DIRECTOR/SCREENWRITER
Tim Robbins
based on the
book by
Sister
Helen Prejean C.S.J.
PRODUCERS
Jon Kilik
Tim Robbins
Rudd Simmons
CINEMATOGRAPHER
Roger Deakins
MUSIC
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
David Robbins
Bruce Springsteen
Tom Waits
EDITOR
Lisa Zeno Churgin
Ray Hubley
CAST
Susan Sarandon (Sister Helen Prejean)
Sean Penn (Matthew Poncelet)
Robert Prosky (Hilton Barber)
Raymond J. Barry (Earl Delacroix)
R. Lee Ermey (Clyde Percy)
Celia Weston (Mary Beth Percy)
Lois Smith (Helen's Mother)
Scott Wilson (Chaplain Farley)
Roberta Maxwell (Lucille Poncelet)
MPAA rating: R
Running
time: 122m
U.S. release: December 29, 1995
Video availability: VHS - DVD
Other Tim
Robbins films
reviewed on this website:
- Cradle
Will Rock
|
The
spirit of the '70s -- a decade when gutsy filmmaking still seemed
possible in Hollywood -- lives on in Sean Penn. He directed last
year's The Crossing Guard, a searching and intimate drama
harking back to John Cassavetes' work, and his infrequent but
vivid recent performances -- in Brian De Palma's Carlito's
Way and now Dead Man Walking -- make us yearn for
the days when Pacino and De Niro were young and hungry. Penn
is still hungry. In Dead Man Walking, Penn takes a page
from Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter and barely moves a muscle.
He knows we'll watch him, and he's right.
Penn is Matthew Poncelet, a Louisiana death-row inmate who contacts
a local nun, Sister Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon), hoping that
she can help him get a reprieve. Early on, writer-director Tim
Robbins (adapting Sister Helen's nonfiction account) defuses
any cheap suspense about whether Matthew will get a stay of execution.
Robbins is interested in the spiritual awakening of a sinner,
a rapist and murderer, who knows he's going to die in a matter
of days. Matthew's journey is awkward and gradual and sometimes
too symbolic; Robbins keeps panning across trees long after we
get his point that the roots of good as well as evil run deep.
At this point, though, I should point out that Dead Man Walking
isn't quite as even-handed as many critics have claimed. Matthew's
death is filmed in prolonged close-ups, so that we experience
his lethal injection along with him; but during this, Robbins
also shows us flashes of Matthew's murders -- which are shot
in black and white, at a distance. Throughout the movie, Robbins
has scrupulously depicted the agony of the victims' parents;
but if we don't feel the full horror of what his victims experienced,
we're not getting the whole picture. To say that the movie is
neither for nor against capital punishment is disingenuous. Still,
this is a fine and painful effort overall, far beyond the smug
jokes of Robbins' directorial debut, Bob Roberts.
Robbins deserves credit for resisting the temptation to elevate
both Sister Helen and Sarandon (the mother of Robbins' children)
to sainthood. I kept monitoring Sarandon for signs of the gimme-a-break
sentimentalism that might invalidate the whole performance; finally
I gave up. Sarandon's task is perhaps even harder than Penn's.
Without pushing it, she has to play a deeply spiritual woman
who wants to treat everyone with kindness. And she pulls it off
in some beautiful, understated moments when Sister Helen, talking
to the parents of the boy and girl Matthew killed, tries to break
through their rage and humbly admits, "I've never done this
before." Sarandon gives us a woman who is fulfilled and
contented but also complicated; it's a heroic performance in
the deepest sense -- without ego.
The clock ticks towards Matthew's execution date, and Sister
Helen agrees to be there when he dies -- as "a face of love"
to comfort him. Meanwhile, she chips away at his defenses, struggling
to get him to confess his crimes and redeem himself. Dead
Man Walking ends not with anger or despair but with a promise
of peace, and Sean Penn -- peeling away each piece of Matthew's
armor to reveal the bleeding humanity underneath -- keeps us
with him until his final heartbeat. If pain and violence are
inevitable, Robbins is saying, so are forgiveness and love. |