Writer Horton Foote specializes in slice-of-life stories chronicling the daily struggles of sincere Southern folk. Most are straightforward, uncomplicated tales that not in any degree dominated by a definite creation or annihilate. They often start in the middle and end there, too, leaving plenty of dangling threads on account of readers and viewers to contemplate. Plots don’t seem to matter much to Foote; for him, it’s the characters that be confident of, and the 88-year-old author has crafted a significant gallery once more the surely of his long dash. (Carrie Watts in The Trip to Bountiful and Mac Sledge in Row-boat Mercies are it may be his two most illustrious creations.) All speak a simple language, and watching them interact, evolve, and struggle with daily problems is almost forever a rewarding acquaintance.
In Cosset, the Come down Must Fall, Foote employs his patented style conclusively again, this time in an adaptation of his stake, The Traveling Lady. Scheming, scattered, and unobtrusively moving, this low-key and often overlooked stage play possesses a lovely flow and nature that keeps one riveted throughout, in spite of its careful pacing and minimal plot. Mr Big Robert Mulligan strikes just the right tone, and not at any time tries to over-report the story. Yet he brings Foote’s pages to life, and, exactly like he did with To Kill A Mockingbird (which Foote also adapted), masterfully blurs the lines between cinema and literature.
We in the first place dispose of Georgette Thomas (Lee Remick) and her attractive little daughter Margaret Rose (Kimberly Block) as they travel on a bus toward the fatigued town of Columbus, Texas. Notified that her mate Henry (Steve McQueen), who was convicted of killing a man in a barroom battle royal a few years earlier, has received parole, Georgette plans to rekindle their relationship and inject him to the daughter he has not under any condition seen. The family reunion is understandably stilted and awkward, but Henry and Georgette try to forge a life together.
Georgette, however, must fight through despite her husband’s affection. Music is Henry’s first and strongest betrothed, and he finds himself torn between his aching desire to work for a career as a rockabilly singer/songwriter and his burgeoning domestic responsibilities. Georgette fully supports Henry’s conjure up, but convincing the crotchety, officious Miss Kate, Henry’s corrupt adoptive mother, is an impossible task. Miss Kate made Henry promise to enroll in unendingly school and learn a trade as a condition of his parole, but Henry contrariwise feels alive when he’s performing and can’t hold back the allure of the podium.
The wounds Blunder Kate inflicted on the young Henry have never fully healed, and his hatred and fear of the biting antique woman often clouds his judgment. A violent temper and penchant for liquor also conspire to sabotage Henry’s precious, but oh-so-tenuous unfledged sustenance. Georgette tries her most to be a steadying influence, and Henry’s childhood playmate Slim (Don Murray), now the town’s deputy sheriff, does what he can to keep his friend on the straight and narrow, but both have trouble controlling Henry’s inconstant tendencies and soothing his girlhood scars.
Life in a soporific, judgmental Southern borough is well-played out territory for Mulligan and Foote, and their experience shows. Infrequent details escape their gaze as they meticulously depict the wind-swept environment and uptight attitudes of rural Texas. Mulligan weaves an close spell and rarely breaks it, allowing viewers to manipulate an affinity with Georgette and Henry that lasts wholly the fog. But parallel to the characters it depicts, Coddle, the Rain Must Fall stumbles at times. Hurried details and unreliable motivations occasionally cloud the functioning, and McQueen—who performs three songs, including the communicable title tune—can’t lip-synch to save his soul. Yet the literate screenplay, sensitive direction, and impeccable performances make it suggestible to forgive any faults.
Remick and McQueen act with such natural and heartbreaking grace it’s out of the question not to identify on some stage straight with their characters. Both contribute mesmerizing portrayals brimming with realism and truth. Remick underplays to perfection, and exhibits a serenity and purity of spirit that adds to more radiance to her standard beauty. She fills her tender, marvelously shaded discharge with unfathomable emotion and deceptive strength, and her light opinion in the face of biggish turmoil and uncertainty is inspirational.
McQueen, however, is the real surprise. His eyes and stance brilliantly convey Henry’s inner conflicts and neuroses, while his dormant intensity adds wrenching layers to Henry’s yearning for avidity, unrealistic dreams, and divided loyalties. This is a different Steve McQueen—gentle, vulnerable, tortured, but silent tough and manly—and his admirable fit in only makes people wish he pursued similar roles more often. Here, he flexes some affecting dramatic muscle, and, together with Remick, molds Spoil, the Rain Must Befriend into a memorable and moving film.