Who Is Netflix’s Hillbilly Elegy For?

As a woman who grew up in the Appalachian region, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of disappointment and frustration when it comes to the recent Netflix film “Elegy,” based on J.D. Vance’s memoir. Having lived through similar experiences of poverty, addiction, and generational cycles of struggle, I expected a portrayal that was authentic and nuanced. But what I saw instead was a sanitized version of my homeland, with its complexities reduced to caricatures and stereotypes.

I was taken aback when I read this article published on November 18, 2020. The news it carried took me by surprise – Donald Trump has chosen J.D. Vance as his running mate!

Five minutes into “Hillbilly Elegy,” I paused the movie and stepped out of my living room. In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I gazed at the wall and then at the ceiling; they seemed more appealing than the unfolding scene on my television. The film’s blunt approach left me little doubt about its intentions. The camera pulled back to reveal dilapidated houses and old, rusted trucks in what was supposed to be Eastern Kentucky. Men without shirts and long-bearded men worked along the roadside, engaging in manly activities. This was a holler, as director Ron Howard described it, and I sensed ominous signs. However, I am not one to shy away. I went back to the movie, searching for the “holler aunt.” I had heard of this character from the film’s casting announcements, but not through my own Appalachian upbringing – which was mostly uneventful. Where could I find her? What makes her unique among aunts, and how would I identify her?

For the enigmatic figure of “holler aunt,” I’m unable to provide any insight; she remains as elusive as Bigfoot in a forest. Regarding J.D. Vance’s “Hillbilly Elegy,” however, I have plenty to share – and it’s far from praiseworthy.

Initially, I must confess that I wasn’t looking forward to this film and harbored resentment towards Netflix for producing it. My dislike for its origin, J.D. Vance’s 2016 memoir “Hillbilly Elegy,” is no secret. In my earlier review, I criticized the book for being a sensationalist portrayal of poverty, disguised under a conservative message about the societal issues in Appalachia. In Vance’s depiction, poverty and immorality are intertwined, while success comes to those who work hard. Structural explanations for poverty receive scant attention, and the deceased don’t write their own elegies; survivors do that instead. As a result, Vance is hailed as a hero because he managed to escape, while the hillbilly stereotype no longer applies to him since he attended Yale.

In simple terms, Vance’s perspective on the hill country resonates with many people outside of Appalachia. However, his work “Elegy” was met with cool reception within Appalachia itself. Local critics and scholars have penned books critiquing Vance’s politics. As Elizabeth Catte stated in her 2017 book “What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia,” according to her, the solution for Appalachia lies in moral realignment and acknowledging that we should focus on investments from wealthier communities within the region once more. Vance’s invitation to the 2018 Appalachian Studies Association ignited a protest.

Although there was a small chance that Ron Howard and Vanessa Taylor could have enhanced Vance’s rough project, unfortunately, this didn’t happen. A year after Bong Joon-ho’s “Parasite” won the Best Picture award, Netflix and Howard decided to tackle the class struggle theme, but with a approach similar to “Green Book.” Consequently, “Elegy” falls into an outdated and disreputable genre that stereotypes hillbillies for the amusement of the audience.

In various forms of media such as films, television shows, and comics, the depiction of hillbilly characters often falls into one of two categories: villains or exoticized individuals. These portrayals can be violent, borderline subhuman, and even supernaturally inclined. For instance, who can forget the chilling scenes from “Deliverance,” where the backwoods rapists terrorize unsuspecting travelers? Or consider “6 Souls,” a 2013 horror movie that presented the hollers as home to real witches and their powerful curses. The USA network added its own twist with “Outsiders,” focusing on an isolated hill clan that still spoke Celtic and produced magical moonshine, causing violence in people. In “Nell” (1994), Jodie Foster portrayed a woman living in the North Carolina high country whose isolation nearly turned her feral, her speech becoming unrecognizable as English. These media representations have served a consistent role over time. As noted by Anthony Harkins in “Hillbilly: An American Icon,” these depictions helped reinforce the superiority of modern civilization while providing thrilling scenes of violence that did not challenge societal norms or racial order.

The “Elegy” movie is not intended for residents of Appalachia, the Ozarks, or the Rust Belt. Instead, it caters to those with wealth and stability, allowing them to reinforce their beliefs that money equals morality or intelligence. Hillbilly representations in films serve as a reassuring contrast for viewers, confirming they are “not like that.” This stereotype of the hillbilly, however, is a fabrication. In truth, material possessions do not define one’s character. It is impossible to distinguish between a good and bad white person based on their appearance or dialect.

A film based on the lives of Appalachian people doesn’t have to be a derogatory portrayal, as demonstrated by Vance’s vivid depiction in “Elegy.” However, the movie seems to become uninteresting after this engaging presentation of a broken culture. The movie “Elegy” is an accurate adaptation of Vance’s book, which unfortunately is its major flaw. Glenn Close portrays Mamaw, who wears large spectacles from Warby Parker and oversized T-shirts. She smokes, yells, and primarily exists to impart profane folk wisdom and save Vance from his troubled mother. In the distorted reflection of “Elegy,” the Hatfields and McCoys feud is not just a historical curiosity.

As a movie enthusiast, I must admit that Amy Adams’ portrayal in “Elegy” left me feeling quite displeased. I found myself cringing as she let out piercing shrieks and uncontrollable squeals throughout the film. Her character, as Vance’s troubled mother, was a constant source of unease. Suffering from undiagnosed mental health issues and an escalating substance abuse problem, Adams embodied a woman on the edge.

If we look beyond Amy Adams’s workwear and wig, past Glenn Close’s spectacles and offensive language, what remains is poverty. This is an issue rooted in politics. In the case of “Hillbilly Elegy,” the book has a distinct advantage over its film version: The author openly acknowledges that substance abuse and financial struggles can be alleviated through policy changes, which aligns with his conservative viewpoints. However, the movie seems to evade political discussions – or at least it aims to do so. But, as we’ve seen, politics often intertwine with such social issues, making it a challenging endeavor to completely avoid the subject.

Before the liberal Hollywood community became involved in Vance’s story, the earliest supporters of “Hillbilly Elegy” came from the right side of the political spectrum. This wasn’t a mere coincidence. Vance merely rehashed outdated party narratives about poverty and hillbilly culture. The nation’s hill folk struggle with this dysfunctional way of life: Offer them religion, scold them for their broken families, take unspecified actions regarding the opioid crisis, and watch the hillbilly thrive, just as Vance has. “Elegy” was never a simple memoir; it wasn’t even promoted as such. Marketed as sociology, “Elegy” provided insights into cultural phenomena that many readers were only vaguely aware of.

In 2016, I became deeply intrigued by the emerging trends that captured the attention of both liberals and conservatives. With Donald Trump as president, it was clear that rural areas played a significant role in his election, even if not entirely due to their support. Trump’s wins in these regions were crucial to securing his victory. For those seeking insight into the region’s lean towards right-wing ideologies, J.D. Vance emerged as an intriguing figure.

Dreher’s perspectives are worth examining, as he isn’t your typical Republican aligned with groups like the Lincoln Project. Instead, he belongs to a more extreme right-wing faction, sharing views with figures like Peter Thiel. In his writing for The American Conservative, Dreher frequently promotes controversial works such as The Camp of the Saints, which has racist undertones and is championed by Steve Bannon. He also holds positive views of leaders like Viktor Orban, Hungary’s president, despite Orban’s controversial actions like shutting borders to migrants during a crisis and arresting critics. Dreher has even expressed approval for Francisco Franco, the Spanish fascist dictator who won the civil war. Vance’s association with Dreher raises concerns, as Howard has downplayed their political differences.

There’s more to say about Dreher, whose fear of migration is matched only by his contempt for trans people (you need only Google his byline to find the evidence). But, Elegy is Vance’s story — a story that, in Ron Howard’s hands, has been stripped of all the vitriolic conclusions the right wing could use. As a paean to the civilizing power of bootstraps, Vance’s memoir suggests the kinds of solutions that make up small-government manifestos, even though Vance himself has tried to distance himself from that strain of conservative thinking, preferring instead a “pro-worker, pro-family conservatism,” as he put it in a speech. Though it’s not always clear what he means by this. Last year, he appeared with Thiel, Senator Josh Hawley, and other luminaries at a conference on “national conservatism,” where he criticized libertarianism, then attacked pornography and the government itself for allowing such obscene material to exist. On labor rights, meanwhile, he is relatively silent. He has complained about the “abortion lobby” and has worried — frequently and publicly — about declining American fertility rates. In 2016, during a talk with Charles Murray of Bell Curve infamy, the two joked about their “pretty clean Scotch-Irish blood” before Vance asserted “there’s definitely a sort of ethnic component to what’s going on” in areas like Appalachia.

To truly adapt “Elegy” into a compelling movie, Howard needs to place greater emphasis on Vance’s family relationships instead of his beliefs. The plot is most effective with this focus as Vance serves as the thoughtful and intelligent center of the tale. Even during their attempts to admit their mother into rehab, the political aspects of their predicament remain untouched. Vance’s mother is portrayed as the problematic antagonist – a lazy and ungrateful woman who let her health insurance expire and fails to express gratitude when her well-dressed son tries to use his credit cards for her rehab stay.

As a devoted cinema enthusiast, I’ve noticed something intriguing about the film “Elegy.” When Howard chooses to highlight Vance, albeit in a sanitized way, he unintentionally brings attention to the nativist movement that shapes his young protagonist. Actresses Glenn Close and Amy Adams have placed their bets on an Oscar-worthy script penned by a conservative commentator who mingles with some of today’s most anti-democratic thought leaders. It seems, at times, that the creators of “Elegy” are uneasy about their decision.

If Netflix and Howard had considered the region Vance referred to, they could have avoided this disappointing outcome. However, there were Oscars to be won and aunts to be cast in hollering aunts’ roles. In Appalachia’s long and frequently violent past, similar actions as those of Howard and Vance have occurred. Capitalism extracts resources – timber from forests, coal from mountains, and labor from people. The hillbilly is just another resource to be exploited.

2024-07-22 19:00

Who Is Netflix’s Hillbilly Elegy For?

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