“Ladybird, ladybird fly away home,

Your house is on fire and your children are gone,

All except one, and her name is Ann,

And she hid under the baking pan.”

These words are taken from the classic nursery rhyme which served as the loose inspiration for Ladybug Ladybug, the sophomore effort of director Frank Perry and screenwriter Eleanor Perry, who insisted on tackling one of the darkest chapters in recent American history with Ladybug Ladybug, a daring social odyssey that carries quite a heavy message. I’ve said it numerous times, and I will continue to hammer in this point until it becomes known – the Perrys deserved so much better. While they may be better known for some of their later collaborations, as well as their own individual work after their separation, they were two dynamic artists who were brilliant on their own, but when working together brought out something entirely new that we had never experienced before. This film is undeniably one of them, an elegant, small-scale drama that carries a heavy social message and takes simple human realism and gradually deconstructs it to expose its more unsettling core. The film being titled after this beloved nursery rhyme is an exceptionally interesting choice to have made, since the quaint imagery of the poem counteracts the grim subject matter of the film, and creates a sensational, although highly flawed, exploration of the human condition, taken from the perspective of a society in perhaps its most uncertain time, and where hope seems to be both entirely necessary, and perpetually elusive. In short, Ladybug Ladybug is one of the more fascinating experiments in socially-charged artistry to come out of this period, and while it is far from perfect in both form or content, it has some truly insightful statements about the world and its socio-psychological machinations to make along the way.

Set somewhere in the American Midwest, today was supposed to be an ordinary day for the teachers at students at the small countryside school. The principal (William Daniels) watches over begrudging students as they take a regional assessment, while the other teachers weave through the halls, going about their everyday routine without any thought. However, this comes to a grinding halt in a matter of seconds with the arrival of an unpleasant auditory visitor – their alarm system begins to alert them towards a particular threat. At first, they believe it as being a drill, which is quickly written off as they already had their daily practice in the case of an emergency. The next logical thought was that it was some kind of error in the system, a momentary glitch that caused it to go haywire. However, it soon becomes clear that this alert is very real, and what it indicates is far more terrifying than they would’ve hoped: their town is the target for a nuclear bomb attack in less than an hour. Faced with conflicted feelings, the principal makes the difficult decision to evacuate the school immediately, dividing the children into individual groups, headed by teachers who help shepherd the students home, while he and the rest of the staff stay behind and try and get to the bottom of the problem. Walking through the countryside, each of the students and their chaperones start to grow restless – what started as a drill now seems to be increasingly real, and their dread refuses to subside, eventually resorting in a selection of prepubescent existential crises, where these students begin to realize their own immortality. Even worse is that their parents, who had seemingly not been alerted, chalk up their children’s stern warnings as youthful hysteria wrought by overactive imaginations, not realizing this is far from sensationalist tripe, but rather the earnest truth, at least in the way they were told. Some characters seek refuge in the hopes that they will make it through the impending danger, while others go in search of the inner courage to face what is to come, each one of them holding onto the belief that it is just a mistake, and that they will live to see another day. No one can be sure, and they anxiously wait for their deliverance, whatever it may be.

A film like Ladybug Ladybug is unassuming at first – its a very simple drama composed of a variety of episodic moments and a large group of characters that are woven into the narrative, contributing small but pivotal moments to the story. However, considering this is a film made in 1963, when the Cold War was inarguably at its most hostile, including the ominous threat of the Cuban Missile Crisis, which is the basis of this film, we can understand how this isn’t only a compelling work of fiction from this time, but a fascinating historical text, a profound documentation of the mentalities surrounding a time of despair, panic and endless tension. Art produced during difficult and testing times is always of great importance, since it gives us insight not only into the broader socio-cultural discourse but also a glimpse into the mentalities that dominated the time. This is especially true of a film like Ladybug Ladybug, which isn’t interested in policy or showing the inner machinations of the political systems that history books tend to gravitate towards. Rather, the film depicts a day in the life of a group of ordinary folk in the middle of nowhere, whose pleasant morning is interrupted by the realization that they may have only a few minutes left to live. Inherently more of a social work than anything else, Ladybug Ladybug is film that contemplates existence by exploring it through the quandaries felt by a few different characters, spanning generations and differing in the intestinal fortitude that comes with realizing your own mortality and dealing with it. The Perrys were notoriously brilliant when it came to capturing certain aspects of humanity on screen – it is by far the area in which both thrived the most, and in their collaborations, they found a common ground that really brought the truth to a specific story, and in the case of Ladybug Ladybug, they manage to capture the social angst in a way that is honest but still deeply compelling on its own terms.

Naturally, such an approach can be seen as either overly-sentimental, or an excuse to comment on something that doesn’t hold any relevance today, and thus the story itself may fall by the wayside. Essentially, this is very true – Ladybug Ladybug does tend to falter, especially in one of the major subplots, where a group of children find themselves taking refuge in a bomb shelter – this sequence is quite compelling, especially in how Perry uses youthful banter to incite some poignant commentary, having them discuss the potential danger in a way that is matter-of-fact but still brimming with childhood innocence that makes it such an unsettling set of moments. However, the film does lose momentum in these pivotal moments, particularly towards the end, when there is a narrative pause that prevents anything from making it through an impenetrable veneer of stoic, metaphysical angst, resulting in something that is profound at some points, deeply stilted in others. The cast does very well in putting this story together, especially Nancy Marchand, as Mrs Andrews, a schoolteacher who is doing her best to keep her students’ minds at ease, while still undergoing her own existential crisis, worried that her final moments on earth will be spent chaperoning disrespectful students across the town, rather than at home. William Daniels is also very good in a surprisingly small role as the principal who has to make a difficult decision. Ladybug Ladybug is a very simple film in both plot and execution, so it does tend to be the responsibility of the actors to find the truth in what they’re presented with, and for the most part, they do manage to pull through the challenging subject matter to deliver heartfelt performances, even if some of the child actors can be quite limited, and understandably so. In working around these powerful performances, Perry avoids all semblance of overt sentimentality, instead choosing a more simple approach that has its roots in realism, to portray the situation as it was at the time, which only further makes Ladybug Ladybug a wonderfully compelling, and incredibly complex, film.

Simplicity is the key to  Ladybug Ladybug, a poignant human drama that dares to tackle something as intimidating as the Cuban Missile Crisis in a way that is elegant and respectful, rather than being a convoluted bundle of political ramblings that alienate the audience and only bolster the despair. Despite being quite beautiful and never all that difficult to follow, the film needs the viewer to look beyond their creature comforts and place themselves in the position of these characters, accompanying them on their journey as they question their mortality. It can sometimes be extremely polarizing – but even when viewed from a modern perspective, Ladybug Ladybug is still sadly very resonant. The world hasn’t changed too much over the past century – the threat of nuclear war has never quite left the public consciousness, even if it is perceived as less of a threat now than it was years ago, but even in how the film doesn’t depend solely on the formal meanderings but also prioritizes the perspectives of its large cast of characters in portraying the effects of a world ridden with warfare and the tensions that come about as a result of it, Frank and Eleanor Perry do make something quite remarkable. It may sometimes feel too aimless, and there are some notable flaws in the character development and how the film executes its multitude of ideas (and how the ending would normally be chilling, had the journey towards it been somewhat more focused), but it is, for the most part, quite a fascinating experiment that works out quite well, resulting in a powerful film that is both a poignant artistic drama and a heartbreaking testament to the mentalities that governed this time and the people in it.