Helen Keller has always been a historical figure that I’ve been profoundly fascinated by – from the early days of elementary school where we were told about her valiant efforts in overcoming both deafness and blindness, making her one of the most inspiring historical figures, to my in-depth exploration of her life at the postgraduate level (where she was investigated alongside Genie and Victor of Aveyron as three of the most exceptional cases of child-language acquisition), she has been an omnipotent presence whose story continues to be a source of great inspiration and insights into both the role she played in how we look at disability from a linguistic point of view and as an individual who overcomes dreadful circumstances to become a true stalwart of tenacity and resilience. In between all of this fascination, I had yet to make time for one of the most widely-known portrayals of her life, Arthur Penn’s adaptation of William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker, a daring and heartfelt film that dramatizes the early life of Keller, from the perspective of her governess and teacher, Annie Sullivan, whose admirable efforts to teach the rebellious young girl to communicate is absolutely astonishing, and one of the most incredible examples of overcoming an insurmountable challenge. In no uncertain terms, The Miracle Worker is something of a masterpiece – not only does Penn pay incredible tribute to the two central figures of the story, but he does so in a way that feels profoundly cinematic, but also deeply authentic. It’s a film that tests the boundaries, being a genre-blurring human odyssey that is both towering and intimate – and for that reason alone, its difficult to have any hesitation in proclaiming this film one of the finest achievements of the 1960s, and one of the most inspiring films ever put on screen.
When presented with the story of Sullivan and her relationship with Keller, there’s a certain contradiction that comes into play – logically, this isn’t a particularly difficult story, as it has all the makings of a great film, consisting of a plot that inherently lends itself to the form, granted it is able to be shepherded by someone who could handle the challenges and numerous opportunities for the actors to give great performances since these characters do lend themselves to some very effective situations that can be portrayed on screen without too much trouble. However, there’s also something quite challenging about this story – this isn’t a dialogue-driven film in the traditional sense, especially since so much of it takes place non-verbally, so despite being an adaptation of the stage play, Penn had to do something slightly more complex with this story when bringing it to the screen. It required the director to deconstruct some of the most notable aspects of the biographical drama and replace it instead with something more attuned to the nuances of the story. Gibson, in adapting his own play, is quite right in refusing to shift focus away from Keller and more to the family (as would’ve been done in the hands of a lesser director), but instead place it squarely on the central relationship – this results in some of the most stunning moments of 1960s cinema. Scenes such as the centrepiece fight scene between Keller and Sullivan (where the tutor attempts to get her to fold her napkin), or the final climactic moments when the titular character finally breaks through with her young learner, are astonishing, towering moments that blend narrative impact, beautiful acting and incredibly poignant emotion. Needless to say, Penn had his work cut out for him, but there’s no doubt that what he did with Gibson’s play, both in terms of what he brought to the screen and how he executed it, is nothing short of incredible, and should be celebrated as not only a great piece of biographical storytelling, but masterful filmmaking that traverses reality and artistry in a truly impressive manner.
The stage roots of The Miracle Worker are clear but not distracting – this is certainly one of the rare cases of a theatrical adaptation that feels remarkably cinematic, particularly in how Penn doesn’t feel compelled to simply transposing the story from the stage to real settings in the hopes that this will somehow make it more compelling. Instead, he puts together a deeply impactful adaptation that holds as much power on screen as it does the stage – and one of the most significant aspects of the film in this regard is the performances. Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke were the stars of the original production and were the logical choices to reprise the roles in the film adaptation (even if it is well-documented that both were the subject of immense resistance during the casting process, with executives not being particularly enamoured with either of them taking on the roles). Their eventual casting brought to the screen two absolutely mesmerizing performances. Duke, who was already midway into her teenage years, is incredible as Keller, playing the part with a sincerity not often glimpsed with these kinds of portrayals. There’s a bewildering tendency for able actors to resort to thinly-veiled mockery when playing those with disabilities, to the point where it becomes almost parodic – but Duke restrains herself incredibly well, playing Keller in a way that is sincere, heartfelt and honest. She finds the truth in a challenging character and shows a control of the part that goes far beyond what we’d expect from such a young performer. However, as impressive as Duke is, The Miracle Worker is a two-hander, and Bancroft in particular commands the screen, giving one of the most beautifully poetic performances of the era. Playing the partially-blind Sullivan, Bancroft also avoids defaulting to parody, instead constructing a meaningful character from a set of guidelines that she interprets with elegance and warmth. It’s a challenging role, but Bancroft rises to the occasion – oscillating between tenderness and necessary roughness, she puts together a complex character that was enriched by the actress’ experience in playing the character on stage, where she honed her various idiosyncrasies and wove together a gorgeous set of qualities that make this such a lived-in, captivating performance by a truly gifted actress who was at her peak here.
However, what ties everything together and creates the possibility for The Miracle Worker to be such a masterful film is how Penn allows everything in it to occur organically. The film is very distant from the saccharine, predictable biographical dramas that were produced en masse, particularly in the form it took – each moment is essential to the story, without a single scene feeling unnecessary or as a placeholder for something more meaningful, which provides this magnificent story with the authenticity it needed to be entirely convincing. It’s also notable how genuine the emotions are – nothing in The Miracle Worker seems constructed or purely for show. Penn was a director who straddled the boundary between the Golden Age and New Hollywood (particularly since his most known project was the subsequent Bonnie and Clyde, a cornerstone contribution to the latter movement), so it’s unsurprising that The Miracle Worker effectively employs aspects from both. It has the graceful sincerity of the classical dramas, but the grit and resilience of the more modern, subversive explorations of the human condition. So much of The Miracle Worker‘s success is attributed to the two lead performers (who are indeed exceptional), but not enough is spoken of Penn’s direction, with his insightful control over the material, and his deft ability to evoke the most authentic emotion from an otherwise straightforward scene is quite incredible. He holds the film together and propels it forward, and his work is absolutely astonishing. Credit must also go to cinematographer Ernesto Caparrós, who had the unenviable task of photographing the challenging scenes, with many moments in this film being bolstered by the incredible ability for the camera to capture the smallest nuances that may have been missing on stage, and which form the basis for some of the most poignant moments in this adaptation.
In short, The Miracle Worker is quite an incredible achievement for a number of reasons. On the surface, its a traditional biographical drama about two individuals who are initially adversarial, but grow to work together and become friends, finding a sense of understanding within one another – conversations about the trite adage of “the student becoming the teacher” are present in how important Keller is to Sullivan, and vice versa. However, it takes a remarkably unique approach, presenting this story in a matter-of-fact manner that services the original historical figures well – there’s a lot of raw emotion embedded in The Miracle Worker, but none of it seems gaudy. More than anything else, its an elegant and insightful exploration of human communication that is unwavering in its dedication to the subject matter – how else can we explain the incredibly overwhelming sense of awe we feel in those moments where Sullivan is teaching the deafblind girl some of the most fundamental concepts, finding a way to get through to her, and succeeding eventually, earning the epithet of a miracle worker. We believe this story because it gives us something to hold onto, and whether through the moments of tender beauty, or the more electrifying sequences that bring out the very best in all of those involved, there’s something quite special underpinning this film, an intangible sense of curiosity that pays tribute to one of history’s most inspiring figures and the individual who worked tirelessly to give her the chance in life she deserved. The Miracle Worker is a fascinating character-driven drama that gives us unfettered access into a story we may all be aware of to some degree, but perhaps not to the point where we come to fully understand the psychological and cultural implications that are inherent to it. An extraordinary accomplishment, Penn crafted one of the finest films of the 1960s and one that remains as moving and daring today as it did over half a century ago.
