Never before available on home
video domestically, The Criterion Collection has finally released Nicholas Ray's
groundbreaking Bigger Than Life. It's a claustrophobic,
small-scale portrait of 1950s suburbia torn apart by a family man's
addiction to prescription cortisone. James Mason (who also produced)
gave a defining performance in the lead role, undergoing a gripping
transformation from middle class dad to psychotic would-be prophet of
anti-middle class revolution. Released in 1956 to a largely negative
reception, it's no surprise that Americans of the 1950s - eased
into self-satisfaction with the realization of the postwar American
dream - rejected this depiction of small town lives being violently
rent asunder by a repressed subconscious cut loose.
Ed Avery (Mason) is a middle
class schoolteacher, who lives in a large house on a pleasant street
with his wife Lou (Barbara Rush) and young son Bobby (Christopher Olsen).
Plagued by mysterious recurring pain, Avery is prescribed cortisone, a
then-new "miracle drug" that saves his life. The side effects,
however, cause creeping madness in Avery, who begins to envision himself
as a hero to society, the savior of his family, and the protector of
all morality and ethics. With the help of his friend Wally (Walter
Matthau), Lou struggles to escape Ed's increasingly tight clutches
and seek aid from his doctors.
James Mason owns Bigger
Than Life. As the film's producer, he was no doubt attracted
to this challenging, multi-layered character as an opportunity to showcase
his range as an actor. From the paranoid Captain Nemo of Disney's 20,000 Leagues
Under the Sea,
to the desperate Irish bank robber in Odd Man Out
and the loftily delusional Humbert Humbert in Kubrick's Lolita, Mason's performances are each deft,
suave studies in understated British charm and restrained emotion.
Mason's presence - even in the junk he did in the late '60s and
early '70s - almost always guarantees that a film is worth watching,
at least once. And then there's his Brutus in Mankiewicz's Julius Caesar, to say nothing of North by Northwest or A
Star is Born.
In Bigger Than Life,
Mason's Ed Avery is a tightly wound suburbanite, at pains to put people
at ease - going so far as to secretly take a second job as a taxi
cab dispatcher to bring in extra money at home. From this pressured
but likeable starting point, Avery descends - or, as he might perceive
it, ascends - into a fevered, messianic madness brought about by the
psychotic effects of cortisone abuse.
There is a lot in this film
that prefigures David Lynch's Blue
the conception of suburban life as harboring deep-set layers of delusion
and darkness beneath the well-manicured lawns and shiny, detailed vehicles.
Also of note in this sense is the production design, which utilizes
dark, saturated earth tones that anticipate the palette of Lynch's
film - there are huge walls of deep gray-green and slate blue, as
well as dull browns and tans. These heavy colors absorb light,
sapping the environment of happiness - especially in the case of the
Averys' home. As Ed's madness grows, Lou and Bobby are effectively
made prisoners in the house, and it's at this point (about midway
through the film) that the set grows into a frightening, oppressive
character all its own. Those colors make the walls look impenetrable,
and the house begins to bear down upon the family like looming death.
The screenplay is credited
to Cyril Hume and James Bond scribe Richard Maibaum, although there
were uncredited contributions from Gavin Lambert, director Ray, Clifford
Odets, and Mason himself. It's an elegant script. It patiently
builds Avery's madness in an incremental manner that aids a sense
of realism; his transformation and the messianic overtones of his dialogue
- particularly during a scene at a PTA meeting - are brilliant revelations
of a tortured subconscious. The PTA scene unveils the depths of
Avery's psychosis at the same time that it turns his wholesome image
inside out: from a mild-mannered schoolteacher emerges a child-hating
prophet extolling the virtues of rigorous moral and ethical indoctrination.
Following this jarring outburst, Avery exudes a twisted commitment to
his son, taking full personal responsibility for the boy's upbringing
- at home. This entails the transformation of the Avery home
into the aforementioned prison-like environment, with Lou and Bobby
bullied into a state of paralyzing fear.
It's unfortunate that the
role of Lou is somewhat underwritten; she is too weak-willed.
It's a conundrum, however, because a stronger wife would have meant
a weaker Ed, and that could have rendered the momentum behind Ed's
psychosis less compelling. Still, the conflict Ed faces may have
been more realistic and more sympathetic if he had been forced to contend
with a wife who showed more backbone.
Bigger Than Life remains
a challenging, relevant picture because the American middle class and
the development of suburban sprawl has done nothing but grow over the
last fifty years. The concept of suburbia as a deadening neutral
zone where families go to stagnate is, accordingly, even more powerful
a vision now than it was in 1956. Ray's smooth use of Cinemascope
and command of his production team couple with James Mason's masterful
performance, resulting a picture that is finally - and rightfully
- claiming its place as an American classic.