Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Money will drive a family apart like nothing
else. Throw in closeted homosexuality,
incestuous desire, marriages that produce children but not love, and cancer,
and you’ve got a toxic cocktail that will leave the participants retching and
the audience gasping. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a triumph. It’s a play that translates well to the
screen as it doesn’t need to be opened up.
The setting of a mansion in a thunderstorm, with all parties stuck
talking whether they like it or not, makes for good drama on stage or
screen. The cast is a knock-out
(especially Burl Ives), and there’s a lot of truth in the sad tales of that long
evening.
The only disappointments are the opening (when
Brick jumps the hurdles, the sign designating the high school behind Brick’s
head—East Mississippi High—is clunky exposition since high schools are named
after towns, counties, or people, not states) and the end (Goober turns on his
wife and renews his bond with Brick too fast).
In between we get to see this grand family pressure-cooked to perfection.
The best scene occurs after the big conflagration
has ended, down in the basement, where Big Daddy finally owns up to the fact
that he loved his father, and despite everything he has accomplished and
acquired, his life was never better than when he tooled about the country with
his happy bum of an old man. Thus,
despite the little time he has left, he finally sees the value in living for
something besides himself.
The most criticized aspect of this movie is the
veiled treatment of Brick’s homosexual bond with Skipper. If we look beyond the asinine motivation to
preserve morals, the censoring of this development is actually better than the
overt treatment on Broadway. Why? First, it’s because friends can be that
important for men. Many men cannot
relate to women and seem incapable of sharing anything of substance. A man’s vulnerabilities will be laid bare in
an ongoing intimate relationship with a woman.
But not his secrets.
Second, it’s the love that dare not speak its
name. Even if everyone in the family
arguing with Brick knows what was really going on, it makes sense that they’d be
unable to say it. And Brick cannot admit
to it—it’s too personal (or too shameful).
And why not empower the audience? Why not reward them for putting 2 and 2
together?
A good example of this is when Big Momma deduces
that Maggie and Brick are not sleeping together since he’s an alcoholic and
she’s childless. Big Momma then enjoins Maggie
that marriages live or die by the marriage bed.
But there’s more to it. A couple
that doesn’t have sex will find their marriage withering. But the root cause of destruction is whatever
it is that keeps the two from physical unity.
Here the spiritual disunity is grounded in Brick’s suspicions of Maggie’s
adultery and greed. If sex was all that
mattered, marriages could thrive on mutual lusts. That, of course, is unsustainable. For a marriage to work, there must be
communication, trust, and sacrifice.
So the audience knows from its own experience
that Big Momma is speaking to much broader concerns. In short, Maggie does not keep Brick
happy. He doesn’t need the happiness
that comes from conjugal bliss; he needs the happiness that makes him willing
to share the marriage bed with his wife.
It’s always better to empower the audience and
presume they’re intelligent (with the risk that they miss something non-essential)
than to talk down to them and insult them.
Always get the audience in the story.
Keep them thinking, keep them guessing.
By always explaining what’s happening filmmakers talk at their
audience rather than with them. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof doesn’t use a
sledgehammer to make its points. And it
reflects experiences common to too many families. That’s why it is engaging, engrossing, and
entertaining; and it rewards repeat viewings.
This is a neglected classic.