Movies

Good films don't necessarily have to solve problems, but they should at least explore them thoroughly. Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore is an example of a movie that loses its own train of thought in an attempt to compress real-life problems into easily digestable tablet form. 

The film's overall theme is a good and important one: an exploration of the life of a woman who tries desperately to make it on her own, when the only world she's ever seen is the underside of a man's thumb.

In one sense, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore is an important work, for it portrays the hardships encountered by a real human being, an over-30 non-superwoman, who has little to fall back on but her own perseverance. Unfortunately, at a time when films about women are all too few, this one sacrifices its believability for a slick, "Hollywood" superficiality. 

After years of molding her own ambition and assertiveness to the sometimes violent whims of a foul-mouthed husband, Alice Hyatt's sad shambles of a life comes to an abrupt halt when he dies in a gory truck accident. 

Alice's innate practicality comes to the surface at once, and since "the only job I ever had was singing," she ups and I leaves her dreary New Mexico existence in the family station wagon, with her spoiled son and most material possessions in tow. 

Alice's goal is a singing career in Monterey, but her prospects are few. What she lacks in real musical talent, she makes up for in a sort of sensual charm-the kind that lends itself well to cheap come-ons in dimly lit bars. After a brief stint as a chanteuse, and an equally short-lived affair with a sadistic wife-beater, Alice finally lands a job as a truck stop waitress. The job is, in her own estimation, rock bottom.

By this time, the cheap motels and her nagging son are taking a heavy toll, and Alice needs something a little more substantial than the dream of success in Monterey to sustain her. Lo and behold, in walks some sustenance, in the person of a folksy rancher, played by Kris Kristofferson. 

After a near break-up, David promises Alice that if she just hooks up with him, he'll let her do whatever she pleases-even if it means packing off to California for the elusive singing career. Alice, quite naturally, swallows the bait. 

Some women who are no more than ordinary must provide for themselves without the aid and protection offered by a man. Why the makers of Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore chose to side-step that whole issue in the movie's cop-out ending is anybody's guess. Ellen Burstyn's earthy portrayal of Alice Hyatt infused the character with a spunky optimism and forcefulness that probably COULD have gotten her all the way from New Mexico to California without male assistance - if only the moviemakers would have let her. 

In some respects, Alice Doesn 't Live Here Anymore managed to convey a few of the sub-themes that one might expect in an honest film about women. Burstyn's Alice, for example, does show some heightened awareness by the end of her travels-at least in her self-evaluation. She knows that she is not supremely talented, but when David goads her, she counters with a forceful "I'm as good as I am. THAT'S how good I am." And she makes him believe that it's certainly good enough. 

There is also a strong underlying theme in the movie of the comraderie among women that only seems to surface when the chips are down-from the compassion among waitresses at the truck stop, to the sympathy that flows between Alice and the beaten wife of a man she's involved with.

Despite its flaws, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore brings to the screen a woman who's too gutsy to quit the game, even when she knows all too well that its cards are stacked against her. There are many such women in the world today, and it's about time that Hollywood quit ignoring them.