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This is a very unique genus of film that director-screenwriter Frank Darabont's 187-minute opus could be joining. Such works have a comfortable familiarity. Their repeated appearances on television are like having welcome company in our homes. And yes, like that old addled aunt, these favourite films sometimes run off at the mouth a bit. Or, like that opinionated uncle who really means well, they may even seem a bit dated and slightly embarrassing in their non-stop aphorisms; we apologise for them, and allow the sort of dispensation usually only accorded family members. They become ours, because they speak to us. And whether or not they garner fancy awards during their maiden run, more often than not the simple philosophies they espouse have come to console us, to define and defend our very personal view of humanity.
And so it is with The Green Mile, chock full of enough parables, metaphors and similes to populate a textbook on literary mechanisms. Not too many shades of grey here, save for the story-revving puzzle at the very centre of the tale. That's a dilly. And granted, there's a twist or two that'll throw you for the proverbial loop. But for the most part it's good vs. evil. Yet what really makes The Green Mile the movie answer to comfort food is its ensemble set of inspiring characterisations.
Admittedly, it's all just a bit odd when you consider the scenario. Like The Shawshank Redemption, its kindred predecessor crafted by the same folks (director Darabont interpreting a Stephen King novel), ninety-five percent of The Green Mile takes place in prison; on death row no less. Not exactly the kind of place where you'd expect to find such schmaltzy cosiness. Still, it works just fine.
Unwrapping for our movie-going delight and critical approval yet another in his string of peerless performance is Tom Hanks as prison guard Paul Edgecomb, all around good guy and chief witness to the wonderment that will soon work its supernatural ways on the green mile, a euphemism for death row. There, with the aid of his trusty colleagues Brutus "Brutal" Howell (David Morse) and Harry Terwilleger (Jeffrey DeMunn), and in spite of obnoxious meddling by politically connected guard Percy (Doug Hutchison), Paul engages in the merciful art of allowing the doomed their final dignity -- even if they don't seem to deserve it. Then they are electrocuted. The film's deeply anti-capital punishment stance is evinced with some very graphic examples; grisly visions that won't soon take leave of your psyche.
Expect the usual set of prison drama characters, as well as a few neatly nuanced variations. Among the more conventional inmates there is Wild Bill (Sam Rockwell), one of the most heinous villains to besmirch the screen since Blue Duck (Frederic Forrest) appalled us in Lonesome Dove; Graham Greene as credibly contrite Arlen Bitterbuck, hopeful that an afterlife will let him revisit the happiness of his youth; and Michael Jeter as the haplessly seriocomic Eduard Delacroix, a French-accented Cajun whose allegorical husbanding of pet mouse Mr. Jangles wistfully points up the tragedy of a life gone awry.
But no prison film has ever had a death row inmate quite like John Coffey, portrayed to the thespic nines by the nearly seven-foot tall Michael Duncan. He is slated to die for the rape and murder of two little twin girls.
No doubt about it, there's something different about John, aside from his imposing size and a gentle demeanour to beat the band. The guards are in awe. He arrives with an aura that usually accompanies mystical packages in fairy tales. Innocence and good seem to exude from his very being. But he was found with his horribly gory victims, crying miserably that he wanted to "take it back," but couldn't. So there's a murder mystery angle neatly sewed into the screenplay and this ultimately ties into the more spiritual aspect of the plot when it becomes apparent that John has a very special gift. Just ask Hanks's kindly guard/reluctant executioner, suffering a very incommodious ailment that draws both laughter and sympathy when first we make his acquaintance.
After big John Coffey applies his magical ministrations, nothing is ever quite the same on the green mile. A plethora of questions are loosed, leading to the ultimate moral conundrum of Western Civilisation: Just who is this strange big guy with the awesome powers? And if he is who we think he is, are we going to execute him anyway?
Moved to pen this type of thoughtful fable in recent years, King nonetheless fills his work with the fine sense of surprise and intrigue that he honed in his famed career as master purveyor of horror and mystery. And the author's facility for submitting heaping shards of irony at precisely timed intervals allows filmmaker Darabont to imbue the otherwise traditional tale with the sort of revelatory flourishes that make both its harsh, as well as its heart-warming lessons, play like the gospel truth. Fantasy was never more credible.
But why make prison the laboratory to study the human condition and teach a little morality? Is it because the extremes of behaviour play well in close confinement, where they can't get lost in the landscape? Or is it that truth is more apt to prevail in such apocalyptic circumstances. Perhaps a little bit of both.
As with The Shawshank Redemption before it, Mr. King's maximum security Petri dish again proves that humankind is capable of both great and terrible things. And sadly, we rarely need convincing of the latter. But we do know that life-affirming tales of moral heroism, the ennobling quest for grace and the notion that there's some good in almost everyone are just what we need for our spiritual and emotional well being. And in this respect The Green Mile goes the full nine yards.
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