Hannah Free

Hannah Free

Ripe Fruit Films

Even the most hardened cynic will concede, albeit reluctantly, that inspirational love stories tend to draw an audience. Particularly when these stories examine the plight of mistreated, underprivileged, or beleaguered members of society, they also unfailingly rally empathetic hearts and passionate standard bearers to their cause. For its earnest and timely telling of such a story – in this case, the plight of lifelong lesbian lovers plagued and divided by social prejudices— Claudia Allen’s screen adaptation of Hannah Free has garnered well-deserved praise and acclaim from the LGBT artistic community.

Unfortunately, Hannah’s chances of hitting bigger screens and broader audiences than those found on the festival circuit are slim. And this is because, quite frankly, the film itself is not particularly good — narrowly rescued in fact from relegation to the ranks of Lifetime Original Movie Events by Sharon Gless’s charmingly cantankerous handling of the titular role.

Allen’s narrative weaves between the past and present lives of Hannah (Gless) and Rachel (Maureen Gallagher), childhood sweethearts perpetually torn asunder by manifestations of their small town, middle-American upbringing. The film opens upon an old, curmudgeonly Hannah, bedridden after a bad fall and wallowing in the same nursing home where, just one floor up, her comatose lover lays dying. (This is already pretty bad, right? But wait – it gets worse). Having always disapproved of her mother’s relationship with Hannah, Rachel’s middle-aged daughter Marge (played with soapy, melodramatic gusto by “All My Children’s” Taylor Miller) now refuses, with visible relish, to grant Hannah familial visiting privileges. Wheelchair-bound and at the mercy of her patronizing nurses, Hannah is thus truly stuck for the first time in her fiercely independent life. She finds some solace reminiscing with the vivid specter of Rachel’s younger self — a handy vehicle for the film’s multiple flashbacks featuring Ann Hageman (Rachel), Kelley Strickland (Hannah), too many love scenes (I mean, we get it – they’re hot for each other), and an off-putting array of bright, shiny “period” sets and costumes. Then, oh so conveniently, a spunky young woman shows up at the nursing home (and by the way, in this movie, spunky = code for unapologetic lesbian) and, appalled by the injustice of Hannah’s situation, decides to reunite her with Rachel for a final, liberating farewell.

Cinematic execution aside, the exchanges between Hannah and Rachel are touchingly earnest — too earnest, unfortunately, evoking an over-the-top theatrical quality that, particularly on Hageman’s part, translates poorly to the screen. This over-arching earnestness is probably Hannah Free’s biggest, if admittedly forgivable weakness – one which, when coupled with predictable plotlines and mediocre casting, blunts the sharpness of Allen’s themes and instead coats them with the saccharine emotionality of daytime dramas and inspirational women’s magazines. This is too bad, because there’s real and pertinent substance to the playwright’s indictment of anti-gay sentiment, unjust same-sex marriage legislation, and institutionalized treatment of the elderly – issues likely better served by more self-conscious cinematography, grittier lighting, starker sets…anything to visually corroborate the seriousness being addressed. As it is, Carlton’s sepia tints and sugary guitar chords create the feel of a low-budget episode of “Gilmore Girls.” Hardly the stuff of revolutionary cinema.

Ultimately, Allen’s decision to pull Hannah Free from stage to screen effectively shoots her good intentions in the foot. As a film lauded for its accomplishments by a pre-determined and emotionally biased fan base, it comes to a broader audience severely compromised and irrevocably pigeonholed in the LGBT indie arena. Sympathetic viewers may overlook the film’s glaring inadequacies for the sake of its message; but those most in need of hearing that message – the audience that must be reached if anything is ever going change — can all too easily find in those failures the perfect excuse to dismiss it.

by Lauren Westerfield