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You wouldn't want to live without that raison d'être, would you? Pity -- the citizens of Pleasantville do. These plain vanilla folk see only in black and white, literally and figuratively. Per writer-director Gary Ross, such is the plight of those who reside within the starched, black and white celluloid of a '50s sitcom.
So, why would David (Tobey Maguire), a teenager of the '90s, want to live in such passionless straits? In fact, he's a Pleasantville expert. Ask him to relate what happens in the episode when Margaret bakes cookies for Whitey and he'll give you every detail. Inquire as to who owns the malt shop and he'll quickly apprise you that it's Mr. Johnson (Jeff Daniels). You see, Dave, of the broken home '90s, has found sanctuary in the unyielding certainty of the fifties.
There are some entertaining, albeit predictable, lessons in the offing for young Dave. And not too unlike Dorothy in The Wizard Of Oz, he will have to follow his destiny. But whereas Dorothy and Toto left a black and white Kansas for a multicoloured Oz, the time and dimension travellers in Pleasantville leave the colours of their contemporary world for the black, white and gray shades of vintage TV land. But there's wizardry aplenty in director Ross's technically beautiful essay in living black and white.
In Pleasantville, George, a Father Knows Best sort of dad played with neatly efficient detail by William H. Macy, comes home every night at the same time and issues the identical salutation: "Honey, I'm home." Canned laughter greets the announcement, as if mocking the sheer absurdity of the mindlessly puerile entertainment that unspools. It is into this fanciful past where Dave (who becomes Bud) and his sister Jennifer (Reese Witherspoon, who becomes Mary Sue) are banished in Twilight Zone fashion, thanks to a very weird TV repairman (Don Knotts with a slightly delicious dark side). He mysteriously arrives on the eve of the "Pleasantville 24 Hour Marathon" and supplies the special remote control that transports the siblings back not only 3 decades, but from reality to the chimera of situation comedy.
While Dave goes about the business of fitting into the safely bland routine of Pleasantville, men-and-mall-on-the-mind Jennifer rails at the stodgy scenario. A social bug in her dating prime, the sexy hell kitten would like to liven things up. Dave cautions sis not to make waves, contending that the local folk are happy. "Happy?" Jennifer asks in total disbelief, declaring, "No one in a poodle skirt and a sweater set can possibly be happy!" Figure Jen for some syrupy lessons in values, too.
The captain of the basketball team is taken aback when Jennifer/Mary Sue boldly insists they go up to Lover's Lane. Word of the adventure gets around the malt shop. And since peer pressure among teens is apparently just as powerful in illusory situations as it is in real life, the outings become all the rage. Buddy Holly replaces Johnny Mathis on the jukebox.
According to the rules of the fantasy script, previously black and white people acquire colour when they've experienced truly moving emotion. Hence it figures, the town's teens are the first to bloom.
But not everyone in Pleasantville sheds their black and white look and accompanying personality so quickly. And some, like Betty, the homemaker mom of the show, aren't immediately happy with the frightening badge of individuality that the metamorphosis representss. Portrayed by Joan Allen in an Oscar-worthy performance, Betty's repressed, duty-bound stereotype speaks volumes about the '50s (actually, the stereotypical view of the '50s that was popularised in the '60s, along with a few revisionist nuances by filmmaker Ross). It's no wonder that the daughters of moms like Betty launched the Women's Lib movement.
What starts out as social satire ultimately melds, but not always so evenly, with the political allegory that Pleasantville turns into. And on its own terms, the PG-13-rated fable proves a nifty, pro- individualist tome, warm with humanism, and a glib anti-fascist primer.
The battle lines are drawn in Pleasantville, black and white folk on one side and people of colour, so to speak, on the other. Some store owners put signs in the windows reading "No Coloureds." Big Bob the mayor, a reactionary bully played by the late J.T. Walsh in one of his last film performances, uses the occasion to pen a restrictive rules of conduct and solidify his power. He harangues in front of an ominous panoply depicting the chambers of commerce insignia. It might as well be a swastika.
Young toughs who still haven't seen the Technicolor side of things terrorise the streets. In one scene evoking shades of Kristallnacht, they break the malt shop store window after art loving Mr. Johnson celebrates his suddenly enlivened palette by painting a rather suggestive mural featuring an enlightened Betty, his secret heartthrob. A book burning follows.
Pleasantville plies its colourful messages on three levels. There's the broad missive about government and group dynamics, the parable about individualism, and the whimsical jaunt in comparative sociology. Unfortunately, not all its values and mechanisms translate across all levels.
Some comparisons are a tad too sticky, and some of the movie's philosophies are fed to us like pabulum. You may rub your eyes in disbelief when Dave/Bud, himself resistant to joining the colour set, receives an apple (as in, THE apple) from the admiring, aforementioned cookie-baking, Margaret (Marley Shelton). But the metaphors are rich and effulgent if not subtle. And production designer Jeannine Oppewal's truly inventive gimmickry is so fascinating that buying into the metaphor seems the wise thing to do. If you're the sort who likes to believe there's a rainbow over the horizon, Pleasantville just may be your kind of town.
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