"Stand up. Your Father's Passin'."

Rating: Null/10 (1 January 2000)

In a rural county somewhere in the Deep South, some time between the Depression and Pearl Harbor, a black field worker is accused of raping a white woman. Atticus Finch is the country attorney who takes on the defence of Tom Robinson. Atticus is a well-respected man, but "lawin' fer niggers" is not going to make life in Maycomb County easy for him or his family.

"To Kill A Mockingbird" is one of the best, and best-selling, American novels of the twentieth century, and hardly needs any introduction here. The story is recounted by Scout, Atticus' tomboy daughter, who is six years old at the time of the events which she describes. Her adored older brother Jem is her constant companion, and the narrative evokes (in both book and film) the distinctive world of childhood.
When I first saw the film, the novel was already a much-loved part of my mental furniture. I felt that Gregory Peck's Atticus was right from a cinematic perspective, but wrong in terms of fidelity to the novel. To me, Atticus was older and more frail, and yet somehow less grave. On a second viewing, however, I have revised my opinion. Peck is an outstanding Atticus, and this is borne out by the IMDb trivia section, which usefully explains that Harper Lee was so pleased with the way Peck captured her father's essence that she made a gift to him of Atticus' watch.
It is not putting it too strongly to describe 'Mockingbird' as the first film of the American nouvelle vague. With their clean, unpretentious images, the opening credits could have been filmed by Truffaut. This is a style which suffuses the whole film. Everything is shot with an unfussy clarity and a complete absence of fancy tricks and fancy lenses. Russell Harlan deserves credit for his intelligent cinematography.
All the novel's major incidents are here. Scout rides the tyre onto the Radley porch, Jem loses his pants on the fence, Walter souses his vegetables in syrup and the lynch mob is disarmed by Scout's innocent but apposite remarks. If the Tom Robinson saga seems hurried into the film, as compared with the book, this is entirely understandable - a movie has ninety minutes in which to do the work of three hundred pages.
As Scout the narrator introduces herself, Scout the protagonist swings into camera shot. This elegant efficiency is characteristic of the whole film. The energy of the children, and their excitement and confusion on Scout's first day at school, are beautifully in the breakfast scene, with the staccato banging of the screen door. The Walter Cunningham lunch is terrific, with Peck admirably putting across the deadpan wisdom of Atticus. Mayella's mendacity, and the wretchedness of her position, are exposed by the very simple but very effective zoom-in during her cross-examination. As the good ol' boy prosecutor questions Tom, the US flag stands between them, symbolising both the gulf which separates the two cultures and the enlightened work of bridging the chasm being undertaken by the federal government. This was the era of civil rights agitation, and of the progressive outlook of the Kennedy administration. It is shocking to the people in the courtroom that Tom should pity Mayella, but for us it confirms his integrity as a man.
Elmer Bernstein's music is, as always, classy, subtle and designed to enhance the meaning of the film. The opening credits are accompanied by the lone voice of a child, humming. This was revolutionary for the time, but perfectly-judged, being in keeping with the film's nouvelle vague style, and highly evocative of the child's-eye-view. The 'creepy' theme for the night raid on the Radley house is brilliant, the piano and clarinet combination producing a memorably haunting effect.
Dill, the little boy whose return signals the advent of lazy summer days as surely as the flowering of the cotton, is an interesting character in his own right. In real life this youngster was Truman Capote, Harper Lee's childhood friend. Here he is played by the excellent John Megna. All three child actors (Mary Badham as Scout and Phillip Alford as Jem) are simply marvellous. Scout's mixture of self-assurance and childish vulnerability, and Jem's leadership qualities, are captured perfectly.
I accept that I may be wrong in this, but it seems to me that the film hints at a sexual relationship between Atticus and Cal (Estelle Evans), the black woman who runs the Finch menage. After all, it would make thematic sense. For all practical purposes Cal is a mother to the children and a wife to Atticus. Man and woman share a bond of mutual respect which is never voiced because it does not need to be. At one point, something crops up and Atticus asks Cal to stay the night. She agrees without hesitation. Symbolically, this union (enlightened white with decent black) will bear fruit in a future America. Peck seems to go for a 'Clark Kent' look for Atticus, and my guess is, it's deliberate. Atticus is Superman, the totally benign, totally capable American hero. That he can couple with the flower of black womanhood is implicit in, and important to, the film's meaning.
The cramped little 'Huck Finn' courthouse with its imposing facade is wonderful, as is Scout's familiar neighbourhood, with its mature trees and creaking verandahs, flawlessly evoking the Maycomb of the book.
'Boo' Radley is played by the always-admirable Robert Duvall, here making his first feature appearance. Onscreen for a matter of seconds, with no dialogue, he sears onto the viewer's memory the definitive image of Boo, "the unlikeliest of guardian angels".