Three stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang
Quite a few sharply perceptive
observations about human nature are contained within this modest dramedy from
writer/director Azazel Jacobs, which manages to be droll and forlorn in equal
measure.
Too bad it’s so s-l-o-w.
At home, although relieved to be away from their respective lovers, Mary (Debra Winger) and Michael (Tracy Letts) lack the energy — or willingness — to engage with each other. |
The film opens cleverly, as
Michael (Tracy Letts) has what we immediately sense is another in a symphony of
tiffs with his hot-tempered lover, Lucy (Melora Walters); elsewhere, Mary
(Debra Winger) works hard to allay the bubbling insecurity that afflicts her
lover, Robert (Aidan Gillen). One scene later, Michael and Mary slide silently
— resignedly — into bed next to each other, and we abruptly realize that they’re the married couple in this
roundelay.
This scenario’s arch humor
derives from the resignation with which Michael and Mary are conducting their
lives, and our certainty that they’ve been doing so for years. We assume that
this ennui results from their disenchantment with each other, but that’s not
quite right.
No, it’s the exhaustion that
results from maintaining the marital charade while essentially leading double
lives elsewhere, and the utter chaos into which their lives have been plunged:
friends long abandoned; lunches with co-workers forever put off; unpersuasive
lies fabricated clumsily; extended work hours, just to keep up, due to the
time-consuming nooners and afternoon assignations. It’s all exhausting.
And apparently not much fun. It
would seem that one of the reasons to have an affair would be the excitement
and novelty of the new: the
enthusiasm with which the lover is greeted each day. But if that ever motivated
Michael and/or Mary, it’s long past.
Michael has Lucy tagged as “Work”
on his smart phone, and we get the joke: It’s not merely to conceal her identity
from his wife, but a sly reference to the fact that this extra-marital
relationship is work. A lot of work. It seems understandable
self-defense when he lies to get out of an evening with the woman about whom he
constantly lies to his wife.
Mary, if asked, undoubtedly would
admit to being equally frustrated.
We can’t even be certain that
Mary suspects Michael of having an affair, because she’s so wrapped up in her
own ... and vice versa. They’re civil to each other at home — exchanging
platitudes, smiling when appropriate, sharing the occasional meal (generally
breakfast) — but utterly oblivious to joy, sorrow or any other emotional
response.
At the same time, Letts and
Winger manifest the behavior and “presence” of two people who’ve been together
for a long time: the casual, rumpled manner in which they amble about each
other. Jacobs and his two stars really nail that interpersonal atmosphere of
familiarity, inserting little intimacies that occasionally make us viewers feel
like embarrassed voyeurs.
All of which makes this set-up sound
depressing on paper, and some (many?) viewers undoubtedly will view it that
way. But we also can’t help chuckling at the foolishness with which Michael and
Mary continue to make such a mess of their lives. On top of which, both actors
make this pathetic gloom ... well ... undeniably funny. Very funny, at times.
The film’s droll tone is
amplified further by Mandy Hoffman’s bold, classical-oriented score, rich with
strings and woodwinds. It gives these events the lush, breathlessly overstated
atmosphere of a 1950s melodrama.
The perpetually woebegone Letts,
his face framed behind protective glasses, makes Michael the pluperfect sad
sack, hilarious in his long-suffering helplessness. He’s the personification of
Charles Schulz’s Charlie Brown as an adult, the poor guy’s insecurities having
magnified exponentially along the way. Letts’ face betrays all of Michael’s
missed opportunities, each one having left a throbbing invisible scar.
Winger mines humor from Mary’s
blank stoicism, as if years ago this woman parked her emotions in the kitchen
utility drawer, and now can’t find them. She wanders in a perpetual daze,
always seeing or hearing something a beat late, and then responding even later.
Unfortunately, Jacobs didn’t exercise
similar care with Lucy and Robert. Both are artists, and we wonder about this
coincidence; she’s a dancer, and he’s a frustrated writer.
But Walters’ performance is
strictly one-dimensional, her Lucy a grasping shrike so prone to hot-tempered
fury that it’s impossible to imagine Michael tolerating such behavior even
once, let alone for God knows how long. Gillen — who seems to be everywhere these days — fares a bit
better, giving Robert a bit of depth, but he still looks and sounds like a
petulant whiner. Why does Mary waste time stroking his ego? What does he give her?
It’s possible to feel sorry for
Robert. Maybe. A bit. No so Lucy; she’s full-tilt obnoxious, all the time.
Their respective neuroses — the
“work” they represent, as paramours — perhaps explains the unexpected frisson that erupts between Michael and
Mary, having overslept one morning. The shared glance, with neither — to the
surprise of both — looking away. The sudden heat and tension in the quiet room.
Then ... surrender.
And, just like that, Michael and
Mary find themselves concocting fresh stories to put off their respective
lovers, so they can have an “affair” with each other.
That’s definitely amusing, and
the film might have remained that way, had the narrative confined itself to
this complicated quartet. But Jacobs further spices this combustible brew with
a weekend visit from Michael and Mary’s collegiate son Joel (Tyler Ross) and
his girlfriend Erin (Jessica Sula).
Joel, long disgusted with his
parents’ marital hypocrisy, has all but estranged himself. Not knowing any
better, he also solely blames his father for being the sole “cheat.”
Unfortunately, the arrival of
these two young people brings genuine pain to the scenario, which abruptly
ceases to be amusing in any manner. The disconnect is palpable, and it ruins
the film. Ross plays his role too well; Joel obviously exists in perpetual
agony, unable to bond with the two people he should love the most.
In the midst of all this angst,
Sula is a breath of fresh air as the warm and caring Erin: the one truly
healthy person in this collection of damaged souls. Sula and Letts share a
genuinely touching scene, when Erin and Michael are the only two at breakfast
one morning. Again, Jacobs clearly has an ear for the way people react with —
and relate to — each other.
But that doesn’t help. Joel’s
anguish — which we can understand all too well — overpowers everything that
follows. The film never recovers, despite the amusing irony of the “resolution”
that Jacobs gives his story.
On top of which, the film’s 94
minutes don’t pass quickly. There’s a lot of protracted silence here, and some
of the long takes are very long. Yes,
Letts and Winger are compelling, even when quiet, but the lethargic pacing
becomes an issue.
Ultimately, despite its positive
qualities, Jacobs’ film feels like a stage play that should have been tightened
during out-of-town tryouts, before being unveiled for paying customers. And I
can’t imagine it making any money, as we slide into the tsunami of summer
releases.
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