‘Tis the season for surprises. Just as we’re getting comfy with our lists of “locks” and all neatly tucked in with our fave frontrunners, out of left field comes a Meryl Streep-Anne Hathaway tie or a stunning Happy-Go-Snub-Yourself from BAFTA. One of the nicest surprises at last night’s Critics Choice awards was the win many AD’ers have been waiting to see for weeks: Kate Winslet finally getting some recognition for The Reader. Along with The Reader’s USC Scripter nomination early this week, maybe it’s time to rethink The Reader? For those of us who are all thunk out on a Friday, Regina Weinreich at the Huffington Post helps prompt the rethinking:
The emotionally resonant The Reader lingers most, causing a delicious discomfort, a mix of fine acting and writing, the saucy conceit of the teenaged boy Michael (David Kross) and his affair with a mysterious and illiterate Hanna 20 years his senior, and an eternal craving: this movie is after all set in Germany and maybe what we want most is what we will never get (in some Frost/Nixon type logic): for someone to take responsibility for the past. Critics have been poo-pooing this movie for the love affair between a minor and older woman, and other reasons, but I say, look again. The authenticity of the film’s irresolution explains why the Holocaust is such an inexhaustible subject.
It’s a problem I’ll admit to having with the novel — much as I admired it already — and wished Schlink had been explored that issue more explicitly. Now this painful lack of closure is made even more acute in David Hare’s adroit adaptation to the screen:
Significantly, once in prison, Hanna… reads a survivor’s memoir. Instructed by director Stephen Daldry, playwright David Hare omitted that reading, substituting the classics, making even the suggestion of redemption impossible.
This is what makes The Reader so different from Holocaust films we’re used to seeing, and it could be the key to what differentiates its impact, raising its status in the recent surge of a very late release.