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.
 |
| After being brought back to his home town by the sudden death of his brother, Lee (Casey Affleck, left) is left with the question of what to do about his now parentless teenage nephew, Patrick (Lucas Hedges). |
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.
