This is a sweet little film, anchored by star Barbie Ferreira’s excellent, frequently heartbreaking performance.
It’s also one of the saddest films I’ve ever seen, with a concluding emotional wallop that left me a wreck. (In a good way.)
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| Although their initial in-person meeting is a near disaster, Lily (Barbie Ferreira) and Bob (John Leguizamo) recover quickly, and soon settle into an increasingly strong friendship. |
This is particularly important for those unfortunate enough to have toxic biological family members.
That’s the case with Lily Trevino (Ferreira), introduced at low ebb, having just realized that her boyfriend is cheating on her. (He was stupid enough to send Lily a message intended for the other woman.) Cinematographer John Rosario’s mercilessly tight close-up leaves no room for Ferreira to “cheat” the moment; her embarrassment, humiliation and anger are as palpable as the tears that flow down her cheeks.
And what does Lily do, in the moment? Rather than sending a “drop dead” message that the guy deserves, she more-or-less lets him off the hook, as if toying with her emotions is no big deal.
Alas, Lily comes by this reaction naturally, having lost her mother at age 4, and thereafter been raised by her selfish, manipulative and emotionally abusive father, Robert (French Stewart, whose performance takes no prisoners). Watching the two of them together is sheer agony. We grieve for her.
Lily isn’t quite a failure-to-launch, but she’s still a mess: self-esteem that wouldn’t fill a thimble, no respect for her body image, too many credit cards maxed to their limit, and no sense of basic survival skills.
She lucked into a good job, though, as a live-in aide for wheelchair-bound Daphne (Lauren “Lolo” Spencer), roughly the same age. But that’s also a crutch of sorts, because it allows Lily the luxury of not having to worry about more than grocery shopping, preparing meals and being a compassionate companion. Which she is.
Even Lily’s attempt at self-improvement by seeing a counselor goes awry, when the poor woman (Ashlyn Moore), fresh on the job, bursts into tears after hearing a recitation of details about Lily’s horrific childhood.
When dinner with her father and his current date goes awry — not Lily’s fault, of course — he angrily insists that he never wants to see her again. Stuck in the same emotionally battered role, she keeps calling and texting him, trying to “apologize.”
(I’d argue, however, that Laymon’s script overplays its hand, when Lily visits the retirement community where her father lives, where apparently everybody present is a heartless jerk. Seriously?)
Desperate for contact one evening, knowing that her father uses Facebook, Lily scrolls through various Bob Trevinos, and pauses on one of those anonymous icons indicating somebody who hasn’t posted a photo. And, impulsively, sends him a message.
It’s received by an entirely different Bob Trevino (the always excellent John Leguizamo), who — perhaps mostly out of curiosity — responds. Although Lily soon realizes her mistake — this Bob Trevino is married, and works as a construction manager — the seed has been planted. He’s nice, and she finds the ongoing communication ... helpful.
(For future reference, I’ll call this guy Bob, and her father Robert.)
These early, tentative notes — back and forth — are augmented by an appropriately whimsical, optimistic theme by score composer Jacques Brautbar.
This Bob also is deeply unhappy. He and his wife, Jeanie (Rachel Bay Jones), lost their only child at a very young age. She never got over it, and has retreated into a manic obsession with scrapbooking, as a means of preserving every possible item and memory of the little boy. Bob and Jeanie have become emotionally estranged within their own home.
(Yes, this is one of those stories where pretty much everybody is damaged in some way. Bob even says as much, a bit later: “We’re all a bit broken,” he admits, by way of reassuring Lily that she’s not the only one.)
Bob also has other problems, notably a business partner — Ted Welch, as Harlan, a total weasel — who cuts costs, corners and inspections to an increasingly hazardous degree.
Lily eventually insists on meeting Bob, and Laymon handles this first encounter just right, because of course it becomes a near-disaster of mistaken assumptions. But Bob, inherently kind, saves the moment ... and Leguizamo plays this scene perfectly.
What follows is deeply touching, as these two souls find solace in each other. Lily bravely acknowledges her inability to do anything around a house; Bob takes her to a hardware store and loads her up with tools and other essentials. When Jeanie leaves to attend yet another scrapbooking conference, Bob invites Lily to go camping, in order to see the perseids; he admits wanting to have become an astronomer or geologist.
Spencer is equally fine, and shattering, when she admits to having grown frustrated while hanging out with former friends: “I’m looking at a life that I don’t get to have any more.” It’s pretty clear that Daphne views Lily as more than an employee ... and, eventually, Lily recognizes this crucial shift.
Trust Robert to resurface — more than once — and disrupt the still-fragile relationships now orbiting around his daughter.
In lesser hands, this film could be accused of larding its third act with too much tragedy. But Laymon’s directorial touch is so precise, and the performances by Ferreira, Leguizamo and Spencer so persuasively organic and “real,” that we’re willing to go with the flow. I trusted Laymon to take us to the proper final scene, and she does.
As she reveals in her film’s press notes, it was inspired by her own unexpected friendship that she found online with a stranger who shared her father’s name, while searching for him via Facebook. They communicated for nine years, during which time his simple acts of kindness and words of encouragement wholly transformed her.
The messages here are Deep Truths: Little things can greatly impact and enhance the lives of others, and coming-of-age sagas often are about trying to find a tribe. The aforementioned chosen family.
I also love the concept of a “rage room,” which apparently is a real thing. Totally therapeutic. Where do I sign up?
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