There was a long, long period where Robert Redford’s Ordinary People was overlooked in film circles. It was the film that defeated Raging Bull for Best Picture, starting off a series in which Martin Scorsese films would lose Best Picture to films directed by an actor (Dances with Wolves is another). Redford’s adaptation of a novel by Judith Guest is not slight, exactly — it deals with flawed characters who genuinely try and grapple with their feelings. But there are no histrionics, only scenes of bitter anger and frustration, not the kind of material that becomes a perennial classic. And yet the recent death of Donald Sutherland, the film’s star, is an excellent reason to revisit this devastating, authentic story.
Sutherland stars as Cal Jarrett, a wealthy tax lawyer in an affluent Chicago suburb. Along with his production team, Redford captures the exact right look for the film. Every image of the Jarrett household resembles a Norman Rockwell painting, and the family always looks like it’s about to pose for a holiday greeting card. In fact, when Cal poses for one with his wife, Beth (Mary Tyler Moore), and their son Conrad (Timothy Hutton), they need not dress for the occasion, since manner dictates every thread is in its right place. The first few scenes suggest happiness, an important flourish of misdirection, because Redford’s true subject is the pain that lurks beneath the surface of this all-American family. Through dialogue and snippets of flashback, we learn that Conrad’s older brother Buck died during a boating accident, and in his guilt, Conrad attempted to die by suicide. The film’s action starts just after Conrad returns from a psychiatric facility and goes back to high school.
All these characters are reeling from trauma, and the film follows their slow, awkward, sometimes shy attempts to make sense of their feelings. We do not realize it at first, but Conrad is the bravest because he is willing to see a shrink (Judd Hirsch) and is open to discussing his feelings. The screen adaptation by Alvin Sargent follows Conrad the most closely – Hutton won an Oscar for his aching, vulnerable performance – showing us how he barely fits in with his classmates — his friends (including a young Elizabeth McGovern and Adam Baldwin) have no sense of what to do with him. The irony is that Conrad yearns for empathy from others, maybe even needs it, and the pain/shock of the tragedy deters people from engaging with him. Not even his parents – bearing perhaps the greatest pain in the entire film – can supply him empathy because that would mean acknowledging what they need to bury.
At a crucial crossroads, Cal and Beth differ on how to handle Conrad. In terms of persona and acting styles, Sutherland and Moore are well-suited to the material. In 1980, Sutherland had spent a decade playing outsider intellectual types, and even though the Jarretts represent the status quo down to their bones, Cal ultimately has no choice but to drop the façade and rescue his son. Yes, there is an emotional core for this growth, and yet Sutherland/Cal approaches it practically: his boy is clearly still hurting, and he is still his father. Manners and structure, on the other hand, paralyze Beth. She would rather put on a brave face, completely ignoring that something is wrong, than grapple with her family on a human level. Moore turns down her natural charisma and wit into something brittle, portraying a narcissist wholly incapable of handling any emotional challenge. It is a credit to Moore’s performance that, late in the film when Beth decides to leave her spouse and child, her exodus comes as a relief.
The supporting roles shrewdly indicate that life can exist beyond tragedy. M. Emmet Walsh plays Conrad’s swimming coach, a gruff but sensitive man who tries to help within the boundaries of their relationship. McGovern’s character, Jeannine, has a little crush on Conrad, and yet acquiesces to social pressure at a crucial moment. She later apologizes, and years before John Hughes, Ordinary People portrays the cliques and social norms of high school accurately, with few of the characters – not even the jocks – fitting into a simple box. Still, the crucial supporting performance is from Hirsch. As Conrad’s therapist, he quickly understands Conrad’s feelings and waits patiently for Conrad to articulate them. This leads to a convincing portrayal of a panic attack, one punctuated by stylized flashbacks, in the throes of which Conrad finally realizes that others blame him for being the one who survived. Hirsch is not a talker like Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting, and yet is convincing as a dogged professional who uses his wit to disarm his patient.
The title Ordinary People might as well be a direct response to Tolstoy’s famous opening of Anna Karenina. This family is unhappy for a specific reason, and yet its members want to seem comfortable and conforming. Another crucial subtext to the film is how the Jarett represent every cliché about WASPs, while Hirsch plays a Jewish intellectual who sees through their façade. Those stereotypes make the film easy to mock or dismiss, and yet to watch the film is to see actors drop their guards for something authentic. Donald Sutherland was one of the greatest screen actors, someone who brought energy and charisma to all his performances for over 50 years. It is a testament to his legacy that, in the wake of his death, we can look to his films and see from him an example of how to grapple with loss.
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