Notes on a Scandal: A Review

One of the more haunting images of the past few weeks was that of Seung-Hui Cho, the Virginia Tech killer, posed in his homemade video with a gun in each hand and a cruel snarl on his face. It was a stark image, especially when taken alongside the initial picture of the expressionless schoolboy that had circulated in the days following the shooting. The university, the Korean-American community, the state and the nation have been left to wonder about the tale of a quiet misfit and his path to mental instability and finally to enraged evil. His pose gives voice to that rage, as it reveals the obsession that he expressed that day on the campus.

But what of that obsession? Is it merely the property of the mentally disturbed, or are others subject to the same lure? Strange as it may seem, Notes on a Scandal, the recent Oscar-nominated film by Richard Eyre, gave me the context to consider this question. Eyre, who himself has a rich background in the British theater, gives us a platform to demonstrate the acting prowess of Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett (both of whom received nominations for their work), and it is their work that stands as the great strength of the film. Dame Dench plays Barbara Covett, who is introduced first as a surly, cynical and unappreciated school teacher. She has long since lost any delusions about her job, and is bored by the machinations of the school process. We hear the world described through her journal, but must measure those words with what we see. They don’t match up.

In contrast to Barbara’s despairing cynicism we have Blanchett’s Sheba Hart, a new art teacher, who is full of life and, while lacking wisdom in the art of teaching, at least brings zeal and passion. Through the quiet use of the camera, we learn immediately that Barbara’s interest in Sheba is more than passing. She is attracted to her, and though masking it with her cool demeanor, slowly finds ways to bring her into her world.

They forge a friendship, and it is through the conversations around this friendship and the rantings from Barbara’s journal that we come to learn that both of them are writing tales about obsession. For Barbara, she conjures up a story of their budding love affair, of the deep and meaningful companionship that they are meant to have together for a lifetime. On the other, we learn of Sheba’s unhappiness with her marriage, her exhaustion at raising two children, one of whom suffers from Down’s Syndrome, and eventually of the pressure she feels because she is the daughter of a famous man. The film slowly sets the stage for her feelings of being trapped, and then, in a wonderfully delivered scene, we learn along with Barbara her terrible secret: She is involved in an affair with one of her 15-year old students.

The scandal is revealed, and Barbara decides to use her knowledge to her advantage. She uses the affair to manipulate Sheba, and then when Sheba rejects her affections, she uses her knowledge to try and bring Sheba down. Soon, both become embroiled in a scandal that is national fodder for the tabloids.

Both women spend their lives constructing a fantasy world that is their means of coping with and escaping from their reality. While Barbara’s lesbianism could be a major focus of the piece, Eyre makes the wise choice to avoid that issue. While Barbara is pursuing this relationship, we get a brief scene between her and her family, where they reference a prior relationship that Barbara had had. They do so with a voice of acceptance, perhaps even approval. This is key, because we could assume that Barbara’s obsession is driven by her lifestyle and the disapproval that society brings. It isn’t, and the acceptance that we see in the film simply drives home the truth that Barbara’s fantasy world is one of her own creation that is made for her own ends. The root cause of her fantasy life is found not in her culture’s constraints, but in her own basic dissatisfaction with life.

But if dissatisfaction is what drives the obsessive retreat into fantasy, what is the cure? For the film, I think the answer is found in one brief scene towards the end. Both Barbara and Sheba’s obsession is brought to life, and both must endure some degree of public shame for the way in which their fantasy failed to comport with reality. But while one eventually simply begins to spin a new tale of fantasy, the other gives us some hope of finding healing, as she embraces her family and the role that they can play in her recovery.

In the end, Scandal provides a fascinating commentary on the private nature of our lives and the negative consequences that this can bring. It is easy in our world to become captives of our technology, our commutes, and the other treasures of our world. We have few friends, more time in the car, and know less about our neighbors with each passing day. And while we can isolate ourselves further and further, we have some of the same basic human weaknesses and human need that we always have had. We have a longing for love and acceptance, for relationships that are meaningful, and for lives that have purpose. Life has a way of challenging each of those needs.

There is a temptation that is alluring for us when we encounter these isolated lives of longing, and it is the temptation that Barbara and Sheba live out in extreme form. That temptation is to live in a fantasy world, whether that fantasy is constructed of material possessions, or success in career, in illicit affairs, or the retreats of the imagination. The cure for them and for us is community. The truth is that we need each other. One of the sources for our own healing from the anxieties, fears, and frustrations that we see in Barbara and Sheba is found in the care and concern we have for each other. Community is the cure, but as Sheba demonstrates, it is a cure that we must submit ourselves to again and again, knowing that there will be much along the way to make us want to retreat.

Of course, this kind of analysis is incomplete, and for every film like Scandal that sees a redemptive role for communities, we can find as many films that will show us destructive communities and the evil that they do. But that is simply a reminder of the need for the community itself to live in submission to Someone higher than itself. See, we don’t just need community. We need the Church, the real Church, not just the easy substitutes that we embrace so often today. Without it, the healing that Barbara and Sheba both need to find will always be incomplete.

Perhaps it seems too easy an answer, but I expect the complexity must be found within it. Christ is the answer, whether it is for Barbara's ramblings, Sheba's malaise or Cho's darkness. He is indeed the hope of the world, and the only object worthy of our deepest affections.