3.5 stars. Rated R, and rather harshly, for occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.26.14
As first-world challenges go, few
can be more heartbreaking than the turmoil sometimes created by our nobler
instincts.
We like to believe that we’re
capable of helping people — particularly friends and family members — much the
way we’d hope to be helped, under similar circumstances. The uncomfortable
truth, however, is that benevolence generally extends only so far, and no
farther ... and then most people are too polite to confront what has become an
intolerable situation.
And so the kettle bubbles, until
it boils over: the initial generous act inevitably overwhelmed by hurtful
confrontations that cannot be taken back, leaving bruised feelings all around.
Put simply, and to quote a
telling line from Ira Sachs’ painfully intimate new film, “When you live with
people, you know them better than you care to.”
The speaker is Ben (John
Lithgow), whose life has taken a disappointing turn: such a letdown, from the
radiant happiness he enjoyed only a few weeks earlier.
Sachs and co-scripter Mauricio
Zacharias open Love Is Strange on a triumphant event: After having lived
together for 39 years, Ben and George (Alfred Molina) joyfully tie the knot,
thanks to New York’s new marriage laws. The morning of, the two men are a study
in contrast: Ben, artistic and nervous, fusses over every detail; George,
practical and calm, knows that all will be well.
They share both the service and
subsequent celebratory party with close friends and family: Ben’s nephew Elliot
(Darren E. Burrows), his wife Kate (Marisa Tomei) and their teenage son Joey
(Charlie Tahan); Ted (Cheyenne Jackson) and Roberto (Manny Perez), the gay New
York cops who live together downstairs; and numerous other well-wishers.
Kate makes a truly charming,
heartfelt speech: brimming with love.
The elation doesn’t last long.
Ben doesn’t really have a job; he
dabbles at painting. George, the primary breadwinner, teaches private music
lessons but earns the bulk of their income from his longtime job as choir
master at a local Catholic school. Unfortunately, although all concerned have
known and tolerated George’s sexual orientation during his entire 12-year stint
at this school, the marriage is an “official” act that cannot be condoned by
the Catholic hierarchy.
George is summarily dismissed.
Absent that income, he and Ben no longer can afford their apartment, nor —
thanks to New York’s relentless real estate market — can they find another
place to live. They reluctantly call a family meeting and present this news, hoping
for the group to offer a stopgap, if not a solution.
The resulting silence, as the
various implications settle, is merely the first of this film’s many gut-wrenching
moments.
We admire some movies for their
persuasive verisimilitude: for the familiar premise — there, but for the grace
of God, go I — and the quietly powerful performances that anchor the drama. But
the process of watching such films — feeling slightly ashamed, as if we’ve
become voyeurs during a family crisis — isn’t necessarily something we’re
inclined to recommend capriciously to just anybody.
At the same time, we cannot help
being impressed by the emotional complexity conveyed so convincingly, and the
gentle lessons to be learned along the way.
As a director, Sachs likes the
economy of holding on a scene, and then cutting away to suggest the passage of
time; he avoids explanatory exposition, trusting us to fill in the gaps. Thus,
when next we see Ben and George, they’ve been separated: The former now lives
with Elliot and Kate, and shares a bunk bed in Joey’s room; George, in turn,
has become a house guest with Ted and Roberto.
More to the point, Ben and George
now are a lengthy subway journey away. Their new bonds of marriage
notwithstanding, they’ve been cruelly separated.
Lithgow and Molina are fabulous
in the starring roles, and they’re well supported by Tomei and young Tahan. Lithgow
is particularly compelling, delivering another powerful performance on par with
the older man sliding into dementia, in 2011’s Rise of the Planet of the
Apes. (Indeed, Lithgow was by far the best human actor in that film.)
Ben is easily bruised — his
wounded expressions, at such times, are enough to make us weep — but he's also
maddeningly clueless.
Kate, a writer by profession,
works at home and requires silence to concentrate. Watch her rising agitation, hunched
over a keyboard, as Ben continually interrupts her one day: Tomei’s glazed eyes,
twisted lips and increasingly agitated responses are note-perfect. Kate also
prompts one of the film’s genuinely funny lines, when she encourages her
uncle-in-law to resume his painting.
“I can’t really do that with
other people around, because they distract me,” he says, completely missing the
irony. “I need to be alone.”
Tahan also does a fine job with
Joey’s discomfort over the situation’s awkwardness: a somewhat withdrawn boy
deprived of his much-needed space. Joey is by no means a bad kid, but he
suffers the usual eruptions of teenage angst. Tahan works subtle complexity
into the way his facial features twist with uncertainty and embarrassment; we
can’t help feeling sorry for Joey.
Ben’s presence in this household
grows more invasive by the day, notably because of the way he intrudes on
Joey’s space, unintentionally interfering with the boy’s friendship with school
chum Vlad (Eric Tabach). This apartment isn’t large enough for privacy; as time
passes, the “temporary arrangement” threatens to become permanent, and we
cringe. By far the worst moments come when Elliot and Kate attempt to discuss
personal issues at the dinner table, as if Ben simply isn’t there ... and he
tries, in turn, to become invisible.
Agony, agony, agony.
George has no such troubles with
Ted and Roberto, who are delighted to have him around. Alas, the problem here
is the opposite: Ted and Roberto are superficial party animals, noisily
entertaining guests at all hours, against an eardrum-shattering back-beat of
contemporary music completely at odds with the Chopin solo piano pieces that
soothe George’s soul (and form this film’s gentle score).
We ache over the faux
cheerfulness in Molina’s “game face,” as George gracefully endures his new
surroundings. Molina’s best moments, however, come when George confronts this
story’s various minions of inflexible authority: the Catholic priest (John
Cullum, suitably ashamed) who delivers the initial bad news; the accountant who
explains why they’re not reaping more cash in hand, from the apartment sale;
the city social workers unable to offer much help in the search for new living
quarters.
Molina gets considerable mileage
from the chill anger that clouds his stoic expression at such moments: George
may be too polite to say what’s on his mind, but the message is unmistakable.
And we wonder, as time passes:
Where is this story going ... and where will it end?
Sachs’ aforementioned fondness
for cinematographer Christos Voudouris’ lingering shots proves crucial at this
story’s conclusion, when savvy viewers may anticipate the significance of a
particular scene. The film’s thoughtful conclusion also is interesting, in that
we suddenly wonder whether this is Joey’s story, as much as — or perhaps even
more — than it concerns Ben and George.
Although Sachs and Zacharias carefully
sculpt the character details for Ben, George, Kate and Joey, various sidebar
elements are overlooked or clumsily presented. I never could figure out what
Elliot does for a living, and his long daytime absences and suspicious
telephone behavior suggest an extramarital affair ... but apparently not.
Similarly, an issue involving Joey and Vlad’s possible involvement in the theft
of some school books unfolds but then rather jarringly goes nowhere.
Christina Kirk’s presence as
Mindy, Ben’s niece, feels superfluous. Mindy is presented as a New Age-ish
flake, and used as little more than an occasionally irritating part of the
overall family dynamic. This certainly isn’t Kirk’s fault; she does the best
with what she’s given ... but that isn’t much.
Finally, I must confess
bewilderment over the film’s title, in terms of trying to determine its
significance to the narrative. Love is many things, as revealed in these melancholy
94 minutes ... but “strange” isn’t one of the modifiers that leaps to mind.
That said, these minor hiccups
don’t mar the film’s heartfelt candor and touching relationships. Love Is Strange may be difficult to watch at times, but it is, nonetheless, a sweet little
drama.
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