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The Yeoman's Work of the American Dream
Why is the spelling bee a uniquely American phenomenon? First,
a Spanish Bee isn't even possible because, as with most romance
languages, words are spelled mostly as they are pronounced.
More than any other modern language, American English is a
hodgepodge of words as diverse as those who live on its soil.
The American quilt is most apparent by flipping through a
Webster's, a document stitching together the lasting remnants
of the Western world, from the Romans and Greeks to the NAFTA-induced
pigeon Spanish creeping farther north. Often, the first question
spellers ask the Bee's moderator is "language of origin?".
As National Spelling Bee Pronouncer Alex Cameron tells us
in Spellbound, the spelling bee originated in nineteenth
century American schoolhouses, where "spelling was a
community process" in which new Americans would both
assimilate and honor their home languages. Those immigrants
saw America as an opportunity in which hard work enabled social
mobility, to which education is the key. The Spelling Bee
embodies these ideals in the "peculiarly American tradition
of competition" that émigrés felt as they
parted their homeland for the Second Chance of the New World.
It's this striving element upon which America fulfilled its
Manifest Destiny as the pioneers cultivated the land westward.
Spelling itself is the yeoman's work of language. To spell
correctly is an exact science, even more so than grammar.
Spelling requires no special intelligence, nor can one's spelling
be of a higher aesthetic quality than other. Spelling at a
championship level requires Olympian devotion, which is why
it's televised on ESPN.
The film opens with Angela Arenivar from Perrytown, Texas,
a rural ghetto whose theater has collapsed and downtown needs
a paint job. Angela pours over her books, of course, but most
interesting is the interview with her father Ubaldo and her
brother Jorge. Ubaldo has been an illegal immigrant for nineteen
years, making a better life for his family as a cowhand (as
his "boss" says, "There are a few good Mexicans.")
Jorge tells us his father never learned English because, as
Ubaldo tells us in Spanish, "I've been taking care of
cattle for nineteen years; they don't speak English."
Cut back to Angela, and the point is clear: How can we resent
a man wanting to make a better life for his family, even if
"illegally," especially when the end result is a
dedicated student like Angela who loves America with all her
little heart?
Director Jeffrey Blitz introduces us to seven other children,
mostly second generation immigrants, but a few farm kids,
an inner city kid, and a hyper-active Jewish kid. The binding
theme is, especially with a knowledge of poverty, a belief
in the power of education. There's Nupor Lala, whose father
came from India, became successful, and built his dream house
in America. He pushes his daughter to better her tenth place
finish from last year because "Indians have a great work
ethic" and education is what "binds the community"—even
if the local Hooters misspells "Congradulations."
Next is Ted Brigham, a gifted outcast from right here in Southwest
Missouri; specifically, Stoutland, where Ted enjoys guns and
explosives on the family farm. His parents are hopeful, however:
The spelling bee is a "second chance" for Ted to
get some positive recognition and fit in with the other kids.
The film continues through the rest of the bios, capturing
images in the kids homes and communities that expound upon
the theme. Ashley White, a black girl from the projects of
Washington D.C., is shown on her dilapidated porch with the
Washington Monument in the background. Ashley's mom claims
that despite her woes with health insurance and "the
economy," her sacrifices will help "her baby"
whip up and go on to a better life. Counter to what I expected,
the kids choose to pursue the Spelling Bee, though for various
reasons, but parents like Ashley's encourage but don't slave-drive.
Like April DeGideo, whose parents remind her—more than
she knows—of the Bunkers. Her father Al grew up during
the Depression, literally, on the wrong side of the tracks,
gone broke after his asbestos factory closed. He knows of
hard times, and though April's dictionary is wartorn, he gives
her perspective, "April, go to the mall. Lighten up!"
Or Harry Altman, a spasmodic jabbermouth who talks like a
robot, tries to eat the boom mike, and plays the national
anthem on his electric guitar. Here, the work is more Mom's:
Harry is precocious, but our delight in his antics can be
frustrating for Fay.
After the BIOS, Blitz's third act becomes a marvelous exercise
in pure drama. We see that the National Spelling Bee is not
a destiny but an earned vacation, a celebration of one's labor.
We sense that one of our eight is going to win, but Blitz
casts supreme doubt by introducing a villain: Georgie, a homeschooled
Asian kid from suburban St. Louis. Georgie embodies nearly
every stereotype of a championship speller I brought to the
theater, which Blitz has spent his film debunking. We are
introduced to Georgie via a sermon by his pastor in a rather
expensive-looking church; we're ensured that Georgie's return
and triumph at Scripps-Howard is assured. When asked by a
ESPN Spelling Analyst for advice on spelling excellence, Georgie
replies, "Trust in Jesus."
Though the pioneers of nineteenth century American were mandated
by Manifest Destiny, they quickly realized that survival was
more than plowing a field and praying for rain. Yet, the American
Myth is that the New World is a new Eden, that God will help
those who help themselves cultivate this fresh garden. To
the settlers, America was an unspoiled paradise for those
who chose to be God's people. This is where Blitz does something
remarkable: He connects the nineteenth century Americana of
the Spelling Bee to these new immigrants' arrival at the Washington
DC Hyatt by, of all things, panning down from the American
flag in the rafters to the floral-enveloped fountain and waterfall
in the lobby. He turns a Hyatt into an Eden.
Blitz' vision of the National Spelling Bee is a distinctly
anti-suburban version of the American Dream: There's not a
strip mall in sight of any of our competitors' homes. I expected
this to be an indictment of yuppie hyper-parenting, but what
struck me about the Bee itself is how well our kids and parents
handle it. Blitz captures each agonizing frame, editing the
sequences for laughs and empathy. Most compelling are the
kids' grimaces as they pour over origins and usages, as if
words are mysteries worthy of Scotland Yard. Those who throw
their eyes toward heaven in despair mostly lose out, but relatively
few leave in tears. Of our kids, the Stoutland boy leaves
first; he's unfazed, and his parents are more grateful for
a weekend at the Hyatt than anything else. But even as the
tension mounts with later rounds, these kids are so grounded
and humble—polar opposites of spoiled suburban movie
kids. Our kids and parents see this as an opportunity not
to be squandered, of course, but surprisingly not life and
death, either.
The experience itself is to be cherished. Blitz treats us
to interviews with past champions, most of whom live regular
lives. Each reaffirms the value of hard work, that success
is not rooted in the cult of genius, but by insights cultivated
by yeoman's work. As so many Americans are moved by senses
of entitlement and privilege, we move farther away from what
"American" really is (Or as Anne Richards said about
George W. Bush, "He's a man born on third base who thinks
he hit a triple"). As our sense of true "Americanism"
erodes, our patriotism becomes more and more false. In the
politics of language, we see this in the xenophobia of those
who fear Spanish. Jeffrey Blitz reminds us that our spirit
lives on in our traditions, that we have to relearn Americana
to find what it means to be an American. The message is not
lost on these competitors, as Neil's dad Rajesh Kadakia, the
Indian immigrant who built his dream house in California tells
us, "If you work hard, in America you will not fail.
That's not true anywhere else." And about his son: "He
will have the memories of what it's like to strive for things
and have your mind focused, and to go on in life and keep
striving." Is there anything more American than that?
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