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Getting Out

by Marsha Norman

April 10, 18, 25, 26; May 3, 6, 24, 30 3130 Mayfield Road (old Temple on the Heights)

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Tess: A Victorian Victim

By Mary Walsh

Tess is the story of a victim-a victim of rape, of the double standard, and of the societal forces at work in Victorian England. Based on the novel by Thomas Hardy, to which it is admirably faithful, the movie chronicles the life of Tess Durbeyfield, daughter of a poor farmer whose family is descended from the ancient noble house of d'Urberville. Her father forces Tess to beg financial help from neighboring wealthy d'Urbervilles who, it turns out, bought the name and the title. Tess is raped by Alec d'Urberville and returns home to bear his child, determined to have nothing more to do with him. When the sickly infant dies, she leaves her family to make her own way in the world.

While working as a dairymaid, Tess meets Angel Clare, 'the son of a minister who is studying farming. They fall in love and plan to marry. Tess writes Angel a letter telling him of her past, but learns soon before the wedding that he has not received it. On their wedding night, Angel confesses to Tess a former liaison with a woman in London, relieved to get it off his chest. Tess in turn tells him of the rape and the child. Angel is horrified and repudiates her viciously—she is no longer the lovely girl he married, but a terrible stranger. He sends her from him, and does not answer her many letters.

Shattered but independent and proud, Tess works as a migrant farm laborer, performing with other poor women and men the various arduous tasks necessary to survive while she tries to effect a reconciliation with Angel. After she becomes the sole support of her family, however, she is forced to accept help from Alec.

Tess and Angel are eventually reunited, but not

before the continuing consequences of the rape and of her family's poverty make it impossible for them to live the life they'd planned.

Win or Lose (continued from page 8)

Lucy-but no, I can't let myself. Why does anyone have kids at all? Why doesn't someone tell them what it will be like? That they will be unhappy, they will go away. That they will die.

When I first began with Roger, right at the beginning when I hoped I might be in love, I thought, fantasized really, about having another baby. A boy that looked like Roger (he is very good looking, after all) with red hair. Or another girl. I must have been crazy. With the desire to be a family, or maybe just to be someone's most important person again.

When Lucy's team has won, I wait with her until her father comes to take her home with him. Her friend Dina is with her. Dina wants to know who I am. Lucy says I'm her mother, of course. Dina is amazed.

"Well, who's that other lady then?" "That's my other mother."

"That's Lucy's step-mother," I say, just to clear things up.

"Well, who does Lucy live with?”

I explain how Lucy lives with both her father and mê, at different houses. Dina wants to get down to hard issues-why did we get divorced, do I want to live with Lucy's daddy again-but her mother arrives and carries her off. She still looks puzzled.

Jeff and Ann are coming over to get Lucy. We talk for a minute, an off-center trio, about Joan, who is playing at her friend's house. I want to think something nasty about Ann, or about Jeff, but I can't. I loved him, once, and I really don't know her at all, except that she is nice.

Ann and I smile at each other. We discuss whether Lucy has enough socks at my house, if Joan needs new sandals. Lucy hovers between us, kicking a stone

However, the movie is more than the story of an intelligent and independent woman whose life and happiness are ruined by circumstances over which she has no control; it is a vivid portrayal of the rigid social classes existing in England during the 1800's and the few options open to women of whatever class in that society. Social position was determined more by wealth than by birth, and an advantageous marriage was the only way a woman could improve her lot in life. The poor remained poor and imprisoned in their preordained roles. Sexual mores were equally rigid: women were either madonnas or whores, but men were free to use women as they could. Tess' saga of poverty and humiliation are symptomatic of the role of poor women in that society. Tess is a fighter and a survivor, but she cannot escape her fate.

Tess has been nominated for an Academy Award as best movie of the year, and rightly deserves the honor. It is a moving and beautifully executed film, with breathtaking cinematography evocative of the sweep of Hardy's writing. Nastassia Kinski as Tess is superb in her portrayal of a strong woman caught in quicksand, her efforts to struggle free pulling her further into degradation. However, audience reaction has been mixed, many people finding the movie boring and not relevant to today's society.

It would be almost trite to point out that conditions for women today are not significantly different from those faced by Tess. However, the women's movement is changing attitudes, albeit slowly, and women no longer must bow to an inevitable destiny of subservience.

in a circle in the dirt. When they leave, 1 kiss Lucy goodby.

'See you tomorrow, mommy."

I start walking home. I go through the playground. A boy, a punky-looking thirteen, is draped over the rocket-shaped jungle gym. Against the low red sun, he is a dark angel outlined in light. A cigarette droops from his fingers. He doesn't see me-I am invisible-too old. He calls past me through the sunhaze and cigarette smoke to some girl, walking bouncy, long hair swishing, on the other side of the field. "Hey. Hey-don't I know you?”

He doesn't know her. He doesn't know anything. When you are walking through that haze you don't see anything but the important things.

I want, almost, to go back and watch how they

Ell

Akwesasne Notes/cpf

might walk home together or linger over their bikes by the swings. Roger, always mindful of sex (perhaps because he teaches junior high), would go over there and ask bracing questions, about what subjects they will take next year, maybe offer to drive them home.

And I think, as I walk into the dusk, how I am grateful for what I know and what I've done. But I remember how it was for me when my shoulder brushed someone else's, half by design, in the long evenings of summer. So I don't look back. And even if it would make a difference, I don't think I would warn them.