The Accidental Tourist
(1988)
The first time I watched
this Lawrence Kasdan film, I was of a more callow age than I am now.
I felt the powerful impact of its cinematic lyricism, and could see
the appeal of its story in broad strokes. Yet I was deeply wrong in
my understanding of the movie's essence. I saw a conventional story
of romance, as lived out by very quirky characters; their
quirks being a humourous device to set the film apart from an
infinite number of antecedents. Having watched 'The Accidental
Tourist' again, a decade later, what I saw was a group of people who
are in fact portrayed as being painfully normal. Life doesn't fall
into their grasp with the same ease as it does so often for the
average Hollywood cardboard cutout. Rather, they move through their
existences with timid hope and awkwardness, reminiscent of so many
personalities to be found among the real world multitudes. It is a
story largely about affection, but it is also one heavily detailing
loss. While the romance may be drawn as the most prominent plot arc –
perhaps necessarily so – for the main character of Macon Leary
(William Hurt), it is not just a more fulfilling relationship than
his vacant marriage, but also an opportunity for him to overcome the
loss of his murdered son, for whom he will inevitably feel more
profound affection. The final scene of the movie is staged so that
some might expect a romantic reunion akin to that of 'Breakfast at
Tiffany's'. Instead Macon's final on-screen meeting with Muriel
(Geena Davis) is given second billing to his greater acceptance of
the loss of his son.
Like all films that I
enjoy the most, I feel great empathy with Hurt's character. I don't
think I could be accused of resembling him much, and I cannot begin
to imagine the pain of losing a child to a violent death. However,
the dysfunctional, awkard characters that are the Learys are not
wholly foreign to me. And, like those of my own family, their
dysfunctionality does not seem ripped from the pages of Reader's
Digest, but carries its own idiosyncrasies and would require volumes
to describe and reference.
There's nowt so queer
as folk, as my Scottish father
has been in the habit of saying for as long as I can remember.
Though
the Learys do seem odd on the face of it. Macon's job, as the
eponymous Tourist, is to write travel guides for people who don't
enjoy travelling. I personally loathe the stress of packing and
catching planes, but consider exotic food and surroundings to be
among the greatest of luxuries. The Accident Tourist's readership is
of a different breed; the business traveler who hates absolutely
everything about leaving home, and will go to great lengths to find
hotdogs in London that taste just like the ones served in Yankee
Stadium, as promoted by an unconvincing London hotdog vendor. The
greatest irony being that Macon literally is
the Accidental Tourist, and therefore must endure what are personally
some of the worst inconveniences he could imagine, so that others
will not suffer as much. In addition to eating foreign food, readers
are cautioned about loquacious strangers – the guide's advice is to
bring a book so that unsolicited conversationalists will think you
are busy, the modern equivalent would be a smartphone.
In
his unnamed American city of residence, Macon spends an inordinate
amount of time with his three siblings, who are still single and live
together. The whole family shares endearing traits, such as routinely
getting lost in the neighbourhood which they have lived in for all
their lives, and an OCD-like fastidiousness when it comes to
groceries. That Macon lives apart from his siblings suggests that
while he is woven from much the same cloth, he is slightly more
socially evolved.
At
the beginning of the film, we are plunged immediately into the muted
drabness of his life. Subtle mentions are made about the dead son
throughout the film, including one invaluable scene where he tries to
make laundry arrangements more ergonomic using a skateboard. As in
'Body Heat', Kasdan and Hurt work together with Kathleen Turner, who
plays Macon's wife, Sarah. She is by no means a bad person, and if
their lives had not been so catastrophically altered by a cruel twist
of fate, it is easy to see them living a quietly satisfied life
together. As it is, she understandably cannot come to terms with the
void that has been created in their household and announces her need
for a separation.
Soon
afterward, we are also introduced to Muriel as Macon's subsequent
love interest, who could not be more opposite to Sarah. And as such,
her effusiveness and lust for life are a far cry from Macon's
detached relationship with the world. Soon however, there is perhaps
a realization that while similarities are useful in a relationship,
one that is complementary can possibly lead to an even more hopeful
dynamic. There is also Muriel's son, a fragile boy – fatherless and
allergic to everything, including pizza. While she is probably
initially attracted to Macon because of his solemn handsomess and shy
politeness, there must also be a part of her that sees his fatherly
qualities from the outset. Unlike as it is with many love triangles
of fiction, the question of whether Sarah or Muriel is the better
human being is beside the point. Instead, we are encouraged to foster
the belief that people change. In an ideal marriage, emotional growth
is a shared requirement, but in the case of a lost child, the need
for difference could not be more forgivable.
I
started watching films that involved the participation of Lawrence
Kasdan long before I was aware of him as a craftsman. He was of
course a principal collaborator on the 'Indiana Jones' and 'Star
Wars' franchises – films that are by and large so entertaining that
they permit 'serious' filmgoers to forget that 'franchise' is a pejorative. But he has also created a body of work of extremely
personal films, including the estimable 'Grand Canyon', which bears
similarities to 'Tourist' with its themes of loss and human kindness.
Even in westerns like 'Silverado' and the much maligned, admittedly
lopsided 'Wyatt Earp', the characters feel like people who are
thinking about their
actions, not just mindless templates reused in last summer's big
studio blockbusters.
'The
Accidental Tourist' is my favourite of them all, which would likely
not be the case were it not for William Hurt leading the cast,
without ever diverting too much attention away from his costars.
Unlike other great actors who are best known for their sheer presence
when on film, Hurt seems able to play anybody. The laconic private
eye in 'Body Heat', the chauvinistic professor in 'One True Thing',
the gay prisoner in 'Kiss of the Spider Woman', or the downright scary
mobster in 'A History of Violence'. In 'Tourist' it's as though he
reached into his own soul and wrenched out a grieving father. The
social hangups are also ably displayed, but they are secondary
descriptors, as are his mishaps of passion. Grief is what defines the
character of Macon, until he is gradually afforded what small amounts
of reprieve can be expected.
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There
is also a dog in the film called Edward. For most films a character
like Edward would be the biggest reason to recommend them.
