Review of Spellbound (2002) by Budge B — 10 Mar 2009

Not the classic 1945 Hitchcock thriller, but a much darker, more horrifying production altogether. "Spellbound" follows the torments of a handful of American children as they strive to win the annual national spelling competition.

The film begins by offering a fly-on-the-wall commentary on US lifestyles, but as the competition hots up, you are slowly drawn into the high pressure excitement of the final. We're introduced to the stars of the show - Angela is a bright, creative, vital lassie, daughter of Mexican immigrants. She shows delight at achievement - her parents have struggled to give their children a better chance in life.

Nupur comes from an Indian family and embodies the Indian work ethic. You sense the integrational aspect of the spelling competition - if you're a newcomer to this society, it's best to participate unquestioningly in the established rituals and processes if you want to be accepted. In the UK, there is orthodox commitment to multi-culturalism: in the USA, it's about being visibly and vocally American!

But school is boring. Away from Beverley Hills, American High Schools are not glamorous. There are fat kids here. There is poverty. There is ignorance. No Buffy or teenage television images of school. No elegance. The schools look like dumps.

We meet Teddy, a bit of a loner. Emily is competitive, wants to be valued as really good at something, but sees the irony of being able to spell a word whose meaning she does not know and which she will never use. Her mother describes the spelling competition as a form of child abuse!

And the competitors are subjected to relentless tutoring by teachers and parents. It's the worst aspect of learning by rote - dunning word after word into receptive minds. The intensity of the young people's lifestyle is obvious. We find Ashley, not well off by any means. And Neil, from an affluent Indian family - committed to the American dream, a school athlete but following in his sister's footsteps (she came fifth in the national finals).

April is from a blue collar family - her parents don't have the resources, so she has to work on her own, showing quiet determination ... and ironic awareness of the sheer tedium of her task. And then there's Harry, hyperactive, mercurial, intense.

There is no commentary. We meet the contestants, hear their own words, watch their real lives unfold before us, subject to only our own judgement of purpose and meaning. Which, of course, doesn't mean that the film makers don't have values or feelings. It's all in the editing, in the selection of material and its juxtaposition, defining the character of the contributors by editing their contributions.

And then it's the big final - after loads of local media coverage and celebrity, there are 249 regional winners alone in the big city ... regimented into white shirts and dehumanised by the placards hanging round their necks ... these are numbers, these are contestants, these are runners in the race. Are they still children? Are they still individuals?

A girl has kittens spelling 'lycanthrope', the blood draining from her face. Camera close-ups show the sweat and tension, the nervous tics, the joy at getting that next word right, of progressing to the next level of torture. These are circus performers - they just have to make up their mind whether they are performing animals or gladiators.

But you can sense that the kids are learning to show off, to become performers. They are no longer themselves, they are embryonic celebrities - once they're famous, will someone finally notice them and not just their performance? And there are those who express a sense of relief at being knocked out, at being allowed to escape back to the real world. And for others ... emotional collapse. You wonder how long it will be before they overcome a sense of failure, before the nightmares end.

And the torment continues. Weird, frozen expressions on the handful of survivors, the pressure cooker atmosphere getting more and more oppressive. Relief when it's over, "I can throw away the book!".

This is a film about making performers out of children, about using them as playthings and benchmarks of adult achievement. It's organised by a major company, it attracts vast publicity - it's as American as mom's supermarket bought burger. Riveting, painful in places, and far more horrific than anything Hitchcock made.