A little "Changeling" needed for gender roles

Last night, my partner and I finally got a chance to watch The Changeling, directed by Clint Eastwood and starring Angelina Jolie. I'd been anticipating this movie since it's release months ago, and now that it's out on DVD, my expectations had grown to gargantuan proportions.

And I can't say I was disappointed. My partner, Joe, actually cried at this film, and anytime Joe cries at a movie, it gets two thumbs up from me. (My tear ducts are a bit less reliable, as anyone remotely familiar with my gene pool will tell you.)

The plot followed real events in 1928 when a boy, Walter Collins, was reported missing by his mother, Christine Collins. Five months later, the police presented Christine with a boy who claimed to be Walter, but was not in fact her son. Despite her protests to the contrary, the police refused to believe her stories and went as far as having her committed to a psychiatric ward against her will.

To me, the film's greatest triumph was it's ability to portray the cultural creation of hysteria in women. The word hysteria comes from the Greek hysterikos, which means "of the womb" or "suffering in the womb" (think of the English term, also derived from the Greek, "hysterectomy").

Hysteria became used as a catch-all diagnosis for "womanly diseases," especially those involving faintness, nervousness, sexual dissatisfaction or really any attempt by a woman to subvert the status quo. Particularly prevalent in the Victorian era, hysteria was frequently used as an excuse to institutionalize women who refused to ascribe to their place in society.

In laywoman's terms, it was what they labeled wild ass women in order to get them under control. And control is really what this movie is about. Almost all of those in power are men -- the police officers, the head doctor at the psych ward, and even the pastor who befriends Christine, yet controls her story for his own purposes.

Perhaps the only time in the movie when we find solace in female redemption from patriarchal control is in the psychiatric ward, when Christine meets another female patient, Carol Dexter, played by Amy Ryan (who plays Beadie in The Wire, one of my favorites). Carol explains to Christine that all her control has been taken away from her. If she asks to speak to the doctor in charge, she will be assumed to be unable to deal with authority. If she becomes silent, she is diagnosed as withdrawn. If she claims her innocence, she is seen as delusional. In short, she is trapped.

And while many women do not end up in a psychiatric ward, many certainly feel trapped by patriarchal forces, unable to find our voice or make ourselves be heard.

There are a lot of disturbing and haunting moments in this film, but what haunted me the most were the number of times that Christine, in all her unbearable grief and frustration, smiles -- actually smiles -- at the men in charge. It's as if she realizes that she's tried everything else, and nothing works. They won't listen to her directly, so she has to charm them instead. It's eerie.

So tonight, I'll be rooting for this film as I watch the Oscars. (See my next post for reasons why my cheering won't be quite as loud in other categories...)