Upon watching Ethan Hawke’s 2023 film Wildcat, which portrays the life of Georgia-born short story writer and novelist Flannery O’Connor, I kept thinking how I have to give Hawke credit for caring enough about his subject to attempt something different. Unlike most Hollywood celebrities who let their fame and materialism drive their egos, Hawke has always had an appreciation for the arts and artists. That is, he seems to genuinely care about past writers of quality, and he has incorporated these tastes into his film career, often taking on more artistic, rather than conventional projects.
Hawke co-wrote this film with Shelby Gaines having had his daughter Maya Hawke in mind for the role. Maya is also the daughter of Uma Thurman, so if you keep thinking you’ve seen her before—that is why. (She also played Jamie Bernstein in Bradley Cooper’s Maestro.) Filled with brooding moods and blue-green lighting, Hawke creates an atmosphere of a 1950s writer’s world where his subject, O’Connor herself, remains on the outside. For those unaware, Flannery O’Connor died at the age of 39 after having spent years suffering from lupus, an autoimmune disease that often affects the joints, kidneys, and other body parts. This film does not shy away from her physical pain, as we see her having to inject hormones into her hip, using a large syringe. ‘This looks like it’s for a farm animal,’ she remarks.
The film, based on her short stories, vacillates between the lives of present-day O’Connor in New York on her way to Georgia to live with her mother (Laura Linney), and that of her short story narratives. One of her friends, Cal, I learned was Robert Lowell, albeit the name Robert Lowell is never mentioned. However, this character does reference an off-the-cuff poem about a skunk (‘Skunk Hour’) and eventually winning the Pulitzer, but if not familiar with such trivia, one would not have a clue who this person was. Likewise, O’Connor’s stories are presented in clips, where what occurs in real life then appears in the story, e.g., seeing a man with a missing arm, a tattoo parlor, a child making faces at her mother in a church, among others, and these images transpire throughout Wildcat.
This back-and-forth approach offers an excellent attempt into O’Connor’s life’s work, yet the film, at times, does feel disjointed. Or perhaps a better way of saying it is that some excellent moments do work individually, but then when pieced together, don’t carry the same power. This, however, doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the film—quite the contrary. There is enough witty exchange taken from O’Connor’s stories, as well as several scenes between O’Connor and Lowell that make this film worth watching.
Furthermore, we regularly are witness to O’Connor’s outsider status—her feeling that there is nowhere for her to escape, other than in her work. Her body imprisons her, her mother doesn’t understand her, and contemporary writers (save for Lowell) think she needs to tone it down. ‘You really shouldn’t use that word,’ she is told by a fellow writer one night while at a party. But O’Connor was not one to turn away from reality as she saw it. Yes, her stories are often extreme—filled with strangers and violence that otherwise would never enter the likes of Harper’s Bazaar. ‘I don’t understand why you don’t write stories that people would like to read,’ her mother says. But they also incorporate a kind of dark humor and ridiculousness that some can appreciate.
Most biopics are difficult enough, but those on artists—and writers especially—prove to be some of the hardest. For one, how does one present how one creates? Even Terence Davies’s excellent portrayal of Emily Dickinson in A Quiet Passion succeeds more because Dickinson herself is portrayed as a member of the story, rather than star. Or rather, because the secondary characters are every bit as strong as Dickinson herself, the audience is not left feeling like these people exist merely to move plot forward. Furthermore, think of all the films that have rendered the life of Vincent Van Gogh—some have been very good, and others not so much. Wildcat falls somewhere in the middle. I read a review from a reviewer who compared Hawke unfavorably to Terence Davies, and this person would be correct, as Wildcat is not as witty. However, Wildcat is a very different film, and its problem is not in its attempt, which is admirable, but in the result, which at times lags.
As example, the shift between O’Connor’s stories and what is supposed to be present-day can feel distracting, as in, one gets momentarily involved in one story, only to then be pulled from it. Hawke, however, certainly did his homework, and the story recreations are not without due detail and humor, especially in the depiction of ‘Good Country People’, a tale about a young, sadistic Bible salesman who seduces a woman in her 30s with a wooden leg. (She happens to have a wooden leg and he also uses that wooden leg to seduce—and ultimately reduce—her.) In fact, one of the strongest attributes of O’Connor’s writing is her lack of moralizing (interesting considering how religious she was). Unlike the MFA hackneyed writers today, there is no neat ‘bow tie’ ending that instructs readers on how they should feel. There is no forced politics. Rather, O’Connor’s stories will often end with a scene, image, or quote that implies nothing more than what is before you—a limited world full of people who refuse to recognize or acknowledge their limits. And likewise, this film similarly incorporates this.
If for nothing else, watching Wildcat might inspire you to pick up a collection of Flannery O’Connor’s Collected Stories, as it did for me, as it had been probably 18 years since I’d read A Good Man is Hard to Find. Wildcat is an ambitious debut from Hawke, but I don’t know if I can say it was entirely successful. While the acting is good throughout, and Maya Hawke certainly has talent, there seems to be some narrative lack that I can’t quite place. Is the film trying to be too clever? Or maybe it is trying too hard to be different? O’Connor was a different sort of writer but her difference was something she need not attempt. Still, Wildcat succeeds more than the majority of artist biopics out there, and for this, it is worth your watch. However, earlier this year I reviewed 32 Short Films about Glenn Gould, and perhaps that’s what spoiled me.
Just a note: Wildcat is not to be confused with Wildcats (1986, starring Goldie Hawn), about a female coach to an all-male football team. I seem to have seen every bad film made in the 1980s, and Wildcats I saw in the theatre as a kid. (By the 90s I was forced to rent both Reality Bites and Before Sunrise.) Thanks, Ethan.
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