"Testament," a bold and occasionally brilliant film about the consequences of a nuclear attack, really does have the feel and mindset of a memoir. More specifically, a memoir written by somebody who might or might not have survived a tragic event they never fully understood. One of the movie's surefire touches of genius lies in the fact that its narrating protagonist, a commonplace small-town mother very well-played by Jane Alexander, never learns who triggered the nuclear war that wrecks life as she knows it. In spite of what the movie posters would have us believe, we never see the actual attack—only a bright series of flashes near the beginning. Afterwards, we only observe the after-effects: the radiation sickness, the townspeople turned on one another, the cemeteries and backyards filling up with coffins. In many of these moments, "Testament" has some great power.
However, as a memoir-mindset, it also suffers from a patchy narrative. If we want to consider it like a memoir, then it was one in which the writer only jotted down their experiences in the barest of detail and only once every few weeks. I am completely appreciative that the makers of the film never spoiled their intentions (they never tell us who is responsible for the attack) but I wanted more of the consequences. I wanted to get to know the protagonist better, I wanted to understand her relationship with her three children, I wanted more of a sense of loneliness when her missing husband never returns home. There are a number of characters who succumb to radiation poisoning (we are told several hundred) but only one death registers an emotional impact. The others certainly attempt to make us feel, but I could not stir any empathy, as I felt I had not come to know these people as human beings.
Running down the casualty lists in "Testament" is like scrolling through a list of casualties from a tragic event long before you were born: I certainly felt sorry for what happened to them, but there was no particular level of sympathy from one name to the other. Maybe that says something about me as a human being, but I never really had the impression that I could imagine being in the middle of it myself. In spite of Miss Alexander's wonderful performance, there is not much of a character there. At the end of "Testament," I wanted to know about her struggles and get involved; I wanted to feel heartbroken that she waited so long and so futilely for a loved one to finally return home. Even an attempted suicide scene, something I would expect of a situation like in this movie, could not bring me to care much.
To the movie's credit, it is very well-produced. Lynne Littman, the director, has a solid instinct for placing her camera and instructing actors how to move, where to stand, and how to perform. She also has a very subtle, unpretentious style: something absolutely necessary given the movie's intentions. And the cinematography by Steven Poster (artfully drab with a washed-out lens trick) is absolutely lovely to behold. It just goes to show that the camera does not need to be flourished with strobes and bright colors for a scene to be beautiful. And there are some scenes of great power: an opening moment where a father and son have a bike race, an extremely touching scene where a mother and her daughter, both of whom expect to die soon, have an honest and open conversation about sex. And the movie's occasional usage of Super 8 home-video footage is a great touch. The music by James Horner is very good (it has a haunting quality reminiscent of the soundtrack from "Blade Runner") but is not heard nearly enough. There are a number of very fine moments in which some subtle, in-the-background notes would be really appreciative, to bring the whole sequence full circle. That just might be the movie's problem: "Testament" never seems to come all the way around with its intentions. Despite its artistically restrained mindset and no matter how much I would like to have been moved and had my thoughts provoked by it, "Testament" did not register much of an emotional impact for me.
However, as a memoir-mindset, it also suffers from a patchy narrative. If we want to consider it like a memoir, then it was one in which the writer only jotted down their experiences in the barest of detail and only once every few weeks. I am completely appreciative that the makers of the film never spoiled their intentions (they never tell us who is responsible for the attack) but I wanted more of the consequences. I wanted to get to know the protagonist better, I wanted to understand her relationship with her three children, I wanted more of a sense of loneliness when her missing husband never returns home. There are a number of characters who succumb to radiation poisoning (we are told several hundred) but only one death registers an emotional impact. The others certainly attempt to make us feel, but I could not stir any empathy, as I felt I had not come to know these people as human beings.
Running down the casualty lists in "Testament" is like scrolling through a list of casualties from a tragic event long before you were born: I certainly felt sorry for what happened to them, but there was no particular level of sympathy from one name to the other. Maybe that says something about me as a human being, but I never really had the impression that I could imagine being in the middle of it myself. In spite of Miss Alexander's wonderful performance, there is not much of a character there. At the end of "Testament," I wanted to know about her struggles and get involved; I wanted to feel heartbroken that she waited so long and so futilely for a loved one to finally return home. Even an attempted suicide scene, something I would expect of a situation like in this movie, could not bring me to care much.
To the movie's credit, it is very well-produced. Lynne Littman, the director, has a solid instinct for placing her camera and instructing actors how to move, where to stand, and how to perform. She also has a very subtle, unpretentious style: something absolutely necessary given the movie's intentions. And the cinematography by Steven Poster (artfully drab with a washed-out lens trick) is absolutely lovely to behold. It just goes to show that the camera does not need to be flourished with strobes and bright colors for a scene to be beautiful. And there are some scenes of great power: an opening moment where a father and son have a bike race, an extremely touching scene where a mother and her daughter, both of whom expect to die soon, have an honest and open conversation about sex. And the movie's occasional usage of Super 8 home-video footage is a great touch. The music by James Horner is very good (it has a haunting quality reminiscent of the soundtrack from "Blade Runner") but is not heard nearly enough. There are a number of very fine moments in which some subtle, in-the-background notes would be really appreciative, to bring the whole sequence full circle. That just might be the movie's problem: "Testament" never seems to come all the way around with its intentions. Despite its artistically restrained mindset and no matter how much I would like to have been moved and had my thoughts provoked by it, "Testament" did not register much of an emotional impact for me.