There were moments in the typical Elementary School Day in my childhood Central Virginia scholastic experience that were loose and social in the mid-1970s. Especially if we had a substitute teacher or an aide who was put in charge for an indiscriminate amount of time. These moments were off the grid of the lesson plan, no corresponding activities with workbooks or filmstrips that were in chronological order from a textbook overview. None of this was monitored for testing or had a score attached to it. These moments were like time standing still, for they bore no weight on your grades, but they sometimes stayed in your mind forever. We would sometimes engage in games that the whole class could engage in simultaneously, these kinds of moments becoming rarer as we got older, in later years often being separated on the basis of learning levels of individual students. We would play games where the teachers would shut off the lights and lead a game called “7-up” or they would write a large word on the chalkboard like “Thanksgiving” and kids were to try to come up with as many words as they could from the single large word for a prize of some kind. That game could qualify as an early forerunner of word dojo, we prepubescents loved this form of classroom diversion, probably some of the most memorable and cherished moments from school occurred when lesson plans were abandoned and a freer more spontaneous student interaction was fostered.
One Gray day, it was after lunch in Winter and I was in attendance with a gaggle of Third graders in our classroom. We had an aide that day, an enthusiastic Woman in her 20s with shoulder length dirty Blond hair who had us doing some kind of Art project, like cutting out ads from the local newspaper, The Daily Progress, and gluing the ads onto construction paper. While we were engaged in this satisfying and aesthetically pleasing work, the young friendly teacher began a dialogue about a spooky (and now that I think about it, especially in context with today’s micromanaged classroom, WILDLY inappropriate) book she had been reading. Nine year-olds and potentially taboo tales of the Macabre that cool adults were hip to was a potent mix. The teacher’s aide began telling us about this book she was into called “The Little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane”. It was about a cunning young teenager who had turned to killing adults that threatened her independence. One of the adults that menaces her is a pedophile. Another is her shady Party-girl Mother. This classroom conversation between peripheral young school personnel and wide-eyed Nine-year-olds most likely would not happen in uptight Suburban Elementary schools now, certainly not without documentation and censure.
The Young Teacher’s description of the story had the entire classroom riveted, for some reason I came away with the idea that poisoning had something to do with the taste of Almonds from watching both this and “Arsenic and Old Lace”. That very Friday after the casual hang/conversation with the young teacher, my sister and I were home on a Friday night. Mom and Dad were working at the family-run movie theater. In third grade, I was now able to stay up until at least 11:30 PM or midnight, because Mom and Dad were never back before then, the last show of the night at the theater hardly ever ended before 11 PM, after that was usually 30 minutes to an hour of bookkeeping after the show for them to do, or if there was a Midnight late show, I was in the clear. The ABC Friday Night Movie always ended promptly at Eleven PM, that was exalted viewing, my First Grade-aged Sister and I were stoked at this age to watch tacky TV movies like “Curse of the Black Widow” with Patty Duke and Anthony Franciosa or “I Desire” with David Naughton. This particular Friday Winter night, the ABC Friday Night Movie was going to be…..”The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane”, with Jodie Foster and Martin Sheen.
Since the film only had a running time of Ninety minutes, there were plenty of breaks that night to run to the fridge or the toilet or chase one of the Cats around the house. The broadcast had more commercial breaks then the halftime of an NBA game. Commercials at night had a soporific effect on me, the local ads would make me sleepy with their long pauses and amateurish production values. The movie was far more adult then I was expecting, which was way fucking cool. The movie sets a tone early as a combination of Alfred Hitchcock-type irony, gothic Horror, and groovy 1970’s Runaway Child Running Wild culture. Though it is based on a Novel by Laird Koenig (who also penned the screenplay for this) the movie feels like a stage play, the majority of the film taking place in the house resided in by, you guessed it, the little girl who lives down the lane.
And that little girl appears to have some sketchy shit going on. Filmed in Quebec, the setting is supposedly a nameless New England seaside town, which locals refer to as “The Village”. Foster plays Rynn, an old soul who is only 13 (or 14?) we discover. She dresses like an adult, she walks and carries herself like an adult as she saunters from the Beach to her house, which is tucked away in the woods. She claims to live with her Father, a successful poet who had been living in England. We never see the Father. From then on, Rynn only has interaction with a handful of people in the film, there is hardly a scene in this movie where Foster’s character is not involved or one screen. And what interaction it is. The movie exhibits a myriad of taboo subjects, Rynn is an adolescent character who is living as an introverted adult, albeit secretly. She also might be a murderer, we’re not sure.
The other characters in the film either pose a threat to her (one physically, the other legally) while other characters either provide a certain amount of protection or comfort and companionship. Rynn is a sympathetic character, but also a crafty and diligent one. The world of modern adults looks for the most part to be duplicitous and sinister, we can see that for ourselves through the little girl’s eyes when dealing with Miss Hallet, the Landlady (played by Alexis Smith) or her lecherous son Frank (played by an ultra creepy Martin Sheen). A local Police officer named Miglioniti (played by Mort Shuman) strikes up an appropriate friendly interaction with Rynn, the antithesis of Sheen’s Frank, the local molester. Scott Jacoby plays Mario, who is Rynn’s friend, confidant and lover. The claustrophobic atmosphere of this movie reminded me of other cat-and-mouse head game mystery movies of this era, such as “Sleuth” with Michael Caine from 1972 and “Wait Until Dark” with Audrey Hepburn from 1967. Director Nicholas Gessner shoots this with the look of a stage play, there is little ensemble work here, outside of a scene or two.
I enjoyed the use of music in this film, a peaceful work by Chopin is highlighted in the title credits, it seems to establish a tone of dull upper class leaning normalcy, as Foster ambles along the Beach on a cold morning. Once the grit and grime of the plot make their appearance, the music for the film turns to Bell-Bottom wearing, Lalo Schifrin-sounding funky jazz fusion or Return to Forever, a more fitting soundtrack to the shady goings on. The composer for this was Christian Gaubert. His use of Stanley Clarke-sounding riffs is used perfectly, it accentuates a hue of malevolence, mostly coming from the conspicuous adults, but the little girl is no wilting flower when it comes to transgressional behavior. The film has a sharp look to it, I must have a soft spot for Director Gessner’s visual style, Gessner directed a forgotten film from the late 1980’s titled “Tennessee Waltz” with Julian Sands and the ubiquitous Stacey Dash that nobody has seen; it’s a guilty pleasure of mine, mostly due to the look of the film and the use of the score and soundtrack.
The most wholesome and virtuous interaction that Rynn has with an adult is with the town sheriff. He comes off like a de facto Uncle, always wanting to believe the best. He checks on her in a benevolent, nurturing fashion. Rynn returns the sentiment, being genuine and courteous to the Officer. Rynn’s relationship with Mario straddles the line of propriety; for while they are sweet to each other, they are also partying, fucking, committing fraud and disposing of incriminating evidence related to potential foul play. I was definitely not expecting a nude scene with a prospective 13-year old, silly me. The sex scene, while somewhat tame, adds to the tawdry atmosphere. Frank the Pedophile wants to exploit Rynn’s blossoming sexuality for his own disturbed pursuits. Frank is correct that Rynn wants intimacy, just not with his older depraved ass.
“The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane” hints at similar themes from the mid-1970’s that other movies of it’s era, like Bob Clark’s 1974 film “Black Christmas” or Richard Brooks’ 1976 film “Looking For Mister Goodbar” mine: That the trendy 1970’s porn and drug culture was the perfect hiding grounds for actual dangerous sexual predators. Rynn’s paranoia in this movie is from her experience dealing with adults and their consistency in her world of being exploitative, over demanding full-blown child rapists. The climate that author Koenig creates for the story I felt to be partly symbolic, that Rynn speaks for the spirit of clever 1970’s youth. When the Landlady demands that Rynn open the basement to fulfill a mundane chore, Rynn becomes obstinate and defiant, pretending to be aggressively territorial, when in reality she is stalling for time to hide incriminating evidence. When Frank attempts to touch Rynn’s hair and then her bottom in another scene, Rynn recoils and appears ready for battle. If you were ever inappropriately touched or disrespected as a child, you can feel Rynn’s rage and her strategy, she is a response.
The film’s relics of an era and lifestyle that is fading comes through the attitudes of most of the adult characters Rynn deals with in the town. The adults look old, out of style, their manner is overly formal, suspicious and timid. The old car that Miss Hallet drives around looks like something from a bye-gone era, driven around by old starlets. Mario does an impersonation of Rynn’s dead Father for the duped Police Officer’s benefit and performs as if he’s Robert Young from a 1950’s Family TV show. The old ways, styles and attitudes are mocked by our young, hip protagonists. When Mario asks Rynn has she ever smoked Hash before, Rynn replies without hesitation, “Oh yeah, hundreds of times”. Better to be a liar than a square in this new age. The youth here speak a language of excess that only they understand.
I left the end for the two most impressive aspects of this film, which were undoubtedly the performances of Sheen and Foster. They do at least a couple of cringey scenes together and the scenes are intense and effective. From what I read about this film, Sheen was a positive influence on the set, and ushered in on set a friendship between Foster and Sheen’s daughter, Renee. Sheen’s portrayal of Frank is relentless and unnerving, definitely too accurate at times, the suggestions in this film are strong and risque, the film is brutally honest in it’s portrayal of this kind of creepy dynamic and doesn’t attempt to marginalize the issue nor overdo it. The difference here is that Rynn is no victim, although she appears to be. She’s clever enough to make casual mention of Frank’s inappropriate behavior to both Miss Hallet and the Police Officer, she knows what she is doing.
As well thought out as the look and feel of Sheen as Frank is, the real showstopper here is Foster. By the time Foster is 18 years old, in 1980, she had already been in what I would argue to be at least 5 intense films that are worthy of praise for generations: This film, Adrian Lynne’s 1980 film “Foxes”, Robert Kaylor’s underrated 1980 film “Carny” and two titanic films from Director Martin Scorcese, 1975’s “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” and 1976’s “Taxi Driver”. This doesn’t include the fluffy Disney hit movies from this time period that she was in as well. Foster’s part in this movie could not have been easy to do; the scenes of implied sexual menace involving Frank, the nude scene with Mario, that’s pretty advanced for a 13 to 14 year old performer to handle.
Yet Foster seems to grasp the material she is enveloped by, and appears to comprehend it as fully as anyone, her grasp firmly equals her reach. She’s not just a star in this; her ability to internalize the cunning, the loneliness, the survival instincts of this symbolic character is startling for her to be so young and so in command of her performance, I can’t imagine a child star of any era doing better. Foster’s ability to switch from child-to-adult throughout the film embellishes her performance, there are so many scenes where we fear for her character’s safety, in part due to her ability to feign vulnerability. Her aloof style throws off her adult opponents, the story unfolds like Poe or Agatha Christie where a righteous (or in this case, somewhat righteous) protagonist commits morally questionable acts in the name of justice and self-preservation. “The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane” transposes this dogma into a movie that focuses on the burgeoning generational gap that is apparent between the archaic ways of the 1950’s and 1960’s (including an inclination to look the other way at Older Men on younger girl lechery) and the restless and impatient yet downplayed youth of the 1970’s, and this attempt to bring those various themes together in a coherent and stirring picture, cemented by the incredibly focused performances, most notably of Sheen and Foster.
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