Five stars. Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.2.16
Some films are constructed so
beautifully, and lensed so crisply, that they seem to glow. Life of Pi is a recent example, and it
brought cinematographer Claudio Miranda a well-deserved Academy Award.
Manchester by the Sea has the same radiant allure, its
northern Massachusetts fishing village setting portrayed with such luxurious
sparkle that it literally feels like heaven on Earth. Cinematographer Jody Lee
Lipes deserves equal recognition, come Oscar time.
The same can be said for just
about everybody connected with this poignant drama. This luxurious, rustic
setting is juxtaposed against star Casey Affleck’s heartbreakingly persuasive,
all-encompassing depiction of grief. This is one of those assignments that
transcends acting; within 10 or 15 minutes, we simply accept the fact that
Affleck is Lee Chandler, an estranged
native son brought back to his hometown under tragic circumstances.
Writer/director Kenneth Lonergan
has an ear for the way people actually talk to each other: true conversation,
which often erupts in short-tempered bursts, as opposed to the carefully
sculpted “movie talk” that generally passes for dialogue. He’s a methodical and
unhurried filmmaker; this is only his third big-screen feature, beginning with
2000’s similarly impressive You Can Count
on Me, with Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo shining in the poignant saga of a
woman’s awkward reunion with her younger brother.
It has become clear, with time,
that Lonergan is adept at coaxing superlative, quietly lifelike performances
from his stars. Affleck is by far the standout here, but he’s in good company;
co-stars Lucas Hedges, Michelle Williams and Kyle Chandler complete the core
ensemble, together enacting a story that illustrates the crippling, pervasive
impact of guilt and anguish.
We meet Lee during his daily
routine as a Boston-based janitor, solemnly dealing with clogged toilets,
recalcitrant radiators and persnickety light fixtures. Some of the lonely tenants
in question welcome his presence; others flirt awkwardly; still others are
rude. Lee is uniformly stoic, to the point of appearing discourteous; we
initially wonder if he’s on the spectrum, unable to properly process social
niceties.
But then we realize no, it’s more
a case of a man lost in a swamp of despair, and no longer able to navigate.
Affleck moves with uncertainty, as if worried that the very ground might trick
him into placing a foot wrong. His sleepy eyes fail to register friendly
overtures, as if he’s perpetually stoned, yet he takes no drugs. He does,
however, drown the remnants of a gray day with a few too many beers at the
local tavern, at which point he may become a short-fused, belligerent drunk:
picking fights as a means of securing a punishing beat-down.
All of this emerges in a deft,
superbly assembled introductory montage; Lonergan is a master of small,
character-establishing details.
Our mounting curiosity is shunted
aside with a phone call; we can tell that the news is bad, even though Lee’s
expression scarcely changes. He leaves immediately, arranging for substitute
janitors as he impatiently navigates Massachusetts motorways, until reaching
the hospital where — sadly — older brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) has just died.
It’s not a complete shock; a
flashback illuminates an earlier hospital scene, as a young doctor — Ruibo
Qian, gently memorable in this brief role — explains that Joe has been
diagnosed with a heart condition that is guaranteed to kill him in the not too
distant future. This news proves more than Joe’s wife, Elise (Gretchen Mol),
can handle; she literally flees the room.
Lee thinks back on that moment,
as he contemplates the current reality. He’ll have cause for many such
memories, as the story proceeds; Lonergan uses each one to convey another
significant detail — another piece of the puzzle — that gradually explain the
wary, worried, sometimes hostile looks that follow Lee, during his return and
subsequent stay in his home town.
Joe’s death leaves a wealth of
details to be handled: funeral arrangements, financial matters, what to do with
the boat at the heart of the charter fishing business that Joe ran with best
friend and partner George (the reliably sturdy C.J. Wilson, who looks for all
the world like he was born on a Cape
Ann fishing boat).
Then there’s the issue of Joe’s
15-year-old son, Patrick (Hedges), now essentially left without a parent, Elise
long absent by this point. Lee knew Patrick as a young boy, but the teenager
before him now is all but a total stranger. Watching these two attempt to
navigate their renewed relationship is by turns amusing, uncomfortable and
embarrassingly intimate.
Lee’s heart is in the right place
— he objectively understands what is required of him — but even these
circumstances aren’t enough to bring him out of whatever imprisons his
emotions. Patrick, initially deferential in the manner of any reasonably polite
kid in the presence of an adult, grows impatient in the presence of such
unrelenting stoicism. We see this in Hedges’ eyes, as Patrick wonders: What the
hell is wrong with his uncle?
At first blush, this seems an
awfully thin frame on which to hang a 137-minute movie. And yet Lonergan is so
skilled, both as storyteller and director, that we’re captivated throughout,
hanging on every word, expression and act.
Lonergan is particularly clever
with small, spontaneous moments that make us smile — or weep — for their
authenticity. Watch the way George shouts to his wife across a crowded room,
trying to get Lee some food that he doesn’t want, during the gathering that
follows Joe’s funeral; naturally, George’s wife can’t hear a thing.
Alternatively, consider the
emotional wallop that erupts late one night, when Patrick has a weird reaction
to packs of chicken tumbling from his overstuffed freezer: an initially odd
scene that suddenly makes complete sense as a sleepy Lee reaches the kitchen,
drawn by the noise, just in time to hear his near-hysterical nephew explain why
he’s so upset. Wow.
Affleck impresses for the way he
conveys so much, despite playing a character who keeps everything bottled
inside; Hedges is equally remarkable at the opposite extreme, Patrick gyrating
all over the emotional map, just as we’d expect from a hormonal teenager. He’s
snarky, petulant and impatient, perhaps on the verge of becoming something of a
bad kid, but still possessing enough of a conscience to give us hope.
Actually, we smile at the
realization that Patrick is very much like Lee. And we’ll soon have cause to
reflect that Joe clearly recognized this, and — in the careful manner of a
father wanting to be well-prepared for the worst — took steps to protect his
son and brother, even from the grave. (Such
a clever twist, in Lonergan’s story.)
Williams navigates a similarly wide
emotional swath as Randi, at first blush — via more of Lee’s memories — a
typically tough, working-class wife trying to make the most of a husband who
hasn’t quite abandoned his childhood. But Lee is single when we meet him,
living in that barren Boston basement apartment; his return to Manchester
prompts an inevitable reunion with Randi, and eventually a shattering
conversation that Williams delivers with such raw, stomach-clenching intensity,
that we wish for the ability to reach into the screen, and envelop her in a
hug.
Chandler exudes protective
strength and compassion as Joe, whom we get to know via Lee’s frequent
memory/flashbacks. Joe is the family rock: the stable, practical older brother
tolerant of the misfit Lee’s braggadocio — at a happier point, earlier in their
lives — and quick to protect an adolescent Patrick from Elise’s mounting
instability. Chandler excels at such sturdy, dependable characters, and has
done so ever since his television work in Homefront
and Friday Night Lights.
Matthew Broderick has a telling
role as Jeffrey, Elise’s second husband, an outwardly polite, soft-spoken
evangelical Christian who clearly regards himself as his wife’s “savior.”
Broderick is superb in this brief role, Jeffrey’s warm, superficially welcoming
smile masking an intolerant monster who clearly disapproves of Elise’s attempt
to renew her shattered relationship with Patrick.
Finally, keep an eye out for
Lonergan, who always writes himself small roles; he pops up in an eye-blink
appearance as a Manchester pedestrian.
Manchester by the Sea
is a warm, tender, unexpectedly amusing and deeply poignant depiction of
familial love and — tellingly — the occasionally disturbing nature of a
small-town dynamic. This is, without question, the year’s finest film thus far
... and I’ll not be surprised if that sentiment holds for what remains of 2016.
No comments:
Post a Comment