First, a shameful admission: I've never actually read the book. I know, I know - what sort of female bookworm am I? However, I'm fiercely devoted to the 1995 Alfonso Cuaron film, and while I hear it takes great liberties with the story, I love it far too much to care. Anyway, today's post comes courtesy of said movie, so if any comments make you suspect I haven't done the assigned reading, you're absolutely right.
I don't know what it is about father-daughter relationships in fiction, but they tend to have a greater capacity to "get to me" than any other kind of of fictional relationship. It wrecks me to see girls desperately loving terrible fathers who never come through for them, I melt seeing men bend the heavens to provide for their daughters, and when a perfect pair comes along, I hardly know what to do with myself. I've yet to see any, though, that move me quite like Sara Crewe and her father.
They're not even onscreen together that much, since of course the brunt of the story takes place at Sara's boarding school while Capt. Crewe fights in World War I. Still, their scenes at the start of the film couldn't be sweeter. He's indulgent without spoiling her - her new toys and expensive room at school are as much about assuaging his worries at leaving her as anything else, and when Sara almost immediately clashes with Miss Minchin, he stands back to see how she handles it herself.
Their goodbye is gorgeous. Lovingly filmed with the light falling on them as she sits in his lap on the window seat, he spins her a comforting story about her doll coming to life and carrying messages between them. She lightly traces his face with her fingers and, at his wondering if she's memorizing his features, replies, "I already know you by heart."
Though, like I said, they spend most of the movie apart, the presence of each is greatly felt in the scenes of the other. I love the shot of Capt. Crewe sitting in a lean-to in a storm, reading a letter from Sara, and her upbringing is evident in everything she does. From her kind acceptance of others to her imaginative storytelling to her headstrong sense of justice, she carries her father's lessons with her.
And the ending - oh my goodness, the ending! (Be warned, I'm about to spoil the ending of the movie, so turn back now if you so choose...)
First of all, I love that, even not remembering anything about himself or his life, Capt. Crewe's automatic reaction to finding a random kid who's wandered into the house during a thunderstorm is to comfort her. I love that, even though she's had such a long time for his "death" to sink in, she still recognizes his voice. I love the enchanted way she looks up at him, that quiet "Papa?", and then how she pounces on him with embraces. It kills me that he can't remember her, and it's wrenching when they pry her off of him and haul her away screaming and pleading for him. And then, when he runs out into the rain and shouts her name, and she leaps into his arms, and they're both crying and laughing and clinging to each other like it'd physically hurt to let go? I'm pretty sure that was the first time I ever cried in a movie theater, and it still gets me every time.
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