Carol

For me, a new film from Todd Haynes is something of an event. He makes so few, and when he does, they’re always hypnotic, frostily intellectual, and composed of immaculate images deploying the same use of colors and composition as Douglas Sirk. Yes, you could say I am a big fan of his. Carol did not disappoint me.

The meeting of Patricia Highsmith and Todd Haynes feels like a match made in queer cinema heaven given the impressive results. Far too often queer love stories are rendered as tragedies in cinemas, tales of star-crossed lovers destined to spend their lives apart from each other. Carol gives the feeling of possibility to this romance, not ending with a declarative yes or no, but with a thoughtful maybe.

Highsmith, generally, as an author was concerned with the psychological implications and motivations of her characters, and the same can be said of Haynes as a director. Far From Heaven takes the Sirkian images and story beats on display, but digs deep into the widening emotional and mental awakening of its sheltered housewife. Carol tracks the sexual, emotional, and mental maturation of Therese (Rooney Mara) through the prism of her relationship with Carol (Cate Blanchett). These two films would make for a great double-feature.

Haynes does remarkably well with this 50s milieu. Much like Far From Heaven, this has him returning to ape Douglas Sirk imagery and style, but he does it with flair and is clearly a student of the master. It never feels like pastiche, but like the consciously chosen influence being repurposed to its own needs. One could easily see Sirk making a film like Carol back in his time. Haynes work here is consistently solid, and I believe he was robbed of a Best Director nomination.

Carol is a sustained glance as porcelain figurines slowly fracture, these cold exteriors masking the raging emotions underneath. Therese practically vibrates with erotic awakening and lust in her first glimpses and exchanges with Carol. Or the fury and angst that swallows up Carol in her custody battle, a bitter, dirty fight between her ex-husband and social circle slowly entrapping her into domesticated heteronormative hell. When these emotions escape into ugly furies, they are all the more shocking and moving. So much of Carol is left understated, requiring you to read between furtive glances.

Much could be written about the sex scene between the two women, but it isn’t exploitative or titillation. There’s an emotional connection in addition to the erotic. There’s a neediness and hunger that comes with slow-boiling romance and deferred urges. That this scene comes back to haunt the heroine is no shock, given the times and the nasty divorce looming large over it all. Their extended road trip, which comprises a large amount of the second act, plays like a yearning to break free of social constraints and judgment, which makes the hopeful ending all the better.

Carol is a two-hander, mostly, and the lead actresses do not disappoint. Blanchett, of course, is one of our current greats. An actress of tremendous depth and skill, and her reading of Carol is as fabulous as the costumes Sandy Powell has put her in. Immaculately designed from head-to-toe, Carol’s exterior masks an inside that is yearning to connect and be free. Blanchett’s big dramatic moments are handled with care, like her scene where she makes a deal regarding child support, or another where she puffs on cigarettes and counts down the seconds until she can see her daughter at a gathering with the in-laws. Her Oscar nomination is well deserved.

Rooney Mara’s is as well, even if she is in the wrong category. Mara’s Therese is clearly a leading role, and placing her in supporting is an impressive bit of category fraud. No matter, Mara is reserved and meek, clearly in awe of this magnetic older woman who has taken an interest in her. Therese, it could easily be argued, is actually the leading character as much of the film is told from her perspective. It’s impossible to catch Mara acting, and her fragility hasn’t been used as effectively since The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Her large eyes communicate much of what is left unsaid, and her yearning glances prove that sometimes words are useless in cinema when a close-up could tell the same story so much better.

Sarah Paulson and Kyle Chandler shine in the major supporting roles, and both them deserve more love and accolades then they’ve been given. How consistently good in several projects have the two of them been? Paulson’s tough girl act is amusing, and feels lived in and authentic. Chandler’s broken husband is a complicated figure, at once pitiable and petty. Strangely likable, he loves Carol and just wants his happy home back together, misplacing her need for agency in an era where such a thing was deemed nonexistent. Other actors come and go, but these two are the only players whose performances really linger.

For the life of me I cannot understand why this wasn’t given a Best Picture nomination. It deserves one, for damn sure. My best guess is that it’s a film about women, and men play only supporting roles to their stories. No matter, Carol will outlive many of the actual nominees. It’s another damn fine piece of movie-making from one of our current directing greats.