I saw John Patrick Shanley's "Doubt" on Broadway with Cherry Jones as Sister Aloysius and Bryan F. O'Byrne as Father Flynn. It was one of the most riveting afternoons of theater I have ever experienced: forceful and clean acting, minimalist staging, no sound effects (other than the gasps of the audience). Cherry Jones played the hawkish Sister without any notion of Catholic school stereotypes. The plot twists provided all the thunder and lightning necessary to keep the attention of an audience left exhausted by the emotional battle between Aloysius and Flynn, whom the Sister perceives as a threat within the faculty of the school where she is the principal.
Shockingly Shanley has added all the clichés, including thunder and lightning, to his film of "Doubt" that he so effectively stripped from his play. In sabotaging his own play with stereotypes on screen, Shanley has found a ready ally in his lead actress, Ms. Streep, who lacks only the green warpaint for her depiction of Aloysius as the Wicked Witch of the West. She does wear the shiny black gown and requisite spiked hat. It would take only long fingernails to turn her into Margaret Hamilton, but those are reserved for co-star Phillip Seymour Hoffman who makes Flynn about as threatening as the morning milkman. With the exception of Amy Adams and Viola Davis to round out the central foursome of the play, the movie of "Doubt" bears no emotional resemblance to its vastly superior stage incarnation. By the time of the film's climax, so devastating as portrayed by Cherry Jones on Broadway, Streep has become such a cardboard cutout of the Catholic School nun that any suggestion of her personal redemption, or regret, is laughable. She even slaps the students with rulers as she purses her lips underneath that black cap.
With maturation, Streep appears to be entering the arena of late-career overacting previously pioneered by Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino, and Dustin Hoffman. Well, it works for the Motion Picture Academy. She will certainly score a nomination and probably win an Oscar for her hammy work in this anemic adaptation of a great theatrical entertainment. For some of us, Margaret Hamilton will remain the genuine witch to watch. And "Doubt" will linger in the memory as a great Broadway experience, shamelessly reduced to camp on screen.
Shockingly Shanley has added all the clichés, including thunder and lightning, to his film of "Doubt" that he so effectively stripped from his play. In sabotaging his own play with stereotypes on screen, Shanley has found a ready ally in his lead actress, Ms. Streep, who lacks only the green warpaint for her depiction of Aloysius as the Wicked Witch of the West. She does wear the shiny black gown and requisite spiked hat. It would take only long fingernails to turn her into Margaret Hamilton, but those are reserved for co-star Phillip Seymour Hoffman who makes Flynn about as threatening as the morning milkman. With the exception of Amy Adams and Viola Davis to round out the central foursome of the play, the movie of "Doubt" bears no emotional resemblance to its vastly superior stage incarnation. By the time of the film's climax, so devastating as portrayed by Cherry Jones on Broadway, Streep has become such a cardboard cutout of the Catholic School nun that any suggestion of her personal redemption, or regret, is laughable. She even slaps the students with rulers as she purses her lips underneath that black cap.
With maturation, Streep appears to be entering the arena of late-career overacting previously pioneered by Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino, and Dustin Hoffman. Well, it works for the Motion Picture Academy. She will certainly score a nomination and probably win an Oscar for her hammy work in this anemic adaptation of a great theatrical entertainment. For some of us, Margaret Hamilton will remain the genuine witch to watch. And "Doubt" will linger in the memory as a great Broadway experience, shamelessly reduced to camp on screen.