Junebug: Artful Stereotyping

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on August 7, 2006.

When I was in college, a friend of mine from Atlanta told me that he thought his city—large and prosperous that it was—represented the best of the South. However, he fully recognized that some of his compatriots would not share his sentiment, perceiving Atlanta as somehow un-Southern. Perhaps it is too big, too urban, too wealthy. Isn't the South supposed to be emblematic of quiet, rural, humble living?

"Rural," of course, is not a particularly positive designation among the intellectual, cultural, and political elite of the United States (or perhaps anywhere). Even reactionaries who openly espouse the supposedly superior virtues of rural states do so from their perches atop large cities. (Reason magazine's Nick Gillespie recently noted Pat Buchanan's status as a reactionary who is ironically plugged into one of the most dynamic, cosmopolitan locales anywhere.) To be "rural" implies intellectual limitation, lack of exposure to contemporary news and views — in short, ignorance. This view of rural life may be unfair and even woefully inaccurate, but it nevertheless persists among elites and serves as easy fodder for entertainment.

Enter Phil Morrison's Junebug (2005), a tale of an urbane art dealer, Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz), who marries George (Alessandro Nivola), a native North Carolinian who presumably ran away from his Southern roots to settle in Chicago. Madeleine and George travel back to North Carolina in order to sign a deal with David Wark (Frank Hoyt Taylor), an intellectually disabled "outsider artist," who happens to live a stone's throw from George's family — thus, Madeleine and George have to spend a few days in the area for the requisite familial visit.

When I read the back of Junebug's DVD case, I was a little bit worried. Whoever wrote the blurb gave the movie a schmaltzy feel: a sophisticated Yankee meets her country in-laws, hilarious hijinks ensue, and she goes home learning about the really important things in life. However, rather than presenting us with schlock worthy of the Hallmark Channel, Morrison gives us a subtle, clever, and carefully constructed portrait of believable characters.

While Madeleine is highly educated and sophisticated, she is also open to meeting her in-laws, to learning from them, and to soaking in as much unspoken, intuitive knowledge as possible about her new husband's small-town background. One also has a sense that she is absolutely genuine about her feelings; even when she exoticizes the "outsider artist," it appears that she truly cares for and respects the man. (Note: Madeleine's exoticism is highly emblematic of a general exoticism of the South by cultured, upper-middle-class Northerners. In my own neck of the woods—the Research Triangle region of North Carolina—tourists can eat "Southern cuisine," shop at "Southern-inspired stores," and experience "Southern hospitality" — and then tell their friends back home about their delightful, commodified romp through the Tarheel State.)

In addition, while Madeleine and her in-laws certainly experience a cultural clash, their interactions remain subtle and nuanced. For the most part, the cultural incongruities do not result in major blowups or faux pas, but in moments of mild discomfort and awkwardness. We know that the characters are different people, but we nevertheless witness them trying to get along and act nice — in much the same way as real people interact with "others" that they are forced to befriend.

Finally, Madeleine does learn some lessons about the value of roots, family, and even the power of faith. However, Morrison does not give us any overt "Aha!" moments, nor does he present these lessons in the heavy-handed, didactic style exhibited by such movies as Crash. Rather, we see glimpses of understanding and glimmers of moral change. The end of Junebug does not resolve all tension, but many of the characters (not just Madeleine) do alter their perspectives, having been affected by their interactions with others. We know that long-lasting change will require work on the part of the characters, a willingness to be open to new ways of thinking and being; however, in Junebug we see the genesis of such change, and the end of the movie leaves us hopeful.

Oddly enough, while the aforementioned Crash tries to break the bonds of stereotypes with a heavy-handed cinematic lesson plan, Junebug facilitates stereotypes with its subtlety, careful attention to detail, and slow pacing. When one watches Junebug, he/she cannot help but think: "I've seen someone like him! I know someone like her!" Because Crash feels staged (and thus, fake), the power of its message (i.e., the eradication of racial stereotypes) easily fades; Junebug's intimate detail and realism, on the other hand, stays with the viewer and (inadvertently) burns stereotypes of urban Northerners, rural Southerners—and rural Southerners who flee to the North—firmly in the brain.

In one respect, this is troubling. Junebug feels so "real," but it strengthens, rather than overturns, stereotypes. Paradoxically, Morrison ends up reproducing those schmaltzy themes from the back of the DVD case by giving us a carefully crafted character study that seemingly eschews simple caricatures. Does this challenge us to rethink our previous views regarding the evils of stereotypes? Or, is Morrison riding the wave of post-PC culture, in which the American consumer no longer cares about stereotypical portrayals of the Other? Or perhaps rural Southerners just make easy targets?

These questions are large and go beyond the scope of this review. However, one thing is for certain: Morrison has crafted a fine, if inadvertently troubling, movie that deserves your attention.