BernieHow many news stories have you read about an alleged killer arrested and tried, and before the case is made, you believed the killer should be found guilty because, for one reason or another, you didn't like the guy? In the case of Bernhardt "Bernie" Tiede--portrayed by Jack Black in the film, Bernie--popular opinion largely seemed to move the opposite direction. Bernie confessed to the killing of Marjorie "Marge" Nugent--performed by Shirley MacLaine--and yet so well-liked was Bernie in the community of Carthage, Texas--and so despised was Marge--that in the eyes of the community, his conviction somehow seemed like a grave injustice.
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If it sounds as though I'm spoiling the ending, it should be noted that Bernie is based on a true story from the pages of Texas Monthly--and the article by Skip Hollandsworth titled "Midnight in the Garden of East Texas", which attracted the attention of daring filmmaker Richard Linklater. And while many talented actors portray the focal players in this dramatic retelling, many of the people who recall their fond memories of Bernie and his contributions to their community are not professional actors, but actual residents of the town who knew him and Marge. Bernie is a sly mix between docudrama and a true crime comedy, and something of a satire of the often hyper-inflated "true story" genre, which usually gravitates somewhere between melodrama and psychological thriller. The character of Bernie is a manifestation of the popular impressions of him by the folks of Carthage, who recall their interactions with him with nostalgia and pleasant memories. They speak of his generosity, his dedication, and his almost holy grace and patience. Conversely, when the topic of Marge is brought up, the message is of how utterly hateful and vicious the old woman was--she is widely regarded as the town's Scrooge. So, for the purpose of the film, Bernie and Marge are representations as perceived by the community; they are what the people think they are. It is an interesting thought, but not uncommon for the true crime genre--just more transparent. One realizes that the gossip of the residents should be taken with a pinch of salt, being more akin to rumors than testimony, although the community is portrayed as forthright, even when circumstances are funny or sad. All the same, when the trial came down following the revelation of Bernie's confessed killing, the only people looking to prosecute Bernie were the family members and business associates of Marge, portrayed as greedy and even duplicitous, championed by District Attorney Danny Buck Davidson (Matthew McConaughey), who is portrayed as a glorified ambulance chaser more interested in reelection than putting together a decent case. One suspects that Danny Buck (as he is called) was initially convinced that his case against Bernie would no doubt be an easy conviction--he did confess--but discovers that he is left to prosecute a man that more people in the community want to go free than otherwise, regardless of guilt. When the case comes to trial, the proceedings resemble a kind of inverse of the infamous O. J. Simpson murder trial, one where popular opinion also threatened to influence the proceedings and verdict. So ultimately, it is less important in Bernie that the truth comes out--because the truth is Bernie did kill Marge--but how we choose to administer justice and under what circumstances, and what our values mean when confronted with the desire to look the other way.
The earliest parts of Bernie establish him as a man of the people, someone so kind and gentle as to be the embodiment of "good". He is literally the kind of man who helps little old ladies across the street...then buys them tea. His generosity is so overwhelming that it actually comes at the expense of his own welfare at times. One interviewee implies how he would put himself into debt to help those, and in turn be loved himself. No doubt one could surmise that Bernie might have had an emotional complex where in order to feel valued, he must always be giving a part of himself to others; but how much is too much? When Bernie meets Marge, she already possesses a rampant reputation for being an icy witch; she even closes the door in Bernie's face on his first visit to bring her flowers. But he comes back, and that's how she knows he's putty in her hands. In a way, Bernie and Marge's relationship is a kind of parallel of that between George Bailey and Henry Potter of It's a Wonderful Life, namely in their kind of generosity (or lack thereof) and how it is viewed by the community which rises and falls by their choices to that end. Bernie and Marge make an unlikely couple; aside from their age and vastly differing attitudes, there is speculation that Bernie is a homosexual. However, the film cleverly suggests that whether Bernie is or isn't gay has less to do with his sexual preference, but more with the prejudices of the people of Carthage, Texas and their own perceptions about what behaviors correlate to sexuality, and they make inferences accordingly. Bernie and Marge are apparently happy with one another's companionship--at first. Step forward two years, and the reasons as to why Marge was virtually alone become evident. The corresponding psychological abuse is all over Bernie, who has become a slave in her employ, henpecked and more crestfallen than the man we met at the start of the film. Marge's attitude is unabashedly cruel, and she browbeats and manipulates him, yells at him and tears him down. Why? Because she can get away with it. With everyone else, they didn't crave the kind of acceptance Bernie needs, and she pushes him--she pushes him too far. When Bernie snaps, it is as though it didn't even happen, and we are convinced that he didn't mean it, even though he pulled the trigger on the rifle. And, perhaps most alarmingly, many of us might have sympathized with Bernie's response; after all, practically the whole of Carthage did, but not just because of who was liked more, but because killer or no, Bernie is portrayed as our hero. He is pursued by the guilt of his crime, and the tension of discovery looms month after month--her corpse is a "tell-tale heart" beating beneath the frozen steak in the icebox, finally carried away in a parody of Bernie's erstwhile profession as an assistant funeral director. Lots of people tell stories about the killer they knew who was always polite and quite; very few of them talk about the ones which were downright angelic.
Recommended for: Fans of a surprising inversion of the true crime story, in content and style. It is the kind of story which is sure to provoke post-viewing conversations about whether the justice done was fair--or rather if the film is, for that matter.
The earliest parts of Bernie establish him as a man of the people, someone so kind and gentle as to be the embodiment of "good". He is literally the kind of man who helps little old ladies across the street...then buys them tea. His generosity is so overwhelming that it actually comes at the expense of his own welfare at times. One interviewee implies how he would put himself into debt to help those, and in turn be loved himself. No doubt one could surmise that Bernie might have had an emotional complex where in order to feel valued, he must always be giving a part of himself to others; but how much is too much? When Bernie meets Marge, she already possesses a rampant reputation for being an icy witch; she even closes the door in Bernie's face on his first visit to bring her flowers. But he comes back, and that's how she knows he's putty in her hands. In a way, Bernie and Marge's relationship is a kind of parallel of that between George Bailey and Henry Potter of It's a Wonderful Life, namely in their kind of generosity (or lack thereof) and how it is viewed by the community which rises and falls by their choices to that end. Bernie and Marge make an unlikely couple; aside from their age and vastly differing attitudes, there is speculation that Bernie is a homosexual. However, the film cleverly suggests that whether Bernie is or isn't gay has less to do with his sexual preference, but more with the prejudices of the people of Carthage, Texas and their own perceptions about what behaviors correlate to sexuality, and they make inferences accordingly. Bernie and Marge are apparently happy with one another's companionship--at first. Step forward two years, and the reasons as to why Marge was virtually alone become evident. The corresponding psychological abuse is all over Bernie, who has become a slave in her employ, henpecked and more crestfallen than the man we met at the start of the film. Marge's attitude is unabashedly cruel, and she browbeats and manipulates him, yells at him and tears him down. Why? Because she can get away with it. With everyone else, they didn't crave the kind of acceptance Bernie needs, and she pushes him--she pushes him too far. When Bernie snaps, it is as though it didn't even happen, and we are convinced that he didn't mean it, even though he pulled the trigger on the rifle. And, perhaps most alarmingly, many of us might have sympathized with Bernie's response; after all, practically the whole of Carthage did, but not just because of who was liked more, but because killer or no, Bernie is portrayed as our hero. He is pursued by the guilt of his crime, and the tension of discovery looms month after month--her corpse is a "tell-tale heart" beating beneath the frozen steak in the icebox, finally carried away in a parody of Bernie's erstwhile profession as an assistant funeral director. Lots of people tell stories about the killer they knew who was always polite and quite; very few of them talk about the ones which were downright angelic.
Recommended for: Fans of a surprising inversion of the true crime story, in content and style. It is the kind of story which is sure to provoke post-viewing conversations about whether the justice done was fair--or rather if the film is, for that matter.