[9]

I know, I know. How on Earth can I love a heinous piece of trash like The Scarlet Letter? Well, I confess it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure. But I’ll also try to defend a movie that’s not nearly as bad as it’s made out to be. First, we have to address the adaptation of the material. Anyone expecting a faithful adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic novel will indeed be sorely disappointed. Director Roland Joffé (The Mission, The Killing Fields) opts for a very loose retelling of the story, clearly stating in the opening credits that the film is “freely” based on Hawthorne. So less than five minutes into the movie, you’re being warned: leave now, or be prepared to judge the film on its own merits, however ‘Hollywoodized’ those merits may be.

The casting of then-superstar Demi Moore (Ghost, About Last Night) seems to be one of the biggest points of derision, but to my taste, she gives a solid performance. I think her past filmography, littered with youth-oriented films and pop hits, is what makes it hard for people to envision her in the role. She’s both strong and vulnerable as Hester Prynne, a woman imprisoned, shamed, and ridiculed by mid-1600s Puritanical Boston for bearing an illegitimate child and refusing to name the father, who would surely hang if identified. That father is none other than the town’s reverend, Arthur Dimmesdale, played by Oscar-winner Gary Oldman (Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mank). Oldman is reliably good, playing the romantic lead in a period drama as well as anyone. He captures Dimmesdale’s all-consuming guilt and desire for penance, aching in anonymity while his true love, the mother of his child, is made to suffer publicly.

The supporting roster of talent is a remarkable one, starting with the wonderful Joan Plowright (Enchanted April, Tea with Mussolini) as the town pariah, a non-conforming woman who befriends Hester. Robert Duvall is at his most villainous as Hester’s husband, a man long-thought dead who’s captured and tortured by the Indians until his moral compass is irreparably broken. He haunts Hester, promising to kill the father of her child as soon as he discovers who it is. Meanwhile, he assumes a false name among the township and sews the seeds of a moral/religious panic. His efforts escalate into a climactic accusation of witchcraft and the sentencing of several women, including Moore’s and Plowright’s characters, to be hanged. Smaller roles are filled with such colorful character actors as Robert Prosky (Thief, The Natural), Roy Dotrice (Amadeus, TV’s Beauty and the Beast), and Amy Wright (The Amityville Horror, The Accidental Tourist).

While the principal characters and setting are the same, screenwriter Douglas Day Stewart (An Officer and a Gentleman, The Blue Lagoon) takes several liberties with the narrative — including a subplot about war with Native American Indians that justifies a climax far more sensationalized than the book’s. The film also exploits some erotic love scenes that Hawthorne never describes explicitly. Frankly, I perversely enjoyed these added, sensationalized elements. I mean, the Puritans in this movie are so incredibly nasty, why wouldn’t you want to see them butchered by the Natives?

Even if the film lacks the book’s subtlety, the story’s provocative themes are still very much intact. The Scarlet Letter is an indictment of oppressive Puritan Christianity, a dangerous force that still lingers in our culture today. What’s most compelling for me in this story is that the two central lovers bear not only the brunt of their community’s scorn, but their own self-flagellation. Hester and Dimmesdale love God and want to be in His light, even as their uncontrollable desires seem to be in conflict with the laws that govern them. It forces them to question organized religion and seek a direct line of communication with God, or — if you’re more secular — to listen to their hearts. It takes tremendous bravery to defy the will of society and trust your instincts like this. Blindly following doctrine, to my mind, requires no faith like that exhibited by Hester and Dimmesdale. They’re spiritual heroes of a sort that I greatly admire — and can relate to on a personal level.

Beautiful woodland and oceanside locations, gorgeous cinematography by Alex Thomson (Legend, Excalibur), and a deeply romantic score by John Barry (Out of Africa, Dances with Wolves) elevate the film tremendously. And costume designer Gabriella Pescucci, two years after her Oscar for The Age of Innocence, achieves perhaps the film’s greatest fete — making Puritan costumes remarkably sexy.

My love of the underlying content and an overall aesthetic appreciation may blind me to any flaws in The Scarlet Letter‘s conception or execution. But so be it. The heart wants what it wants. If I’ve committed a film critic’s sin, just give me my own scarlet letter and I’ll wear it with pride. I adore this movie.

With Lisa Andoh, Edward Hardwicke, and Eric Schweig.