Rachel, Rachel (1968, Paul Newman) (Patreon)

69/100

Extraordinary raw-nerve performance by Joanne Woodward in the title role(s), vivid and emotionally specific enough to overcome the film's reductive psychology (derived from the source novel, I assume). Voiceover narration and childhood flashbacks work overtime to make sure that we understand why Rachel's a timorous virgin at 35, as if everyone who grows up in a funeral home develops crippling neuroses that persist long into adulthood, just by virtue of being constantly surrounded by death and witnessing the fight against decomposition and oh wait I just wrote Six Feet Under's logline didn't I. Anyway, it's overdetermined in the context of a 101-minute feature, but Woodward plays against the role as conceived and written, to a certain extent, giving Rachel an undergirding of toughness that makes her vulnerability that much more bruising. (On paper, the character seems tailored for Sissy Spacek, who I love but think might have killed this movie with ingenuousness, had she been remotely old enough—or even working yet—at the time.) Newman does solid if unremarkable work formally, but deserves enormous credit not just for guiding his wife but for understanding that he should not under any circumstances cast himself as Nick; James Olson's gone-to-seed looks and slightly creepy affect are crucial, clarifying that Rachel hasn't lucked into a (false) dream but has grasped at what she mistakenly perceives as a life preserver. Didn't love the revival meeting as a catalyst (more blunt symbolism), but Calla impulsively kissing Rachel, and that act's aftermath, are handled with remarkable sensitivity for '68. Only the fact that I haven't yet seen Patricia Neal in The Subject Was Roses prevents me from wanting to hand Woodward both Hepburn's and Streisand's Oscars for that year. Words To "Live" By, in response to a doctor or nurse telling Rachel that she's out of danger: "How can I be out of danger if I'm not dead?"