If
it works...
by
Chris Dashiell
Although he's directed thirteen films now, I can't help
but think of John Sayles as first and foremost a writer. He has a writer's
belief in the primary importance of character, a playwright's preference
for the felicities of the ear over those of the eye, and above all,
the conviction that stories are about something, that they carry
more than private meaning. His failings spring from the same source
as well - dialogue that doesn't always come "off the page," turns of
phrase that are more clever than believable, themes that drive the stories
too neatly toward their ends. For me the benefits outweigh the drawbacks,
even in his weakest films, because in a Sayles picture, no matter what,
I know there is a mind at work. Or perhaps I should say "a mind at play."
Sayles plays with his sprawling, multi-character stories with evident
glee. I always go to see his films, and it's rare that I don't find
something to enjoy.
Sunshine
State sprawls even more than usual. Against the background of
slick developers converging on a Florida seaside community in hopes
of turning it into a gated community and strip mall, two main stories
emerge. Desiree (Angela Bassett) returns home for the first time since
she fled the town as a pregnant teen, now with a husband (James McDaniel)
and a need to confront her mother (Mary Alice) and the ghosts of her
past. Marly (Edie Falco), who has been stuck in this little town her
whole life, runs her Dad's motel and restaurant, and has a wisecrack
for everyone she meets, including the handsome landscape architect (Timothy
Hutton) who arrives with the developers and becomes intrigued by her.
The relationships and plot threads spread out from here,
and include 
Mary Steenburgen as the martyr-like emcee of the local "Buccaneer Days"
celebration, Jane Alexander as Marly's mother - an overly declamatory
drama teacher - and about a dozen minor characters criss-crossing each
other's paths.
Many of the actors are veterans of other Sayles' films
- at this point, it seems like he's got something of a company of recurring
faces. 
It's
a pleasure to see Bill Cobbs, as a wise, aging activist still fighting
for the rights of the town's black community, in a performance as mellow
and nuanced as one has come to expect from him. That's another aspect
of Sayles' films - they can be showcases for actors. He lets them stretch
and show what they can do with writerly dialogue. Some are more successful
than others.
Bassett,
who hasn't had a good role in a while, is quite affecting as the willful
Desiree. Best of all is Falco, who just about carries the movie, with
her laid-back comic timing and willingness to look strange and worn
out. Sometimes her lines are too funny to sound like anyone would make
them up on the spot. But I laughed anyway. She's a game performer who
can make you feel her character's pain without letting you feel sorry
for her.
There
are enough rough edges in Sunshine State to keep it from being
one of the director's most satisfying works. It doesn't have the thematic
consistency or style of Lone Star, for instance. But the thoughtfulness,
the gentleness and humor, along with Sayles' keen sense of how the past
weighs on the present - here the legacy of Jim Crow and the decline
of the small business is on his mind - make it time well spent. And
moreover, there are moments of wonder, the beauty that comes from small
revelations of character, that you just can't find anywhere else but
in a Sayles film.
From
affable messiness we turn now to a film of extreme focus. Time
Out, the accomplished third feature from Laurent Cantet, is
something of a marvel of style and precision. Starting with a seemingly
outrageous premise, Cantet and co-screenwriter Robin Campillo have fashioned
a chilling meditation on how work affects people's lives that is both
psychologically convincing and politically astute without indulging
in either satire or polemics.
Vincent (Aurélien Recoing) sleeps in his car, drives
around listening to the radio, and generally loiters all day. From time
to time he calls his wife, and gradually it becomes evident that he
is pretending to be at work, at important meetings, and is even telling
her that he's expecting a new job to open up for him, across the border
in Switzerland.
Some
of the force of Cantet's method comes from not explaining any of this
to us. We simply observe the strange disparity between the stories Vincent
is telling his family at home - including an adoring father who ends
up giving him a huge loan to set him up in Switzerland - and the actuality
of what he's doing, which is nothing. By the time we learn the truth
- that he's been fired, and doesn't want anyone to know - the mystery
of his reaction has deepened. Vincent wanders into a UN building in
Geneva, picks up some literature on their African aid programs, and
begins to memorize the words so that he can appear to work for the UN.
Then he starts looking up some old friends and offering them a very
lucrative inside investment brokered by a Russian bank. Of course it's
just a story - he's taking their money and using it to live on, apparently
oblivious to the inevitability of his eventual exposure.
Lying
to his family, stealing from his father and friends, pretending to be
what he isn't - Vincent's actions are odious, but as a person he seems
oddly innocent. Recoing's is a performance of subtle shading, childlike
pleasure alternating with flashes of fear and guilt. This is not, as
one might think, a portrait of a man who is emotionally dead to others,
but of someone who is blocked from fully knowing himself. Always revolving,
returning, like a musical theme, now loud, now soft, is the idea of
what one does for a living as the definition of what one is,
an assumption so basic and socially pervasive that it goes unnoticed.
Cantet
has a flair for depicting the antiseptic style of office buildings,
hotel lobbies, apartment complexes, and other aspects of the modern
urban landscape. His pace couldn't be better - the picture moves with
the assurance of inexorable logic. The music (Jocelyn Pook) and photography
(Pierre Milon) are impeccable. Karin Viard plays Vincent's wife, who
slowly suspects that something is wrong, with grace and depth. Serge
Livrozet does a remarkable turn as a canny underworld type who sees
through Vincent and recruits him. But the film belongs to Recoing, who
pulls off the difficult lead role with a delicacy that is nothing short
of marvelous.
It
would be a mistake to characterize Time Out as a drama of alienation.
In a strangely effective way, it's actually the exact opposite. It is
an extremely sad film, almost overwhelmingly so, and put together with
such intelligence and craft that its full meaning isn't clear until
the very last, devastating scene.
***
The
Rookie starts with a folksy, avuncular, down home voiceover:
"There's a story told in the town of Big Lake, Texas..." Then comes
the myth - something to do with digging for oil, nuns, and a medal embossed
with the saint of impossible dreams. It doesn't make sense yet, but
by golly, I know it will eventually.
Cut to the Depression, and a boy with a face as cute as
mutton is throwing a ball. Uh oh, gotta move, kid. Gruff, uncomprehending
Dad is in the army, and that means moving from city to city even if
the poor kid can't finish the season. This happens over and over, dampening
the dream until it's soggy. Finally they move to Texas and the kid goes
to the general store to get groceries. But what he really wants is baseball
stuff. Kind, down home avuncular store owner helps him out, while duo
of mildly eccentric town fixtures look on, establishing a pattern for
the rest of the boy's life, I mean movie.
Music
swells. Time passes. Kid turns into Dennis Quaid. Exposition tells of
his failed gig in the majors. Now he's history teacher and inspirational
high school baseball coach. Meet his loving wife, Rachel Griffiths,
and cute, chipmunk-faced, wise and photogenic young son. Meet the lovable,
multi-ethnic kids on the baseball team he coaches. Watch as Quaid impresses
the catcher with his lightning-fast pitch, not used since he blew out
his arm and promised wife and doctor to take it easy and accept less
than the best out of life.
Team
makes deal with Quaid that he will try out for majors again if they
win district championship. Time for a song. While song plays, watch
a montage of games propelling team to the top. Cut regularly to friendly
avuncle and two mildly eccentric town fixtures as they laugh and enjoy
triumphs along with us. Also cut to chipmunk-faced boy as often as possible.
Finish up with inspirational final game in which team overcomes tremendous
odds to win, etc.
Humble, self-effacing Quaid then tries out for minor league
team - humorous contrast between younger players and him with his three
little kids along for the ride without Mom knowing. Ha! Ha! Little baby
needs diaper changed just when Quaid gets called to throw. Awesome display
of fastball leads to music swelling as Quaid gets picked for team.
Visit
to old Dad reinforces that he just wasn't there for Quaid as a kid,
and still doesn't get it, poor guy. Tough, beautiful, understanding,
love interest wife Rachel Griffiths has scene where she is less than
enthusiastic about Quaid not telling her what he was up to. What wife
wouldn't feel that way, I ask. Quaid is off to minors, where daily grind
on buses and out-of-the-way towns along with resentment from younger
players causes him to doubt himself. By disney, now the same love interest
wife tells him to keep going! That's one tough, tender lovin' Texan
lady there. Music swells, blisters.
Kind, crusty manager calls Quaid into office to tell him
major leagues want him. Tears well up in Quaid's eyes as music palpitates.
Everyone in little Texas town is overjoyed, and all of them - love interest,
kids, avuncle and fixtures, etc. - go to the ballpark to see their boy.
Will
Quaid be called in to get a guy out with the bases loaded? Will he strike
him out? Will old Dad show up and finally get right with his son? Will
Quaid give Dad the game ball? Will the music swell some more? I wouldn't
dream of spoiling this for you, any more than I would describe the surprising
taste of a Whopper with Cheese before you had a chance to try one yourself.
All I can tell you is, I was happy. I found those headphones
in the seat pocket in front of me, so I didn't need to pay the $5. That's
what I call a deal, folks.
©2002 Chris Dashiell
CineScene
