G | 1h 33min | Drama | 1952
Christine Garland (Phyllis Calvert) and her husband Harry (Terence Morgan) worry that because their 2-year-old daughter Mandy (Mandy Miller) is declared clinically deaf, she’ll become dumb, too.
Mandy is sent to live with her paternal grandparents for five years and to be homeschooled. Later, pining for a “normal life” for her growing child, Christine blames Harry and his family for not doing enough. She faults them for fearing the stigma of institutionalizing Mandy, even if it’s for her own good.
Now estranged from Harry, Christine admits Mandy into a special school. But Mandy’s prolonged cloistering and belated admission make it harder for headmaster Dick Searle (Jack Hawkins) and his staff to teach her. A series of setbacks slows her study. But with the steadfastness of her mother and teachers, Mandy starts voicing her thoughts. Christine, though, pays a price. Her admiration for, and gratitude toward Searle causes misunderstandings, threatening to tear a hostile Harry from her.
Being Understood
Many fault Mackendrick for focusing on the adults at the expense of the child. They’re missing his point: It isn’t about a deaf child or deafness alone. Like “Children of Lesser God” (1986), which uses the theme of deafness to reflect on love’s reciprocity, “Mandy” meditates on sound as a metaphor for love.Sound needs a medium to survive. Air, water, glass, and metal amplify or nullify sound waves. Likewise, trust, patience, acceptance, and hope can sustain love, just as their absence saps it. If thought is vibration, sound is the energy that vibration produces. But distance or objects can dampen or distort, choke or cancel sound. If speech and hearing aren’t thoughtful enough, even strong vibrations can end up void.
A teacher presses her lips onto an inflated balloon, holding Mandy’s tiny hands to its thin, vibrating surface. Watch Mandy’s eyes brighten as she starts to recognize sound.
Mackendrick’s opening credits begin with sound, but end with silence, showcasing the interplay between thought, word, and action.
Silence isn’t bad. Sometimes it creates space not just for a new or different thought, but also for thoughtfulness. Too much (or too little) silence, however, can contort even thoughtful words and actions.
Christine’s voiceover explains that Mandy’s name, Amanda, is Latin for “one who deserves to be loved. … I don’t know about deserving love, but she certainly gets it.” Mackendrick is saying that the mere gifting of love doesn’t mean it’s acknowledged. Only thoughtful giving gives thoughtful receiving a chance.
When reading Christine’s letter in front of his mother, Harry is sarcastic and dismissive. Reading it in private he’s empathetic. Her words on the page are the same. It’s his thoughtfulness that helps him see her candor. He realizes that her unilateral action to admit Mandy into a special school flows from fear, not fury. She’s begging his understanding. So, he telegrams her back, implying that he’s just as fearful and he’d rather they find a solution together.
Mackendrick’s saying that generosity with words is vital, but generosity of thought is as important. The point of hearing or speaking isn’t hearing or speaking, it’s understanding and being understood. That ought to drive every thought before it becomes word or action. Thought is nothing if it isn’t backed by thoughtfulness.
