Believe the hype

Rating: 10/10 (10 August 2004)

On the outside, Frank Darabont's directorial piece de resistance does not look promising: Scripts purloined from little-known Stephen King novellas, hacked up and padded with sentimental Hollywood schmaltz do not tend to yield cinematic gold. King, a master of unnerving, psychological drama would never be so trite as to tag one of his stories with a vague, syrupy axiom like 'Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free.'  that kind of corny meddling smacks of the ad men tugging mercilessly at the heart strings, ripping the freshness and originality out of every project they come across. I am also immediately wary of prison melodramas (especially those with the word 'redemption' in the title)  they are all so predictable.
These were my thoughts as I first contemplated watching The Shawshank Redemption almost a decade ago. Then there was nothing like the hype and fervour that surround the movie now. I had only the rapturous, breathless testimony of a friend of mine to go on, and he was something of a philistine when it came to the pictures (I believe his previous favourite film was Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, so you can forgive my scepticism).
Still I did some research before going in: Yup, thought so: Idealistic young man, banged up for a crime he didn't commit  I'll bet he soon bears the brunt of some pent-up sexual aggression from his misanthropic fellow inmates. What's that? He befriends an institutionalised black guy played by Morgan Freeman? I would imagine he'll be providing a wise voice-over throughout, perhaps whimsically tinged with an ingenuous Southern drawl. And the Warden: He'll be a stern, God-fearing fellow with steel-rimmed spectacles and a shady secret.
I went along and watched it anyway of course (my social diary as a teenager was hardly cram-full) and as I sat, I soon realized I was right on all counts. But still I watched. Past the grim depictions of new recruits being raped and beaten by both guard and lag; past the scene on the roof with the insurance advice and the ice-cold beers; past the bittersweet tale of Brooksy's freedom and Tommy Williams' fateful revelations. I watched through the ever-changing posters on Andy Dufresne's wall, and at the end I, like everybody else in the cinema emerged blinking, dry-of-mouth and my heart soaring.
Teenagers aren't supposed to be awash with optimism and joy. They slouch and scowl and lock themselves in their rooms with the stereo on full blast, but, despite myself, I couldn't take the big soppy grin off my face or shake the shiver from my spine. After watching The Shawshank Redemption, I smiled so hard my cheeks ached.
Because what cynical young sods like me didn't realize was that some films are formulaic for a reason. You cannot reinvent the wheel every time. What I also learnt was that redemption (when it is done right) can be the most moving and satisfying cinematic theme of them all. Shawshank excels in its simplicity. It is by no means the only great prison drama: Cool Hand Luke oozes, well cool, but the young Paul Newman was such a screen god that the film ends up being more of a slavish homage. Other prison revenge flicks (Murder in the First and Sleepers spring to mind) are more obsessed with action or courtroom finger pointing than any thoughtful resolution and the protagonists are bitter and angry.
Not here. The characterisation is crisp yet understated. Tim Robbins' Dufresne draws empathy and respect in equal measure, while Freeman's Red has an extraordinary dignity. When we meet him, he has served 20 years for a murder he committed as a kid and any angst and aggression has gradually ebbed away. Now he is revered as 'a man who can get things.' Inside his ability to procure contraband has made him influential  much more so than he ever was as a free man  but instead of using it to bully and menace his fellow cons, he sits back in quiet reflection. This is Red's redemption.
Dufresne meanwhile has a grander plan and it comes to fruition in the most splendid fashion. Unusually, we see it all through Red's eyes and that leaves us as wide-eyed and incredulous as the warden after he throws the pebble through Raquel Welsh's midriff.
I am not usually in favour of the retrospective voice-over. It is a lazy, mawkish device that is all to often used to paper over plot holes or lack of imagination. This one is different. I suppose it is all in the voice and Freeman sounds like he has been gargling with a heady mixture of rich New England soil and spitting whiskey. It is quiet but wholly convincing  much more so than his subsequent authoritative Presidential ramblings in Deep Impact. The language he uses is easy and uncomplicated but breathtakingly effective:
'His first night in the joint, Andy Dufresne cost me two packs of cigarettes. He never made a sound,' he says when the new convict refuses to buckle, wryly encapsulating the intricacies of a friendship based on a mutual respect and true affection.
Who will ever forget Red as an old man 'so excited I can hardly sit still or hold a thought in my head' as he shuffles along the stone wall in the cornfield towards the big oak tree and Andy's hidden treasure  a true moment of silver screen magic. 'Get busy livin', or get busy dyin',' is the final maxim, and by that stage, no matter how cold or hard-nosed you purport to be, I defy you not to have a lump in your throat. Maybe for once the ad men got it right.
10/10