by SaraKay Smullens, MSW, LCSW, DCSW, CGP, CFLE, BCD
The pain and danger inflicted by a lack of self-awareness and reflection make The Children Act a very difficult film to experience. That said, I highly recommend it. For this art is life personified. It is also warning.
Based on the 2014 novel by Ian McEwan (who wrote the screenplay), The Children Act stars the luminous, extraordinarily talented Emma Thompson as Fiona Maye, a severely constrained British judge consumed (and protected – more about that later) by her work as a family court judge. Fiona strictly adheres to the principles of the 1989 law known as the Children Act, a body of law designed to protect the welfare of those under 18 years of age, often in strict opposition to their parents. When we first meet Fiona, she is in the midst of deciding if one conjoined twin will die so that the other will live.
Fiona is married to Jack Maye, played by the remarkable talent Stanley Tucci. We are introduced to Jack as he teaches a college class focusing on the Greek philosopher and poet, Lucretius, one of two literary references offered, foreshadowing the film’s anguish and conflict. Lecretius believed that individuals who survive do so because they can adapt to their environment. As Jack lectures, we see a young professor (or perhaps grad student) gazing into the window of his lecture hall. Her warm and seductive smile is reacted to positively.
This exchange tells viewers that Fiona and Jack’s beautiful home, tasteful appointments, and inviting rows of carefully arranged books are the backdrop to unsettling, unexamined discord. We soon learn that Jack and Fiona have been married for 30 years, are childless, and live as brother and sister. The question looms: What environment will Jack adapt to?
Spoiler Alert: What follows is primarily for framing. The climactic scenes and direction in the film and the film’s resolve are not disclosed.
Childless by choice, Fiona’s total professional submersion does not faze her, at least consciously. Her cases have submerged any longing for her own children; her work obscures the possibility of a fulfilling marriage. The Solomon of children’s law, Fiona is oblivious and uncaring, regardless of the personal pain she inflicts, and determined to keep it this way. The subservience of others and her rigidly imposed life order protect her from the terror of loss of control, of being “wild and free,” and further, facing the unpredictable nature of life and love.
Tucci plays the role of the rejected partner, totally in love with and committed to his wife. His is a low-key desperation usually portrayed by a woman married to a man she adores who is totally absorbed in work (and ambition). Jack’s heartfelt overtures, ones most women would value deeply and experience as emotionally and sexually arousing – invitations for conversation, for sexual intimacy, for opera, for dinner and excellent wine (even for tennis!) -- are coldly dismissed.
If Tucci were not an extremely gifted actor, his endurance would seem ridiculous, the rejection he endures unthinkable (even perhaps comedic to some); and he would surely be labeled Lap Dog. Instead, he comes across as one both enchanted and captivated by his wife’s aesthetic nature, her mind, her beauty. Still, his need for closeness and intimacy – the couple have not had sex, much less made love, for 11 months (Fiona has not counted, but Jack has) – leads to a confrontation that has a dramatic impact on his wife’s iron discipline. Her challenges in a new case lead to a blind and dangerous countertransference and expose grave emotional frailty.
Adam Henry (Fionn Whitehead, from “Dunkirk”), not quite 18 (the Children Act applies), suffers from leukemia. His Jehovah's Witness parents (played by Ben Chaplin and Eileen Walsh) adamantly oppose a blood transfusion that can save his life, a religious view Adam supports unquestioningly. Though unprecedented, Fiona visits Adam at the hospital, an impulsive decision leading to a second literary foreshadowing exposing hidden truth:
Without recognizing that she is personally enthralled by Adam’s youth and poetic nature, as he strums the guitar (and she helps him with a lost note), Fiona sings the haunting love verse to Yeats’ “Down by the Salley Gardens,” in which lyrics speak of yearning and loss of young love. Adam’s oedipal transference is consuming. Although her visit has led to his adoration, Fiona is as unable to respond to Adam’s terror and confusion as she is to her husband’s loving overtures. Here, of course, mature awareness screams for the necessity of professional insight and examination of misguided countertransference = and far more.
Although the resolve of The Children Act is in essence a non-resolve, perhaps this is Ian McEwan’s intent -- his commentary on life’s messiness, unpredictability, and suffering; the repercussions of those in power who dismiss others coldly and callously; and the necessity to endure, hang on, despite all.
This said, The Children Act clearly sends both warning and message, with implications far beyond the film itself: Those who hold power over others yet refuse to examine the impact of their cruelty, especially to the innocent and the vulnerable, put all we hold dear, including life and survival, in the gravest of risk.
SaraKay Smullens, MSW, LCSW, DCSW, CGP, CFLE, BCD, whose private and pro bono clinical social work practice is in Philadelphia, is a certified group psychotherapist and family life educator. She is a recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Pennsylvania chapter of NASW, and the 2013 NASW Media Award for Best Article. SaraKay is the author of Whoever Said Life Is Fair, Setting YourSelf Free, and Burnout and Self-Care in Social Work. Her writing has been published in peer-reviewed journals, newspapers, and blogs. SaraKay's professional life continues to be devoted to highlighting destructive societal forces through communication, advocacy, and activism. Read more about her work at SaraKaySmullens.com.
