Three stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang
This is so not the movie most folks likely are expecting.
Not even 10 minutes in, it feels like we’ve stumbled into the Twilight Zone.
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| When cynical journalist Lloyd Vogel (Matthew Rhys, right) arrives at the Pittsburgh studio where Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood is filmed, he's surprised to be greeted effusively by Fred Rogers (Tom Hanks), as if they were longtime friends. |
A couple of clues signal this not-quite-rightness. The film’s aspect ratio is 4:3, as with old television set images (as opposed to any sort of wide-screen format). The visuals appear slightly out of focus, as if we’re watching a VHS tape; director of photography Jody Lee Lipes has re-created 20-year-old television-style cinematography. The result seems “blurry” because we’ve become so accustomed to pristine HD camerawork.
Lipes pans slowly over the familiar, scale-model neighborhood set, complete with toy vehicles — notably the Neighborhood Trolley — moving jerkily among the rows of houses, in the low-budget, pre-CGI fashion. The gentle, equally memorable piano melody rises — Nate Heller’s soundtrack sublimely mimicking the iconic Johnny Costa, whose improvised keyboard work was such an integral part of the show — and Mr. Rogers (Tom Hanks) enters in ritual fashion.
The jacket comes off, replaced by a red cardigan: zipped all the way up — and then halfway down — with a snap. He sits; the formal shoes yield to canvas boat sneakers. All the while, he softly croons the iconic opening song — “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” — without ever losing that gentle, inviting smile.
The replication is almost spooky: the stance, the voice, the welcoming expression. More than that, the aura that always radiated from Fred Rogers. The latter must’ve been a challenge: Either that, or Hanks has discovered a way to channel the dear departed.
Right about now, we wonder: Where the heck are we going?
At which point, the merely puzzling sails into the positively weird.
Mr. Rogers shares a picture-board, opening each of the little doors to reveal a photograph beneath. Some are familiar, as with the puppet King Friday the 13th. But the next door conceals a head shot — practically a police booking photo — of Mr. Rogers’ “good friend,” Lloyd Vogel. He looks quite worse for wear, with a black eye and bloodied nose.
Mr. Rogers softly laments the plight of those consumed by anger, unable to forgive the trespasses of others. Whereupon we slide into Lloyd’s life, to witness the events that brought him to this sorry state.
