WATCHING A SUPERB actor debase himself in search of that seven figure income no longer shocks me--the sight of Sir Laurence Olivier pounding away at a French maid in The Betsy destroyed any illusions I might have entertained about artistic integrity. But the opposite situation--watching a former TV sit-com starlet metamorphose into a first-rate actress--amazed me. Expecting "Gidget Goes to Harlan County," I was surprised, impressed and moved by Sally (Flying Nun) Field's performance in Martin Ritt's new film, Norma Rae. She delivers a powerful shaded performance as Southern woman who slowly learns to value herself. Playing a sassy, kicked-around mill worker, Field brings an almost autobiographical intensity to the role. Her aging starlet cuteness suddenly works--like Field herself, Norma Rae is a woman cashing in on the remaining vestiges of a squirrel-mouthed, cheerleader prettiness. Martin Ritt must be congratulated--he alone saw ability in an actress whose talents were last displayed--prone--in the backseat of Burt Reynolds' van in the mindless Smokey and the Bandit.

Field's performance however derives much of its power from the screenplay written by Irving Ravetch and Harriet Frank, Jr.--it's hokey as hell but it plays. Motivated by a magazine article by Henry F. Leifermann, the screenplay delineates the growing bond between Norma Rae, a hard-assed little cracker and Reuben (Ron Leibman) a New York Jewish labor organizer who comes down to unionize her factory. Refreshingly, their bond stems not from wild, trans-ethnic couplings but from a shared philosophy towards life. Ravetch and Frank use humor, wit and most of all, respect in their screenplay--as a result, their dialogue has a convincing strength about it.

For once, a director has been able to deal honestly with the life of a working-class woman, using neither pathos nor piquancy. Widowed by a beer brawl and left with two children, one illegitimate, Norma Rae is trapped in a one-industry, sexist little shitbox of a southern town. Her plight evokes far more sympathy than that of many recent feminist heroines like Erica from An Unmarried Woman or the French nymphets in One Sings, the Other Doesn't. While directors no longer trumpet forth about making black films, many still want to make women movies. Ritt escapes this well-intentioned pot-hole by creating a central figure who's got not only XX chromosomes but grit and brains as well.

IN AN ERA when the idealistic halo surrounding unions has deteriorated into a fearful contempt for leaders like Jimmy Hoffa and the New Orleans police chief "who'll wreck the city if our demands aren't met," Ritt has made a movie about places disenchantment hasn't reached...because unions aren't allowed. Norma Rae sharply reminds us that yes, there places where people work for substandard wages and who are forbidden to unionize. The scenes in the textile mill lack the blatant horror of coal mining but instead, they capture the numbing, back-breaking monotony which is just as lethal to the spirit and body. Norma's struggle to organize her factory has an innocent vigor against which Ritt plays off the smugness surrounding the union officials who come down to confer with Reuben. Beefy, older men, they exude, along with their cigar smoke, a sense of grimy, urban power. In this scene, Ritt effectively portrays both the idealism and the reality of today's unions.

Thematically, Norma Rae comes off with nary a hitch--the pro-union sentiments and the subtle feminist message are powerfully conveyed to the audience. But the film has two, fairly significant flaws, one of characterization and one of atmosphere.

To emphasize just how platonic the bond between Norma and Reuben is, Ritt marries her off to Sonny Webster (Beau Bridges), the archtype 'good ole boy.' Handsome but lethargic, this youthful Billy Carter barely peeps while his new bride flies about doing labor organizing with the self-described 'lefto' from Central Park West. Bridges tries valiantly to inject this regional stereotype with credibility but unfortunately, his Sonny comes off like a muscle-bound teddy-bear blessed with the patience of Baptist Mother Theresa. Supposedly a divorced father, Sonny behaves with such liberated understanding that it seems impossible any woman would depart from this well-built fount of warmth and wisdom. The character fails because he was created simply to be the 'wife' every working woman needs to take care of the kids. With Sonny around, the audience can't fault Field with being a neglectful mom.

The other flaw comes from ommission. Apparently, the New South as seen by Ritt really doesn't have any racial problems. Throughout the first three-quarters of the film, blacks and whites co-mingle with utter amiability. But when the plot thickens and a smattering of biolence is called forth, out pops "racial tension." Ritt uses the issue mechanically and it shows.

With the exception of Bridges, all the actors turn in fine performances. Complementing Sally Field's tour-de-force, Pat Bingle in the role of her father deftly shades his performance so that it explains not only his character but also where Norma Rae got her fire-cracking sparkle. The ensemble acting of the management staff in the factory deserves kudos as well. Rather than performing as a contingent from the Ku Klux Klan in mufti, the six men act with an understated assurance which suggests, but does not exaggerate, both their down-home humanity and their anti-semitic hostility to Reuben--who does go out of his way to alienate them by swooping in on the factory like an ACLU avenging angel.

AS I LEFT the theater, a Reuben look-alike pressed a pamphlet into my hand. Urging a J.P. Stevens boycott, it outlined that company's many offenses. Like many people, I had always professed undying concern about unions and 'brown lung' and then promptly forgotten. The highest recommendation for Norma Rae is this--it won't let you forget.