Coming Home is an eclipse of a romantic drama, one in which there are no clear signs of who should be with who or what should happen to who and who deserves what. Its characters are damaged in one way or another; most are trying to figure out what to do with their fragmented lives. Should they do what is considered to be the right thing? Or should they follow their heart and try to avoid causing even more damage as a result?
Taking place in 1968, America has become shattered and unintentionally cynical. With the Vietnam War as a backdrop to everyday life, most are sick and tired of living under the societal pretensions of the previous decades; anger is prevalent, but an outreach of peace is too. Sally Hyde (Jane Fonda) has always been a wife first and a person second, so when her husband, Bob (Bruce Dern), goes off to fight in Vietnam, she finds herself uncertain of her priorities. She has never had to work a day in her life, and she's never been looked at as anything other than another man's property.
With Bob gone, she finally has the chance to become the independent woman she never thought she could be. Sally, along with her friend Vi (Penelope Milford), decide to volunteer at the local V.A. hospital. There, she meets Luke Martin (Jon Voight), a past acquaintance who is back from Vietnam after an accident leaves him paralyzed from the waist down. Luke is understandably upset with how his life has turned out, and as Sally gets to know him, she not only develops feelings for him, but she also finds herself more aware of the mess the U.S. is in. She still loves her husband, but he has grown increasingly distant after facing violence on such a regular basis. When he comes home, Sally is forced to decide whether to remain a wife or start her life anew.
Coming Home isn't a women's picture as its plot might suggest; it's something much closer to the heart and something more important to American history than a drama where romantic triangles run amok. It is one of the most essential films of the 1970s. Painting an unfiltered picture of life after Vietnam, it is by turns humanizing, upsetting, and moving. The characters are completely different people by the end of the film: Sally starts as a quiet housewife and ends as a woman in touch with her surroundings and her personal needs; Luke goes from the mindset of a bitter victim to an impassioned protester; Bob sheds his typical spousal roles and becomes an emotionally impaired disaster. Such transitions are risky, as they may not always ring true in the development of a certain figure. But Coming Home never stops being earnest. It could be moralizing, but like Sally, we are left to make our own decisions.
Ashby, a seminal director of the decade, doesn't pick sides, preferring to let his characters go loose and see what paths they set for themselves. Like Robert Altman or John Cassavetes, you can feel his presence, but his presence does not interfere with the naturalness of any given situation. The Stones, Simon & Garfunkel, golden era Beatles, and Jefferson Airplane play at a near constant pace, almost as if Ashby is trying to remind us that times are changing and the world isn't what it used to be. It used to be a place where people only really "made it" if they got married and settled into domestic bliss. But now, with its preference for soft rock and free love, America isn't content to simply settle. Coming Home carries a restless energy; moving forward, not backward, is the only option.
Fonda, Voight, and Dern are all outstanding, even if the third act leaps into melodramatic territory and betrays the realism set so effortlessly in the first two. The '70s explored film in a way that no other decade has, and Coming Home serves as one of the most authentic excursions into a culturally relevant topic. It's a life-on-the-home-front picture that makes life on the home front seem just as alien as life on the battlefield.
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Taking place in 1968, America has become shattered and unintentionally cynical. With the Vietnam War as a backdrop to everyday life, most are sick and tired of living under the societal pretensions of the previous decades; anger is prevalent, but an outreach of peace is too. Sally Hyde (Jane Fonda) has always been a wife first and a person second, so when her husband, Bob (Bruce Dern), goes off to fight in Vietnam, she finds herself uncertain of her priorities. She has never had to work a day in her life, and she's never been looked at as anything other than another man's property.
With Bob gone, she finally has the chance to become the independent woman she never thought she could be. Sally, along with her friend Vi (Penelope Milford), decide to volunteer at the local V.A. hospital. There, she meets Luke Martin (Jon Voight), a past acquaintance who is back from Vietnam after an accident leaves him paralyzed from the waist down. Luke is understandably upset with how his life has turned out, and as Sally gets to know him, she not only develops feelings for him, but she also finds herself more aware of the mess the U.S. is in. She still loves her husband, but he has grown increasingly distant after facing violence on such a regular basis. When he comes home, Sally is forced to decide whether to remain a wife or start her life anew.
Coming Home isn't a women's picture as its plot might suggest; it's something much closer to the heart and something more important to American history than a drama where romantic triangles run amok. It is one of the most essential films of the 1970s. Painting an unfiltered picture of life after Vietnam, it is by turns humanizing, upsetting, and moving. The characters are completely different people by the end of the film: Sally starts as a quiet housewife and ends as a woman in touch with her surroundings and her personal needs; Luke goes from the mindset of a bitter victim to an impassioned protester; Bob sheds his typical spousal roles and becomes an emotionally impaired disaster. Such transitions are risky, as they may not always ring true in the development of a certain figure. But Coming Home never stops being earnest. It could be moralizing, but like Sally, we are left to make our own decisions.
Ashby, a seminal director of the decade, doesn't pick sides, preferring to let his characters go loose and see what paths they set for themselves. Like Robert Altman or John Cassavetes, you can feel his presence, but his presence does not interfere with the naturalness of any given situation. The Stones, Simon & Garfunkel, golden era Beatles, and Jefferson Airplane play at a near constant pace, almost as if Ashby is trying to remind us that times are changing and the world isn't what it used to be. It used to be a place where people only really "made it" if they got married and settled into domestic bliss. But now, with its preference for soft rock and free love, America isn't content to simply settle. Coming Home carries a restless energy; moving forward, not backward, is the only option.
Fonda, Voight, and Dern are all outstanding, even if the third act leaps into melodramatic territory and betrays the realism set so effortlessly in the first two. The '70s explored film in a way that no other decade has, and Coming Home serves as one of the most authentic excursions into a culturally relevant topic. It's a life-on-the-home-front picture that makes life on the home front seem just as alien as life on the battlefield.
Read more reviews at petersonreviews.com