for Red, however. His last words  `I hope.' are testament to this.