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There’s something deeply cerebral and timeless about A BILL OF DIVORCEMENT and the way it philosophizes the societal stigma behind mental illness. Many are quick to dismiss it as dated and regressive — an unfair appraisal, particularly given its resonance when recontextualized to better reflect contemporary circumstance.
Yes, we no longer colloquially toss around the term “insanity,” nor do we whisper it in secretive fear — collectively, we have worked to breed acceptance around open discussion and treatment to the point where it more or less equals the gravity afforded to physical illness. This is a monumental accomplishment, but even still the same moral ambiguity remains like a thick fog, soupier than ever with disillusionment and doubt. Genetic inheritance is murky territory, begging the same questions posed 90 years ago in Cukor’s film: is it fair to have children given the pre-existing knowledge of familial illness? And if one does decide to, does that make them selfish? Is it not objectionable that these unborn children should have a say whether or not they want to be born into a dying world, further encumbered by inherited sickness?
I’ve often pondered this myself with regard to my own future, being a woman who has a robust catalog of diagnoses. Would it be fair to bequeath this same misfortune onto my own kid, especially if I don’t have the finances or resources to temper the possibility to a bearable amount?
Never before have I seen a topic broached with such sophistication and directness, as Hepburn and Barrymore do in navigating their turbulent relationship as father and daughter. He’s been away, afflicted by bouts of mental distress; she recognizes his temperament in herself, struggling to balance the fear she feels toward her own future and the compassion toward a man she has only recently met. Her mother (Billie Burke) is eager to discard him and be free of the burden, but Hepburn obstinately elects to stay at his side. She understands him as he does her, sacrificing a questionable future of marriage and children for a safer and far more fulfilling one. She waltzes with Barrymore through scenes both visceral and vulnerable, impressively matching his intensity despite it being her debut screen performance. When the two of them are together on screen, everything and everybody else in the shot fades to impermanence.
In just 70 minutes, A BILL OF DIVORCEMENT packs a poignant punch, yet tows carefully away from preaching. Instead it philosophizes intrepidly to overtly examine anathema with candor and fairness, encouraging its audience to challenge their perception and understanding of mental illness rather than to jump to a judgment both abrupt and detrimental.
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