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The Spitfire Grill
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There is an
icky strain of contemporary American films that seem to hark nostalgically back
to some imagined golden era in that country’s literary and theatrical
tradition. They are films of small town life, often tales of prejudiced,
enclosed communities confronted by a mysterious stranger.
Pain and
conflict appear in these tales, but essentially they are testaments to human
growth and the miracles that illuminate the everyday. In other words, they are
standard feel-good films, but with a conservative, old-fashioned veneer, rather
than the more strident, high-energy gloss of Spielberg's good-vibe
extravaganzas.
In this
mode, The Spitfire Grill arrived
close on the heels of the woeful The Grass Harp (1996). Percy (Alison Elliot),
released from jail, makes her way to the town of
Gilead. There she obtains a job in a run-down
diner owned by an ailing widow (Ellen Burstyn). Percy must confront the usual
gauntlet of petty suspicions before joining – and eventually galvanising – the
local community.
There is a
very mild mystery-intrigue at work here: a drawn-out question as to the exact
nature of the crime for which Percy was jailed, and what this information might
imply about her current psychological state. But this seems to me a useless
conceit for writer-director Lee David Zlotoff to exploit, for there is never
really any doubt that Percy is a blindingly good, almost angelic character.
There are
aspects of this film – such as the ambience of the diner, the central presence
of a soulful teenage girl, and some slightly incredible plot manoeuvres – that
closely recall James Mangold's Heavy (1996). But where that film lifted itself to
a level beyond mere naturalism through careful and intricate stylisation, this one
plods along unimaginatively like an episode of the ‘70s television series The Waltons.
The Spitfire Grill is a terribly sentimental movie
right down to the mushy, life-goes-on ending. It is humanist to a fault: no
character is allowed to behave in a reprehensible manner for very long, and all
the women appear to literally glow with wisdom and compassion.
That said, the film has its pleasures, mostly related to shrewd
casting. Elliot, Will Patton and Marica Gay Harden are fine, fresh actors, and
Zlotoff has blended them into an affecting, understated ensemble. Only Burstyn,
surprisingly, sticks out of this group: her feisty old lady mannerisms are
irritating and overplayed.
© Adrian Martin November 1996 |
