THE GREEN MILE (1999)

In Nevil Shute’s underrated 1951 novel Round the Bend, a cynical man is faced with a startling prospect: many believe his best friend to be the reincarnation of the Buddha. He finds himself incapable of believing it, even in the face of mounting evidence. The world as he knows it’s filled with pain, tragedy, and hardship; he can’t believe that God could dwell in such a place. Yet, he wants to believe that the ethereal might exist alongside him, and he’s forced to ask the question—what is it that truly makes a man divine?

It’s a question that Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks) finds himself pondering in The Green Mile. Surrounded by death, existential torment, and profound misery, he tries to bring tranquillity to inmates on death row. He goes about his work stoically, believing in the justice system that sends these men to their premature deaths. That is until he meets John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan), a gentle giant who has been accused of a heinous crime. However, there is more to this man than initially meets the eye, something that becomes increasingly apparent when a miracle occurs on the green mile.

Only Frank Darabont’s second film, The Green Mile is a poignant treatise on deliverance, ethics, and the inherent difficulties in doing the right thing in a world strewn with problems. Though it may not reach the same heights as The Shawshank Redemption (1994), with the plot meandering in parts and delving slightly into melodrama, The Green Mile remains a deeply stirring tale on the importance of finding one’s salvation, in whatever form it may take.

Most are seeking an escape from the pain that characterises their lives in 1935. More than one character in Stephen King’s novel of the same name is dealing with serious health issues. Paul, our central protagonist, is nursing an excruciatingly painful bladder infection, one that is so debilitating it nearly cripples him. Warden Hal Moores (James Cromwell) is distraught because his wife, Melinda (Patricia Clarkson), is dying of a brain tumour. Each character desperately desires an end to the physical agony and sickness that plagues them.

John Coffey is a man who can take the pain away. Though it’s debatable whether he’s a man at all—do his gifts not render him divine, his abilities defining him as utterly miraculous? It’s not quite as simple as that: he may possess superhuman powers, but he hurts just like a regular person—even more, in fact. He’s a living conduit for all the suffering in the world, both physical and spiritual. It leaks through him, through his touch and his tears: “All that hurt just spill right out…”

It’s no wonder that a man such as John Coffey doesn’t want to live in this world. He has seen enough evil in this life. It’s much like a pivotal scene in Vittorio de Sica’s Miracle in Milan (1951), in which our primary heroes decide to leave a world that is so poisoned by greed, that’s so lacking in compassion, and governed by self-interest. Rather than surround themselves by the neuroses of a fundamentally sick society, they make the decision to abscond to paradise, though the choice to leave is a hard one to make.

That is because good people find it hard not to do the right thing. Even when it’s more convenient simply to turn a blind eye, Paul Edgecomb knows for a fact that Coffey is innocent, that he’s being sent to the chair unjustly: “I just can’t see God putting a gift like that in the hands of a man who would kill a child.”

As he realises the extent of Coffey’s gifts, he believes it’s undeniable that he’s in the presence of the divine—and he’s knowingly going to pass electricity through his body until an angel is rendered a corpse. The burden of this knowledge weighs heavy on Paul’s shoulders: “I’ve done some things in my life that I’m not proud of… but this is the first time I’ve ever felt in real danger of Hell…”

The promise of deliverance is a central theme in the story. It’s shown to be a uniquely human trait—the knowledge of death, and the desire to live on after it. For the men on death row, salvation becomes akin to a second chance, an opportunity to find happiness again if one has truly atoned for their sins. Before he makes his final walk, Arlen Bitterbuck (Graham Greene) contemplates his life, filled with doubt and hope in equal measure: “Do you believe that if a man repents enough for what he done wrong, that he’ll get to go back to the time that was happiest for him, and live there forever? Could that be what heaven’s like?”

Despite all the conversations about the afterlife, the film never truly proffers a theological argument. And though John Coffey serves as a rather unsubtle parallel for Jesus Christ, the story does not possess an ecclesiastical aura. The narrative instead contains a questioning air, with our protagonist making inquiries that have no known answers. For how can one quantify the ethereal? Spiritual experience is shown to be characterised more by our search than arising at any true answers. As Melinda intones gravely, speaking to John: “I dreamed we were wandering in the dark…”

Part of what makes The Green Mile such an affecting story is that everyone is wandering in the dark, looking for meaning. Even the saintly John Coffey finds the endless search for purpose demoralising: “I’m tired, boss. Tired of being on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we’re coming from or going to, or why.” It is for this reason that Melinda gives him a pendant of St Christopher—the patron saint of travellers.

If the divine can despair and become lost, what does that say of the rest of us? It’s telling that the crimes of the prisoners on death row are never revealed—because it doesn’t matter. They are shown to be repentant, normal people who are contrite for the crimes they committed. However, the real crime in the story is the one committed by the state against John Coffey, a man everyone knows to be innocent.

Amidst all of these themes, The Green Mile offers a harrowing look at the institutionalisation of murder. Much like in Krzysztof Kieślowski’s unsettling A Short Film About Killing (1988), the execution process is depicted as being the marriage between bureaucracy and barbarity. The cold, dispassionate manner in which convicts are sent to death is utterly grotesque. As water drips down Arlen Bitterbuck’s face, with his breathing becoming panicked and fearful as he’s placed under a black hood, one is forced to question how a purportedly civilised society can justify such a practice.

Because while evil certainly exists in the world, combatting it with further evil threatens only to worsen the society we live in. Furthermore, it’s not solely the principle of clinical murder, but the prospect of harming the innocent; since 1973, at least 200 people in America who had been executed by the state were later exonerated. A pardon is too little too late.

The Green Mile, desperately sad as it is, becomes even more tragic when one realises it was probably inspired (at least in part) by a true story. John Coffey’s tale is likely based on the real-life case of Joe Arridy, a mentally-disabled man, who was accused of the rape and murder of a 15-year-old girl. Arridy, who was only 21 and possessed an IQ of 47, was coerced into confessing to a crime he obviously didn’t commit. He played with toy trains in his cell, often rolling them to other convicts on death row, who couldn’t help but grow fond of him. For his last meal, he asked for ice cream, requesting a prison guard refrigerate the leftovers so he could finish it later. He was executed that same day, on 6 January 1939.

The manner in which The Green Mile broaches these complex themes reveals it to be a great film. However, it’s not quite perfect. At over three hours, it can occasionally feel gratuitously epic in its scope. I don’t think the film’s length ever becomes egregiously overlong, but the pacing of the story is questionable at times, particularly due to the inclusion of a number of subplots which are ultimately superfluous.

This is something of an issue with Stephen King’s novels, as well as their filmic adaptations. It Chapter Two (2019) was aggressively overlong, and despite only being a little more than two hours, Darabont’s The Mist (2007) demonstrates a similar unwillingness to end. It’s not so much the length as it is the pacing—had The Green Mile editor Richard Francis-Bruce shaved off a shot here and a scene there, the narrative momentum probably would have benefitted overall.

Perhaps as a result of this, Darabont’s direction doesn’t feel quite as smooth as it was in The Shawshank Redemption. There is something of an Orson Welles parallel when looking at his career: with the 1994 classic being his first time in the director’s chair, he never quite topped what would be his defining masterpiece.

However, Darabont’s diminished direction may in part be due to the fact he was no longer working with one of the greatest cinematographers of modern times in Roger Deakins. While David Tattersall’s cinematography is by no means poor, it lacks the same fluidity that Roger Deakins brought to The Shawshank Redemption; certain sequences feel clunkier. Or perhaps it’s just that one can’t help but feel as though the ethereal atmosphere inherent in the story could have been visually captured more convincingly.

Additionally, there are some scenes that just aren’t all that believable. Most of these involve the psychopathic Percy (Doug Hutchison), who is utterly cartoonish in his malevolence. Despite a sensational performance from Hutchison, Percy becomes little more than a caricature, a rich kid with a Napoleon complex. Little is done to humanise him, which would have made the character more intriguing. Instead, he’s just a cruel and vindictive tumour that infects the Green Mile.

This isn’t to say that cruel and vindictive people don’t exist—it’s merely that these underdeveloped archetypes so often populate Stephen King’s stories that it becomes a little predictable. The Sisters in The Shawshank Redemption, for instance, are similarly one-dimensional, but that never becomes an issue, as they appear in the story so infrequently. However, Percy has zero redeeming qualities: he’s cowardly, spiteful, and generally just a snivelling cockroach, turning him into an easy character to despise.

Another aspect that I’ve always questioned about The Green Mile is how bizarrely nonplussed the men appear to be after witnessing Coffey revive a mouse from the dead and spew a swarm of flies. The fact that a miracle worker dwells in their jail is only overtly addressed when they discuss—very pragmatically and without awe—how they will utilise him to cure Melinda. It seems unlikely that such a supernatural event could ever go undiscussed.

All of this being said, there are far more great moments in this film than bad ones (and even the less compelling scenes aren’t really bad, per se). The dialogue is brilliant, especially between Paul and his wife, Jan (Bonnie Hunt). Furthermore, the way in which certain plot points are foreshadowed is especially well-done. Whenever the film appears as though it might lull, it is often followed by an utterly transfixing sequence.

The Green Mile no doubt triumphs as a result of the incredible performances on display. Tom Hanks, in what is among the best showings of his career, has the same Southern drawl that made his performance in Forrest Gump (1994) so well-renowned. However, it’s Michael Clark Duncan who steals every scene he’s in. Robbed at the Academy Awards, it’s indisputable that his showing was superior to any other supporting part that year.

There are plenty of other great showings here, including that of Bonnie Hunt and Patricia Clarkson. James Cromwell has a questionable accent, but a good performance, and Michael Jeter’s Eduard Delacroix earns all our sympathy and affection. Meanwhile, though Graham Greene is only onscreen for roughly three minutes, it’s one of the most memorable roles in the film; more than any other character, he dramatizes the desire for salvation.

That is what the film ultimately is about: our desperate need for deliverance, to believe that our existence on this Earth has been deemed worthwhile by a higher power. The walk down that green mile, a walk we all must take at one point in our life, is symbolic of the reflection we all undergo in life’s final moments. It’s a walk denied to Paul, a punishment suited to the man who killed a miracle of God. He’s denied acceptance into Heaven, without ever knowing when his atonement for his sin will be sufficient. Because for those who live with guilt in their heart, that green mile seems so long you’ll think it might just go on forever.

USA | 1999 | 189 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH • FRENCH

Cast & Crew

director: Frank Darabont.
writer: Frank Darabont (based on the book by Stephen King).
starring: Tom Hanks, David Morse, Bonnie Hunt, Michael Clarke Duncan, James Cromwell, Michael Jeter, Dabbs Greer, Graham Greene, Doug Hutchison, Sam Rockwell, Barry Pepper, Jeffrey DeMunn, Patricia Clarkson & Harry Dean Stanton.