To me, when I boil Citizen Ruth down to its essence, I see behaviors. On the one side there are the pro-lifers, equating abortion with the killings in Auschwitz, Dachau and the Vietnam War, as they cruelly manipulate Ruth to make a decision out of guilt and fear, a hardly Christian way to operate, even if one believes in the result. And on the other side there are the pro-choicers who keep telling Ruth that the pro-lifers are preventing her from making the decision that she “wants” to make, which isn’t true because Ruth isn’t aware enough to really “want” anything. Payne may have more fun mocking the un-Christian actions of the religious pro-lifers, but he doesn’t go easy on the pro-choicers, who at one point arrive at the Stoney home armed and later effectively hold Ruth captive after kidnapping her. Citizen Ruth is full of closeups, as if Payne is accentuating the way that people keep lying to Ruth’s face. It’s these actions that deserve ridicule, like the way that the nurse smiles with delight while traumatizing Ruth with the anti-abortion propaganda, and if they were carried out by people of greater means, as in a Woody Allen movie, they’d be no less despicable.
EH: Oh, there’s no doubt that these people would be despicable no matter what class they belong to. The scene where Ruth visits the phony clinic is so squirmy and horrifying. It’s a chilling depiction of the ways in which women actually are manipulated in fake “clinics” like this, where the real and rather obvious purpose is not to give women information or medical help but to frighten and cajole them into making a particular choice. Payne’s capacity for withering satire is especially apparent in this sequence, as he piles on the outrages until the whole thing seems absurd: the unnaturally grinning Nurse Pat, who seems more and more delighted the more disgusted Ruth becomes, the doctor’s casual manner as he hands his patient a tiny plastic baby, the surrealism of the moment when they convince Ruth to name the baby that she wants to abort. In a way, I wonder if the absurdity of it all doesn’t work against Payne’s point in some ways, because by exaggerating the personalities of the doctor and the nurse and really piling on the weirdness, it almost makes the whole thing seem unreal, disconnected from reality. It’s as though at times the satire is so effective and so broad that it distances the film from the very real situations that Payne is drawing on. There really are places that do to real women pretty much what Nurse Pat and the doctor do to Ruth, but it’s easy to forget that because of how outrageously bizarre Payne makes it all seem.
A much more effective technique is the way Payne has Ruth subtly break the fourth wall at times. As fucked up as Ruth is, she still frequently observes what’s happening around her with a dazed but critical eye that makes her an audience surrogate trapped between two outrageous and exaggerated extremes. The best example is the moment after Ruth’s visit to the anti-abortion “clinic.” As the nurse and Gail chatter about how well the patient is doing, Ruth slowly turns, incredulous, towards the camera, shooting the audience a conspiratorial look as though she too can’t believe what’s going on here. In a subsequent shot, Gail takes Ruth out to a beauty spa to celebrate her “decision” about her baby, and Ruth still has a numb expression on her face beneath the green gunk caked on her face. Later, when Diane and Rachel are singing, they enter the frame one by one, their profiles to the camera, their faces upturned rapturously towards the moon. Then, shattering the formal rigidity of the composition, Ruth strolls into the shot in the background, looking at her new guardians as though puzzling over some exceptionally abstract piece of art, trying to figure out what’s going on here.
I think these moments are probably the best argument that Payne might not have a condescending attitude towards Ruth, at least. Indeed, in these scenes he aligns her with the audience’s distaste for and bemusement with the other characters, using her glances towards the camera and self-conscious disruptions of the frame to invite the audience to share in her askew perspective on the craziness around her.
JB: What I find particularly interesting about Ruth is that Payne and Dern manage to make her such a sympathetic figure even though she’s completely irresponsible, unforgivably stupid and extremely insensitive. It starts with the opening sequence, which is one of the best in the film. We see Ruth having unenthusiastic and uncomfortable intercourse on a sheetless mattress in a dirty apartment littered with beer bottles. On the soundtrack plays Bobby Caldwell’s rendition of the romantic and thus ironic “All The Way.” Then we hear the sound of a needle skipping on a record player and “All The Way” disappears from the soundtrack as Ruth gets kicked out of the apartment by the guy who just fucked her. We’re less than 90 seconds into the movie, but we already get a terrific sense of Ruth: she mixes with the down-and-out crowd, she’s willing to trade her body for a roof over her head or drugs or both, she has no control of her life and, we can be pretty sure, she’s got no one who loves her. This not only makes us a bit more understanding when we find out that she’s had numerous unplanned pregnancies and been a failure as a mom, it also makes us appreciate why she’s so easily manipulated throughout the rest of the film. She’s desperate for some attention, some indication that her life is worth something. Thus, in one of the film’s funny-tragic moments, Ruth erupts with joy when she finds out that her life is worth $15,000, which to her sounds like $15 million, provided she has the baby.
I’ve never been a fan of Dern. In fact, that’s putting it mildly. In most films, she comes off to me like an actor struggling to look deep—lots of scrunched facial expressions that come off like acting gestures, not expressions of actual emotion. But I find her terrific here, very natural, and that’s key to Ruth, because what’s ultimately endearing about her is her sincerity. It comes through in that scene in which she learns of the $15,000 dollar reward and bounces out the door, ready to run off with the pro-lifers again. It comes through in the scene in which she profanely reenacts an argument with an ex-boyfriend in front of the young Stoney boy. And it comes through in what I think is the most hilarious moment in the movie, when a startled Ruth, running away from Diane and Rachel, winds up on her back kicking both feet in the air in an absurd attempt at self-defense.
I think this movie would play a lot differently if Ruth’s drug of choice were crack or heroin. Instead, her huffing habit is less unseemly than pathetic, which makes Ruth seem so hopelessly lost you can’t help but feel for her. “All my life I never had a chance,” Ruth says through tears at one point, “if I had money, my life would be different.” While poverty and irresponsibility aren’t necessarily linked, it’s hard to disagree with her notion that things have been stacked against her. Regardless, when Ruth becomes a pawn caught between two sides more concerned with a child that hasn’t been (and maybe never will be) born than with the woman directly in front of them, there’s no question that she gets a raw deal.
EH: I find Ruth’s declaration that her life would be better if only she had money to be wholly unconvincing, and I wonder if Payne intends for us to believe that or not. Ruth certainly believes it, though: as you say, $15,000 seems like an unimaginable amount to someone who’s never really had any money, and I think that’s why she’s so convinced that it would change her life. By the end of the film, Ruth finally acquires the $15,000 she’s been scheming to get one way or another, and when she first opens the bag full of money Payne cleverly stages it like a birth, placing the camera inside the bag as it’s being unzipped, as though shooting from a baby’s point of view as it emerges from the womb, with Ruth’s gasping, grinning face peering in. On the soundtrack, a chorus of hallelujahs accompanies this transcendent experience. By now, Ruth knows that, through no choice of her own, she isn’t actually going to have another baby, so the bag full of money replaces the child she might have had, and she reacts to the money with the kind of pride and pleasure that most people reserve for their children.
But will this money really make much of a difference in Ruth’s life? Early on, we see her go begging for money from one of ex-boyfriends, the father of two of her neglected children, and it’s obvious from his demeanor and everything they say to one another that this is far from the first time that he’s given her money. The addict pattern is pretty engrained in Ruth, and within minutes of getting a few dollars she’s at a hardware store buying glue, holing up in an alley to pour it into a paper bag and get high. Throughout the film, anytime she gets the opportunity and the money, this is the pattern she repeats, and there’s no reason to think that much is going to change just because she now has a sizable amount of money for the first time. The triumphant mood of the film’s final minutes is infused with more than a little irony, because even as Ruth reacts to this windfall like it’s a religious experience, raising a joyful fist above her head a few seconds before the credits roll, there’s a sense that this is a transient victory, that she’ll be subsumed by her addictions and soon squander the money that had seemed so full of promise for her. For Ruth, class means more than how much money she has; she’s class-bound not only because she’s poor but because of the behaviors that have become second nature to her over the years.
Incidentally, while I agree that Dern is exceptional here, I don’t agree about your broader assessment of her talents. In fact, I think she is generally excellent and almost always displays the naturalness and depth that you only detect in her in this film. She’s especially good at playing brassy, downtrodden characters like Ruth, or like Lula in Wild At Heart, women who we can’t help but feel for and root for despite, or because of, their fuck-ups and inadequacies. She’s also frankly astonishing as the center and raison d’etre of David Lynch’s Inland Empire, a film built around one of her most varied and powerful performances. She’s a remarkable actress and, whatever ambivalence I harbor about Citizen Ruth as a whole, Dern’s Ruth is a big part of what works best here.
JB: I think you’re right when you say that this money won’t save Ruth. She’s too far gone now, and I didn’t mean to suggest that this new relative wealth will be her ticket to a life of self-dependency and the straight and narrow. (Although, it does give her a chance to start fresh, which she clearly needs, and maybe the experience of having so much attention placed on her might give her a new perspective. Admittedly, that’s a hopeful reading.) Plus, if Payne thinks that all the other characters are “white trash,” as you and others have charged, maybe Ruth’s whining is just yet another sign of her unforgivable ignorance. “I don’t got anything,” Ruth screams in the same episode of self-pity, “you all got everything.” Perhaps Payne is showing how oblivious Ruth is, that she not only thinks $15,000 is enough to retire on but also that Diane and Rachel are living the high life.
Still, I feel as if Payne is making an important emotional and empathetic argument with that scene, because in that moment Ruth knows that she doesn’t want that child, but she also feels as if she can’t turn down that money. She’s stuck. It’s a higher stakes version of the opening scene, when Ruth subjects herself to sex because she needs a roof over her head for the night. Ruth is ultimately responsible for her predicament, sure, but the larger point remains: People struggling to survive don’t have the luxury of making decisions based on principle.
That actually sets us up to talk about Payne’s second film, Election, which begins with Matthew Broderick’s character, a high school teacher named Jim McAllister, asking his class about the difference between morals and ethics. This turns out to be a kind of retroactive joke, because over the course of the film the characters in Election, and McAllister specifically, behave both immorally and unethically in equal measure, usually simultaneously, so that the distinction between the two is hardly necessary. Based on a Tom Perrotta novel that Payne adapted with Jim Taylor, Election chronicles a race for student body president that can be seen as a satirical depiction of our actual government—power corrupts, nice guys finish last and those who play to win do so, one way or another. But if you asked me what Election is about, I’d say it’s much more personal, an examination of characters wrestling between what they want and what they know to be right.
EH: That theme applies mainly to McAllister himself, the civics teacher who by the end of the film has committed adultery and election fraud and destroyed his life in the process. McAllister’s tragedy is precisely that he has such a keen sense of ethics, that he knows what is right and what he should do, and instead he continually engages in unethical and immoral behavior, justifying it to himself all the while. The other characters in the film don’t always seem as aware of the ethical decisions they’re making. Paul Metzler (Chris Klein) does wrestle, like McAllister, with trying to do the right thing, but he’s such an earnest doofus that he doesn’t seem to fully comprehend the issues or the choices he’s facing—and maybe because of that, he generally does the right thing while McAllister’s compulsive over-thinking leads him astray. Paul’s lesbian sister Tammy (Jessica Campbell), on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with ethics or doing what’s right; she just wants to get kicked out of school so she can get sent to an all-girls school and effectively double her chances of finding a soul mate.
And then there’s Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon), the eager overachiever whose run for class president winds up causing such tremendous problems for McAllister. Tracy, I think it’s safe to say, does not wrestle with decisions between what’s right and what she wants personally, because Tracy is wired not to make any distinction between those two categories. As we hear in Tracy’s pattering, self-justifying voiceovers, what’s right, in her mind, is inevitably whatever she wants, whatever is best for her. She is capable of some pretty astonishing displays of self-righteousness. At one point, Tracy has torn down the election posters of her rival Paul and thrown them away. Tammy witnessed Tracy throwing away the posters, but instead of turning Tracy in, Tammy takes responsibility herself. Tracy, who thought she’d finally been caught, has a brief moment of disbelief and relief, and then immediately launches into a stream of invective at the other girl, acting as though she really believes that Tammy was the one who tore the posters down. This is the behavior of someone so delusional, so convinced of her own essential rightness, that ethics cease to have any meaning for her. Tracy Flick believes that she must be class president, that she must succeed and excel in everything she does. Her own personal idea of what’s right starts and ends with whatever will achieve her goals.
And that’s a big part of what Election is about: the self-justifications and mental constructs that allow or encourage people to do some pretty terrible things while convincing themselves, at least at the time, that it’s the right thing to do. In that respect, though Tracy is oblivious to any ethics outside of herself, while McAllister knows all too well the difference between right and wrong, they’re not so different in their rationalizations for their less-than-noble acts.
JB: Yeah, what’s interesting about the two characters is that Tracy thinks she’s the center of the universe, while McAllister knows that he isn’t, and yet they each make similar mistakes based on a desire to bring balance to The Force, if you will. In McAllister’s case, that means enticing Paul to run for president and then manipulating the results, all because he finds Tracy’s sense of self-entitlement annoying and even blames her for the sexual relationship that broke up the marriage of one of his colleagues. In Tracy’s case, it just means doing whatever it takes to ensure her own success. The scene in which she lectures Tammy is a good example of her arrogance, but my favorite example comes in the terrific sequence in which Tracy, Tammy and Paul are shown on the night before the election saying evening prayers.