There must be thousands of them out there. Men and women like Howard Wakefield.
On the surface everything seems fine. Good job, good marriage, good family. Living the proverbial American dream in the proverbial American suburb.
But we know better. And that is because we are privy to the parts that go below the surface. The shit no one else seems cognizant of.
Then we do the calculations and wonder: How far removed from them are we?
And then it all comes down to options. At least once we decide to take that leap.
Only this one is rather unique. Here the man doesn’t abandon the past and leave it all behind but stays behind and hides. In order to observe the present. From the attic. Over the garage. Spying on the life he once lived and on those who lived it most intimately with him.
And given that the tale is…
Based on an old short story of the same name by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Also based on ‘Wakefield’, an update of Hawthorne’s tale, by E.L. Doctorow that appeared in the Jan. 14, 2008 New Yorker
…we know that the narrative is meant to be explored on many different levels. You yank yourself out of “society”. Then what? Do you yank yourself back into it from a different perspective? Or do others finally find you and yank you back more on their own terms?
With this one you are never quite sure. By the time Herbert and Emily enter the story it is all but surreal. And certainly unbelievable. And, as with all movies of this sort, the entire world seems to revolve around one particular individual. The rest of us [and the parts embedded in political economy] are just sort of “out there” somewhere vaguely, incoherently.
As for how it all ends…you tell me.
at wiki: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wakefield_(film
trailer: youtu.be/chOJRaIOx_g
WAKEFIELD [2016]
Written and directed by Robin Swicord
Howard [into a recorder]: Furthermore this indemnification clause clearly states that there will be no adjunctive relief. And our client’s chances of being rewarded financially are minimal at best.
Establishing right from the start he is smack dab in the middle of the “rat race”.
[b]Howard [voiceover after a power outage]: Can I be blamed for feeling that things were a little strange that night? You don’t expect a power outage in the spring. Not without a storm first. When you’re tired and it’s a long day and you’re trying to get home you tend to feel all these little disconnects as the slow trajectory of a collapsing civilization.
…
Howard [voiceover]: “In the suburbs, we live in nature.” That’s a quote from my realtor the selling phrase she used when Diana and I first looked at this place. And you do see deer, rabbits, crows. But we don’t live in nature. That’s the point of the suburbs. You live apart from humans. And you’re protected from what’s wild.
…
Howard [voiceover]: We did this thing where we would play at sexual jealousy. Or I played at it and she was my accomplice. After 15 years of marriage jealousy was the reliable stimulant. Let’s be honest. When your spouse gets jealous, it’s flattering. The blood stirs, the heart pounds. We’d quarrel…and we’d have sex. Or as Diana would say provocatively we’d fuck. And it works. Until it doesn’t.
…
Howard [voiceover]: You know, frankly I was totally bewildered by this situation I had created for myself. Diana would probably think I’d been with someone else. Not that I had ever given her a reason to doubt me in 15 years of marriage. Oh, my god. It would be the weakest of tactics for me to walk into my house and try to explain to her the perfectly rational sequence that led me to spend the night in the garage.
…
Howard [voiceover]: Surprise, the car’s still there. The plot thickens…
…
Howard [voiceover watching his mother-in-law arrive]: Shit. God help us. The widow, Babs. Right on cue.
…
Howard [voiceover watching his mother-in-law]: Oh, god, I wish I had a high-powered rifle right now. One shot. That woman could be up here for two days!
…
Howard [voiceover]: At this juncture, it seems fair to point out if your spouse had seemingly vanished would you go off to work as usual? Are daily matters so very goddamn urgent at the local county museum?
…
Howard [voiceover]: I ask you what is so sacrosanct about a marriage and a family that you should have to live in it day after day however unrealized that life may be? Who hasn’t had the impulse to just put their life on hold for a moment? I ask you.
…
Howard [voiceover]: It’s not difficult to run away. People ditch their families all the time. But if this were a simple abandonment of wife and children, I’d have written Diana a note taken my car out of the garage driven to Manhattan, checked into a hotel and walked to work in the morning. Easy. Anyone can do that. But you’d still be the same person. This is different. You see I no longer seem to require those things that only days ago were so indispensable. The armor of a clean shirt the smooth shave credit cards, cellphones, clients. There will be no more getting on that train. I’ll take nothing more from her. Nothing from that house. Ever. I’ll sustain myself like a castaway. A survivor. Undetected. Unshackled. I’ll become the Howard Wakefield I was meant to be.
…
Howard [voiceover, as though to the camera]: Oh, please. You’ve imagined doing this yourself. I know you have.
…
Howard [voiceover]: In every marriage, there’s a division of labor. Mine and yours. By Diana’s artful calibration her tasks occur only inside the house. Children, cleaning, provisioning. Oh, which means shopping. Lots of shopping. But anything external, the roof the gutters, the chimney, trash you know, servicing the cars, that’s all left to me. Her duties end at the door. And of course, any labor accomplished outside the house is invisible to my wife. Paying the bills, invisible. Property taxes, life insurance home insurance and of course, our mortgage. All faithfully and invisibly taken care of by one Howard Wakefield. Now quite possibly deceased.
…
Howard [voiceover]: If I had left her in the conventional sense if I had divorced her no one would blame my wife if she began entertaining hordes of men. But by simply vanishing, I placed Diana in a, let’s say, a distant category. Till it’s known what’s become of her husband Mrs. Wakefield remains not quite available.
…
Howard [voiceover]: A prisoner. That’s what I’ve made of myself. The fuckwit prisoner of all time.
…
Howard [voiceover]: You do realize, I hope, that none of this is a rejection of my wife or – or suburban life or any of that. You see, I never left my family. I left myself. I stepped into the wild. Into that primal arena, a beach vacation in Cape Cod only pretends to supply. But in the primal world, there’s one law. We are food to one another or we are not. That’s it. End of story.
…
Howard [voiceover]: You know how in late summer there’s always that first night of Autumn. That familiar chill. Normally, I welcome the change of seasons. But this time, well I no longer have a pair of shoes.
…
Howard [voiceover]: There’s no point denying it. They’re much happier without me.
…
Howard [voiceover]: She’s buying the cheaper cuts of meat. Saving her pennies. Suppose she has to sell the house? How far am I willing to let this go? Then again, it could end at any moment. I could be exposed. Christ, if I did go back I mean, how would I begin? How does a man in my situation explain himself to his wife? She’ll think I vacated my senses. If anything, I’ve come into my senses fully. My god, I can see it so clearly. I’ve constructed the whole thing.
…
Howard [voiceover]: Howard is victim. Howard is persecutor. There’s no one there, Howard. Howard has mastered the world. That was my prison. That’s what I’ve escaped. Leaving me where now? An outcast of the cosmos?
…
Howard [voiceover]: Am I a coward, afraid of facing her rejection? Or am I just resolved to see this thing through? And by this thing what the hell do I even mean?
…
Howard [voiceover]: Company for dinner? Who can it be?
…
Howard [voiceover]: It seems remarkable that I still know how to drive. Strange to be subject to rules again. You forget god awfulness. Buildings stacked up like that. People in endless replication. It’s impossible to imagine I worked here once. That I could ever work here again. One thing at a time, Howard. Construct it. First the thrift store, then the haircut. And now I can pass through this door. First that and now this. [/b]