Even
though “The Lottery” has always been one of the most anthologized American
short stories, Shirley Jackson’s literary reputation has appreciated greatly in
recent years. She had her first Library of America edition in 2010 and a second
will pub in a few months. There was a happier side to her persona that wrote
cheerful motherhood memoirs, but what fun is that? Instead, it is the dark side
of Jackson—the one that suffered from depression and was fascinated with the
macabre—that is the focus of Josephine Decker’s Shirley, which opens
virtually/on VOD this Friday.
Jackson’s
husband, literature professor and jazz critic Stanley Hyman truly believes in
her talent, but in most other respects, he is a deeply problematic husband.
Granted, she is rather difficult to live with herself at this time, because her
writer’s block is apparently manifesting itself as depression and perhaps even agoraphobia.
Supposedly
for Jackson’s sake, Hyman invites Fred and Rose, a grad student and his quite
pregnant wife to stay in their North Bennington home. The way he pitches it,
Rose will help with the cooking and house chores, while he will help Fred with
his thesis. Of course, he has no intention of holding up his end of the
bargain. Yet, despite her initial hostility, Jackson reacts well to Rose’s
company. In fact, she even helps research Jackson’s next novel, Hangsaman,
whose inspiration, Paula Jean Welden, a Bennington coed who mysteriously
disappeared, deeply resonates with the younger woman.
Based
on Susan Scarf Merrill’s novel, Shirley is not exactly a thriller and it
certainly is not horror, but it has conspicuously dark psychological elements
that will still interest genre fans, along with the portrayal of Jackson
herself. Elisabeth Moss plays her to the hilt and them some, veering from the
shrewdly observant game-player (with possible supernatural powers) to the
Bronte-esque mad-woman-in-the-attic. She is gleefully over the top, which is
great fun to watch. Likewise, Michael Stuhlbarg is absolutely insufferable, in
a loud, boisterous, partially self-aware kind of way, as Hyman (in this film,
he really gives jazz and blues critics a bad name).
Admittedly,
Odessa Young and Logan Lerman are supposed to be young, bland, and dumb playing
Rose and Fred, but gee whiz, are they ever. It is like watching an all-star
team constantly scoring against a rag-tag group of bench-warmers. After a while,
it’s just not fair.
This
is definitely Decker’s most grounded film to date, but she still leaves ample
room for interpretation. Regardless, the structure of Sarah Gubbins adapted
screenplay clearly provides some helpful discipline, so do not be put off by
Decker’s name if films like Butter on the Latch did not thrill you to
your core.
For
better or worse, Shirley whole-heartedly confirms the stereotype of all
great writers being angst-ridden neurotics. This is a fascinatingly crafted but
unbalanced composition, perhaps reflecting the perception of its subject. It
intrigues more than it satisfies. Primarily recommended for fans of Jackson and
Moss, Shirley releases virtually, on VOD, and at select drive-ins (but
it is hard to envision it playing such venues) this Friday (6/5).
