I am sorry to say I am growing old and sentimental. The other day, I alerted my therapist that I was running late by sending an otherwise blank email with my message in the subject line. I thanked my kindly Instacart Shopper by, wholeheartedly, telling them to have a “blessed day.” Last night, I watched the 1979 film Norma Rae, and one of my primary takeaways was the idea that “they don’t make movies like that anymore.”
Norma Rae stars Sally Field as the titular 31-year-old single mother of two. She spends her days grinding in the heat of the O.P. Textile Mill — as generations of her family have done before her.
One afternoon, a man named Reuben Warshowsky appears at the mill. He’s a union organizer from the TWUA, and has been tasked with spearheading a union campaign at the O.P. Textile Mill. Norma Rae begins working closely with Reuben and helps build support for the union throughout her community. She works to balance her family obligations with her deep convictions, landing her in management’s crosshairs.
The basic contours of the plot are enough to fan the passions of any red-blooded leftist, but each of the 118 minutes of film bring such unique and unexpected joys.
Norma Rae’s character isn’t necessarily unique — that is to say, it’s not unheard of that a story or film depicts a blue-collar single mother whose boldness often lands her in trouble. What is unique is the way that her character is allowed to exist without a shred of apology.
At the start of the film, Norma Rae has two children. The first was fathered by her high school sweetheart who, several years earlier, was killed in a drunken bar fight. The second child was the product of a one night stand with a man, Norma explains, she “didn’t bother to marry.” When the film begins, she’s in the midst of an affair with a married man, who beats her when she attempts to break things off.
Early in the film, Norma Rae actually does marry — to a recently-divorced and recently-fired millworker with a daughter of his own. The parties involved are clear from the get-go that it’s a marriage of convenience, but they manage to build tenderness and understanding.
As Norma Rae becomes more deeply entrenched in the union, her sexuality is weaponized against her. One night, Norma Rae stays late at Reuben’s motel to assist with letter-writing. The motel is unexpectedly intruded upon by representatives from the TWUA headquarters, who are there to share concerns for the union campaign — including pornographic rumors about Norma Rae. Rather than be deterred, Norma Rae hurries home and wakes up her three sleeping children. Sitting them all down on the sofa, she first tells them that she loves them. Then, she tells them that they may hear rumors about her and that she wanted them to hear it from her first.
Throughout the film, an ever-present question is whether Norma Rae and Reuben will get together. They have passionate conversations about politics and poetry, he sees her at her worst, throwing up in bushes along a country highway, and yet still looks at her with magic in his eyes. And yet, the very final scene of the film is the closest the two ever come to kissing. As they part (Reuben is road-bound for his next campaign), there is something heavy and unspoken in the air; something that the two seem to acknowledge, and to acknowledge can never come to pass.
Norma Rae is based on the real-life story of North Carolina union organizer Crystal Lee Sutton. I have yet to read the 1975 account of her organizing work, Crystal Lee: A Woman of Inheritance, and so I am left to wonder how much of these characterizations are rooted in reality, or are crafted for the purposes of selling a Hollywood narrative. But to some extent, it doesn’t entirely matter. It does not take away from the fact that Norma Rae simultaneously tells the stories of a woman, a movement, and a community — all portrayed as equal in significance.
Towards the end of the film, as tensions between the mill management and budding union are close to exploding, Norma Rae is fired. Management attempts to sow discord between Black and white workers by posting a racist bulletin, which Norma Rae then tries to record.
She races through the mill, being chased by management and the local sheriff. Climbing up onto a worktable, Norma Rae grabs a piece of charcoal, a loose piece of cardboard, and scrawls the word “UNION.” She hoists the sign high, in both proclamation and plea. One by one, her co-workers shut down their machines, and the roar of the weavers gradually becomes an eerie silence. It’s the first and only time in the film that the factory is not overwhelmed by sound.
There is so much else to be said about this film. I think entire essays could be crafted on Norma Rae’s treatment of race and religion. I think there could be lengthy analysis dedicated to why there has not been another movie like this since — at least not one that is half as sincere and half as profound. For today, my only goal in writing is to process the unexpected ache and vulnerability I felt after watching this movie.
Katie Fustich 