Family Cinema

Page 6 American Book Review Family Cinema David Prete After the son in François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959) catches his mother having an affair, after his stepfather threatens to ship him to military school, after he cuts school, falsely tells his teacher his mother died, and then nearly burns down the family’s apartment, his mother suggests—to lighten things up a bit—the family should go to the movies. So it makes sense that when David Gilmour’s son Jesse wants to drop out of high school, Gilmour (a once divorced, currently unemployed ex-film critic) lets him do so under the condition that they watch three movies a week—and that they start with The 400 Blows. The difference between Gilmour (author of the new memoir The Film Club) and the mother in Truffaut’s film is that Gilmour isn’t just trying to lighten things up. He’s trying to raise his son right. It’s his idea that Jesse leave school. He suggests it after two years of Jesse’s getting poor grades, lying about doing his homework, and enduring a short stint at private school from which he drops out. Since Gilmour knows he has already lost the school battle, he also knows if he tries to push Jesse back into the battle, he will lose him. So to educate a kid who hates reading, sports, and all things academic, film—being one of Gilmour’s areas of expertise and Jesse’s pleasures— seems a good way to go. But like any thinking and caring parent, Gilmour also fears this hip and unorthodox arrangement may ruin his son’s life. This is a heartfelt, smart book with a subject matter that appeals to everyone who’s ever had parents. It pays homage to the power of film, and nods to those of us who have experienced a scary, seemingly hopeless, and healthy family relationship. The book is masterfully crafted . The scenes of Gilmour and his son smoking on their front porch, talking about the film they just watched are funny, awkward, touching, and superbly paced. Often Gilmour’s sentences are constructed with the precision of poetry: “I had a very strong feeling not to push [Jesse], that he was far, far out on a leash and that the leash had grown mysteriously thin. Eminently snappable.” Gilmour successfully crosses the genres of memoir and film criticism by using movies’ themes to mirror the complexities of his and Jesse’s relationship. “Louis Malle’s Murmur of the Heart…reminds you that no matter how well you think you know someone, even though you think you can account for every moment of his life, you don’t and you can’t.” Gilmour isn’t all about educating Jesse in French New Wave, German expressionism, and all things historic, highbrow, and deep. When the viewings become too serious for too long, Gilmour feels it’s time they watch films strictly for fun. This is when they bust out Rocky III (1982), Under Siege (1992), Night Moves (1975), and the film which, Gilmour writes, “makes a proctologist out of us all,” and which Jesse dubs, “Instructive terribleness”: Showgirls (1995). With these films, Gilmour encourages his son to give himself over to the simple pleasures in life, to “have a good time at a cheesy movie” even in the midst of turmoil. We don’t just see the father and son in front of the television while the Canadian snow falls outside and insulates their manly bonding. Jesse has girl problems that get pretty rough; in spite of having an understanding father he could talk to about it, his heartache gets as bad as any heartache can. One early morning, while Jesse is trying to sew his heart together after a failed relationship , he calls his dad from the hospital where he has taken himself, thinking the cocaine he did all night is giving him a heart attack. Standing over his son’s hospital bed, Gilmour is helpless. There is no movie he could show Jesse to inspire him; there are no wise words he can conjure. At a time when his son’s life is almost slipping...