I don't know exactly what this movies is. It's too heavy to be considered an entertainment, although it is transfixing throughout. It's not self-consciously artistic, so it can't be an art house drama. Some people criticized it as something that would play as well as a TV movie. Well, the made-for-TV criticism (if it is one) is lousy. I don't know what that's supposed to mean, really. Does it mean that all TV movies are crappy, and this is too, so it should have played on Lifetime? If that's what it means, then it's wrong. If it means that the movie isn't very focused on images, and isn't terribly cinematic, I might see the point. But this is far too emotional and lacking in sentimentality to be written off. Maybe any movie that deals honestly with people and their lives is bound to be attacked.
The set-up here isn't much: Frank Fowler (Nick Stahl), the college-age son, is seeing Natalie (Marisa Tomei), the older and formerly married mother of two, to the quiet delight of his father Matt (Tom Wilkinson) and the equally hushed scorn of his mother Ruth (Sissy Spacek). Natalie's ex, Richard (William Mapother) still feels attached to Natalie and causes some trouble (his mullet-like bleached hair making him seem even more evil).
The performances are all very fine. Stahl, an increasingly interesting actor (the bully in Larry Clark's "Bully"), is a successful choice as the son. He's set apart, predominantly, from the plethora of young actors because he doesn't look like Josh Hartnett or Heath Ledger. Tomei gives a wonderful supporting performance, and I loved her affected accent. The main criticism Spacek got was that she was in a role "any woman over 40 could play." What an offensively incorrect statement. Spacek has a fractured voice and a vulnerability that suits Ruth, and moment to moment she makes her completely authentic. But ultimately it's Wilkinson who owns the movie. (It's also amusing that the lone foreigner has the most convincing American accent.)
The tension is built up to an almost sickening level after, and just before, a monumental tragedy occurs about 45 minutes in. The next 45 minutes or so is devoted to the altered lives of the characters. In between the slice-of-life straightforwardness, we see segues of Spacek, a school music teacher, directing a choir singing dirge-like chant-hymns (a nice touch, like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem "My Lost Youth" that's recited by one of Matt's friends: "A boy's will is the wind's will/And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts"). In the middle segment, the film has a lot of slice-of-life scenes, like Wilkinson and Spacek watching Craig Kilborn, and it's nice whenever a movie has those. They allow us to soak up the atmosphere and story, and it's a pleasant treat to have scenes and dialogues that don't exist simply to propel the plot.
After the tragedy (I'm tiptoeing here), we see how generous and forgiving Matt and Ruth are to their friends, co-workers and students, and how destructive they are to each other, at home ("Like a rest in music -- no sound but so loud"). Beneath the surface, Matt's a nervous wreck; when he goes to see his lawyer he can only focus on his hand annoyingly shuffling change in his pocket. Ruth becomes the type of woman you'd hate to be around, twisting rational questions and biting back with bitterly sarcastic snaps.
I expect the subject, the emotions, and the pain in the movie will strike a note with many middleclass suburbanites, and may be unbearably painful for any family who's gone through a similar tragedy, or who's had to deal with the ineptitude of the law system. It racks up the tension to an excruciating degree -- the best kind of sombre drama that fills your stomach with nervousness and anxiety until you can't take any more. In the closing 45 minutes, there's a sort of vigilante message that's imparted, and someone could write a series of essays on the subject of that message (well, not exactly "message," but you know what I mean), but in the context of the film, I wouldn't argue that something had to be done, and that no one should be cursed because of it.
I found myself asking, "Why are movies like these important?" Because they make us feel, and isn't that what makes us human? (That and opposable thumbs, I guess.) They awaken the senses and keep them fresh, and on a larger scale, specifically, because they show us people's concealed private lives that go unseen (but experienced) by many.
The film is much less heavy-handed than its 2001 counterpart "Monster's Ball"; more realistic, but also less graphic; tenser, but less arty. Unlike that film, "In the Bedroom" is simple; it's impact comes from its simplicity. "Monster's Ball" starts with impact and then tries to work in the simple realism and character.
The film's final image is humbling, and Andrew O'Hehir described it rather eloquently as: "Matt lying stone-faced in bed, half naked, with cigarette smoke rising from his chest, looking as if his heart were on fire."
****
The set-up here isn't much: Frank Fowler (Nick Stahl), the college-age son, is seeing Natalie (Marisa Tomei), the older and formerly married mother of two, to the quiet delight of his father Matt (Tom Wilkinson) and the equally hushed scorn of his mother Ruth (Sissy Spacek). Natalie's ex, Richard (William Mapother) still feels attached to Natalie and causes some trouble (his mullet-like bleached hair making him seem even more evil).
The performances are all very fine. Stahl, an increasingly interesting actor (the bully in Larry Clark's "Bully"), is a successful choice as the son. He's set apart, predominantly, from the plethora of young actors because he doesn't look like Josh Hartnett or Heath Ledger. Tomei gives a wonderful supporting performance, and I loved her affected accent. The main criticism Spacek got was that she was in a role "any woman over 40 could play." What an offensively incorrect statement. Spacek has a fractured voice and a vulnerability that suits Ruth, and moment to moment she makes her completely authentic. But ultimately it's Wilkinson who owns the movie. (It's also amusing that the lone foreigner has the most convincing American accent.)
The tension is built up to an almost sickening level after, and just before, a monumental tragedy occurs about 45 minutes in. The next 45 minutes or so is devoted to the altered lives of the characters. In between the slice-of-life straightforwardness, we see segues of Spacek, a school music teacher, directing a choir singing dirge-like chant-hymns (a nice touch, like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem "My Lost Youth" that's recited by one of Matt's friends: "A boy's will is the wind's will/And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts"). In the middle segment, the film has a lot of slice-of-life scenes, like Wilkinson and Spacek watching Craig Kilborn, and it's nice whenever a movie has those. They allow us to soak up the atmosphere and story, and it's a pleasant treat to have scenes and dialogues that don't exist simply to propel the plot.
After the tragedy (I'm tiptoeing here), we see how generous and forgiving Matt and Ruth are to their friends, co-workers and students, and how destructive they are to each other, at home ("Like a rest in music -- no sound but so loud"). Beneath the surface, Matt's a nervous wreck; when he goes to see his lawyer he can only focus on his hand annoyingly shuffling change in his pocket. Ruth becomes the type of woman you'd hate to be around, twisting rational questions and biting back with bitterly sarcastic snaps.
I expect the subject, the emotions, and the pain in the movie will strike a note with many middleclass suburbanites, and may be unbearably painful for any family who's gone through a similar tragedy, or who's had to deal with the ineptitude of the law system. It racks up the tension to an excruciating degree -- the best kind of sombre drama that fills your stomach with nervousness and anxiety until you can't take any more. In the closing 45 minutes, there's a sort of vigilante message that's imparted, and someone could write a series of essays on the subject of that message (well, not exactly "message," but you know what I mean), but in the context of the film, I wouldn't argue that something had to be done, and that no one should be cursed because of it.
I found myself asking, "Why are movies like these important?" Because they make us feel, and isn't that what makes us human? (That and opposable thumbs, I guess.) They awaken the senses and keep them fresh, and on a larger scale, specifically, because they show us people's concealed private lives that go unseen (but experienced) by many.
The film is much less heavy-handed than its 2001 counterpart "Monster's Ball"; more realistic, but also less graphic; tenser, but less arty. Unlike that film, "In the Bedroom" is simple; it's impact comes from its simplicity. "Monster's Ball" starts with impact and then tries to work in the simple realism and character.
The film's final image is humbling, and Andrew O'Hehir described it rather eloquently as: "Matt lying stone-faced in bed, half naked, with cigarette smoke rising from his chest, looking as if his heart were on fire."
****