Old-fashioned Hollywood weepies demanded that the audience surrender to the
prejudices of gender: that women were delicate, noble creatures, emotional
yearlings, easy prey for the stronger, predatory male. Cross Creek is an
inspirational weepie, asking the viewer to nod off with it into a dream of
American rural purity. There, a backwoods shack just has to house a community of decent souls, and poverty is God's way of saying "Trust to your
own resources," and folks' closeness to the land makes them more sensitive
to the changing seasons of the heart. These propositions may be true, but
they need not be dramatized with the moist sentiment that sticks to this
movie like Everglades humidity.
Good performances, especially by Rip Torn and Dana Hill, play against the
sweetness and come close to expressing the wrenching loyalties of familial
love. Peter Coyote, as Rawlings' future husband, exudes steely authority
from behind his gentle smile and bow tie--a humanized George Will. But Mary
Steenburgen, an actress of eaglet resourcefulness, looks both too frail and
too stubborn to bring Rawlings to life. One wishes Cross Creek well; one
wishes even more that it were better.
