In A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, the wife of beloved children’s TV star Fred Rogers is asked what it’s like being married to a saint. She bristles at the question, insisting that he’s no saint—and that calling him one cheapens the accomplishment of a good man who’s fought through his anger and sadness to become a lodestar for millions upon millions of children.
If only the movie had heeded her advice. Mr. Rogers was a masterful educator. He could explain overwhelming, frightening topics in ways that were simple and reassuring to his young viewers. He talked. He explained.
None of that comes through in this likable-enough film. It should. Mr. Rogers is brilliantly played by Tom Hanks. The catalog of interviews, episodes, and profiles is staggering. The plot is smartly constructed, allowing us to get to know Mr. Rogers through the eyes of jaded, skeptical, and troubled investigative reporter Lloyd Vogel.
Portrait of American educator and television personality Fred Rogers (1928 – 2003). Rogers is the … [+]
All of this would seem to offer the opportunity to plumb the mind and manner of an icon. It doesn’t. We hear that Mr. Rogers can get angry and sad. Mr. Rogers tells Vogel that he vents anger by pounding a piano, going for a swim, or molding clay and allows that there were tough times with his sons. We see Mr. Rogers duck personal questions or deflect them by offering compliments or talking about his puppets. And, the rest of the time, we just see him being nice.
We feel his warmth. He takes pictures of the people he meets. He’s sweet to children. He’s pleasant to everybody. He plays the piano with his wife. He asks how other people are doing. That’s pretty much it.
How did this man actually feel about having a troubled relationship with his sons? How did it feel to become a dumping place for other people’s problems? What actually caused him to retire and then resurrect his TV show? How did he feel about sometimes serving as an object of mockery? What were the keys to his equilibrium, beyond simply being nice?
These questions are all raised at one point or another only to be promptly dropped. It’s pretty remarkable. Even given the artistic license implicit in an “inspired by” tag, rich source material, and Tom Hanks, the writers weren’t willing or able to tell us anything about the gifts or the grit that made Mr. Rogers who he was.
We do see how Vogel, the investigate reporter at the center of the film, is transformed by his time with Mr. Rogers. But we don’t really understand why. That transformation is never really earned and never makes a lot of sense. When we first meet Vogel, he’s uncertain about being a new father and furious at his own father for abandoning his family when he was young. For the first half of the film, Vogel pouts and frets. He storms off from Mr. Rogers in the midst of a frustrating interview. He runs off, abandoning his wife and child, while his father is in the hospital. And then, seemingly spurred by nothing more than Mr. Rogers preceding a vegetarian lunch by urging a moment of silent appreciation for those we love, Vogel suddenly becomes a new man.
This is all disappointing.
Now, it doesn’t mean the film is “bad.” It’s a pleasant, upbeat film. But Fred Rogers deserved more. He was more than a sweet man—he was an educator who could speak to his young viewers with an astonishing blend of whimsy, decency, humility, and warmth. In a time when we need more of all that, this is a lost opportunity to understand what made him tick and to gain some meager insight into how he managed it.
Young people today are making their way in a world where once-trusted institutions are viewed with suspicion, social media has eroded traditional social ties, and only the most outrageous voices find a way to cut through the noise and cultural clutter. Mr. Rogers looms as a role model and an inspiration for parents and educators helping children find their way. He shattered racial barriers on the air, discussed topics like war and death, and rejected the temptations of fame and the trappings of celebrity.
How did he manage all this? Unfortunately, this film doesn’t seem to have a clue.
Mrs. Rogers was right. Fred Rogers was no plaster saint. The shame of it is that, after watching this pleasant little film, you wouldn’t know that.
