6/27/15 (Part Two): Two is the Loneliest Number

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Adam Cronheim, Alana O'Brien, baseball players, buddy films, Christian Stella, cinema, directorial debut, dramas, end of the world, film reviews, films, friendship, horror films, independent films, Jamie Pantanella, Jeremy Gardner, Larry Fessenden, low-budget films, low-key, Movies, Niels Bolle, post-Apocalyptic, road movie, Ryan Winford, slow-moving films, stranded, The Battery, undead, Walkman, writer-director-producer-actor, zombie apocalypse, zombie movies, zombies

How rad would it be to run wild in a post-apocalyptic world with your best friend? Hunting, fishing, killing zombies, taking whatever you need, never answering to “The Man,” never working another day in your life, just kicking back and taking it all in…if you squint just right, it looks like a damn good life, doesn’t it? Now…imagine the exact same scenario but substitute “a co-worker you don’t know very well” for “your best friend” in the above equation. Not quite as fun, eh?

First-time director Jeremy Gardner (working from his own script) takes a close look at the second scenario, the one that sees you getting stuck with a relative stranger during the fallout from an unnamed zombie epidemic, in the low-key, immensely effective horror-drama The Battery (2012). Utilizing a slow, measured pace and a startling degree of real-world verisimilitude, Gardner has created the equivalent of a mumblecore zombie film, a movie not so much about the ravenous hordes of undead that stagger and groan across empty swatches of abandoned humanity but about the few remaining humans who’ve been left holding the bag. When the end-times come, Gardner seems to say, we’ll all find ourselves doing the exact same things we did during “better times”: arguing, swearing, fighting, listening to music on our headphones, masturbating, hoping, goofing around, wondering and wishing for a better tomorrow.

In as economical a way as possible, we meet our two leads and get the lay of the land right off the bat: Ben (writer-director Gardner) and Mickey (Adam Cronheim) are a couple of baseball players who find their lot tied together once the U.S. (and, presumably, the rest of the world) becomes overrun by zombies. We don’t get big explanations, no sense of a larger scheme at play here, just the facts, ma’am. Although the two were never great friends when things were “normal,” they now find themselves needing to rely on each other for their very survival: you might think that making a new friend is difficult…try doing it when mobs of zombies are trying to eat your face!

Personality-wise, the two former teammates couldn’t be more different. Ben is the brash, act-first member of the team, a guy who sees killing zombies as his duty and relishes the opportunity to live “off the grid” and make his own way through life. Mickey, on the other hand, is much more reserved, quiet and withdrawn. With his ever-present headphones and lingering memories of his lost life with his pre-apocalypse girlfriend, Mickey is like an open, throbbing wound, slinking from one place to the next without ever really living. Hell, he even resists Ben’s constant attempts to teach him how to fish: he’s got plenty of canned goods, after all, so why bother with the “real stuff” until he has to? Grizzly Adams, he ain’t.

Change comes to the guys’ daily fight for survival when they happen to pick up a mundane conversation on their walkie talkies. The discussion might not be earth-shattering (picking out the movie choice for that night) but Ben and Mickey are rocked to their very cores: here, at long last, is proof that they’re not alone. For Ben, it means more potential problems but for Mickey, the existence of others allows him the faintest glimmer of hope: for the first time, he can begin to see the path that leads out of their personal wilderness and back into regimented society.

The problem, of course, is that folks in post-apocalyptic societies don’t tend to be the friendliest, most trusting, sorts. One of the voices, Frank (Larry Fessenden), pointedly tells our heroes that there’s no more room at this particular inn, while the other voice, Annie (Alana O’Brien) does much the same thing, albeit in a nicer way. Too late, however: poor Mickey has already locked on to the newly discovered survivors as his own source of salvation and he won’t take no for an answer. Despite Ben’s constant protests, Mickey wants to track down Frank, Annie and the others at all costs: not only does he get a whiff of the civilization he so desperately misses but, with Annie, he gets a hint of that other thing he desperately misses…female contact.

As Ben and Mickey continue to move through the destroyed landscape of what used to be a familiar country, constantly on the watch for ambushing zombies, they find their own burgeoning friendship tested and strained at every twist and turn in the path. Will the two ever be able to set aside their differences and become united in their goals? Will Mickey be able to rejoin the civilized society that he always carries so close to his heart, via his ever-present Discman, or will he spend the rest of his days in the wild, gradually giving his own humanity over to survival instincts? And what, exactly, are Frank and Annie trying to hide from them? What is the truth behind “The Orchard” and will it spell salvation or doom for our hardy protagonists?

Low-key, understated and pitched at a glacial pace, Gardner’s film isn’t what one might call a “thrill-a-minute” ride. What it lacks in visceral action, however, it more than makes up for with intelligent, character-driven drama. The focus here is squarely on the humans, not the monsters: for almost the entirety of the film, give or take a few choice setpieces, the zombies remain in the background of the action, serving as omnipresent threat but allowing Ben and Mickey to take the reins. In some ways, it’s a similar tactic to Gareth Edwards’ Monsters (2010), in which the massive beasts became secondary to the human drama at the film’s core. The Battery is, first and foremost, about the ways in which Ben and Mickey navigate around their world. which is an important distinction from most low-budget zombie films.

Despite this focus on the dramatic aspect, however, Gardner and crew don’t shortchange the horrific aspect. The zombies are all well-realized, with effective makeup, and the violence, although infrequent, is always gritty and physical. When the film wants to pull out the stops, it has no problem doing so: the setpiece involving Ben and Mickey trapped in a car by a veritable army of the undead is as tense as they come, culminating in a truly brave six-minute shot that handily recalls the tent scene in Bobcat Goldtwait’s recent Willow Creek (2013). By not making the zombie action the center of the film’s universe, it makes the scattered horror moments that much more effective: I can’t stress enough how radically different this is from most low-budget zombie fare.

In many ways, The Battery is a two-man show: although we meet a couple other characters, including the aforementioned Annie and a carjacker (played by Niels Bolle), the vast majority of our screentime is devoted to either Ben or Mickey. As with many low-budget films (particularly horror films), this could have been the kiss of death: as a lifelong horror fan, “outstanding acting” isn’t usually something I usually associate with these types of movies, at least not at this level.

Rather than being a deficit, however, the performances in The Battery end up being one of the film’s greatest benefits. Quite simply, Gardner and Cronheim have fantastic chemistry: not only do we buy these guys as real people but we also buy into their developing friendship, warts and all. There are certain moments, such as the minutes-long scene consisting of nothing more than Ben and Mickey brushing their teeth, that feel like nothing less than getting a front-row seat to real-life, albeit one where the occasional zombie pops into view. Both actors give unique life and characterization to their respective roles (Ben is the “asshole,” Mickey is the “nice guy”) that extends beyond easy stereotyping and feels a whole lot more like real acting. In this aspect, The Battery reminded me of another exemplary indie horror film about a friendship, Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead’s extraordinary Resolution (2012). Like Resolution, the characters in The Battery feel 100% authentic, which works wonders on selling the inherent “unreality” of the zombie apocalypse.

While the cinematography in the film is never much more than decent (aside from a few scattered standouts), the sound design is actually pretty brilliant and flawlessly integrated into the fabric of the film. The big conceit here, that Mickey’s Discman provides the score in “real-time,” is pretty damn awesome: that the musical selections are so varied and exceptional (incorporating everything from traditional blues to Neutral Milk Hotel-ish sonic collages) really kicks the whole film up a notch, resulting in scenes and moments that could best be described as “thoroughly kickass.” The montage of Ben and Mickey bumming around the countryside, set to an old blues stomper, is beautifully evocative, as is the wild, chaotic abandon that fuels the scene where Ben gets wasted and dances in front of a mural. Gardner and crew understand that sound design is as integral a part of a film as the visuals and The Battery provides a great crash course in just how to accomplish that.

All in all, I was massively impressed by The Battery: for a low-budget, independent zombie flick, this is just about as artistic and exceptional as it gets. While the film doesn’t always break new ground (Mickey’s obsession with Annie is particularly tiresome and “old hat”), it strikes out on its own path often enough to prove how much Gardner has to say. For some viewers, the slow pace and relative lack of action might be slightly off-putting but more patient audiences will realize one important fact: you have to learn to crawl before you walk. By taking its time and easing into the horror, Gardner’s film demonstrates that it has the stamina to go the distance. Here’s to hoping that Jeremy Gardner and his team continue to pump out effective, well-made little films like this: for a genre that can often be more smoke than fire, there will always be a need for movies that are actually about something.

The Battery may a road movie set during a zombie plague but, in the bigger scheme of things, it’s really about human interaction and the ways in which we’re all intertwined, whether we like it or not. I’ll take that over another bloody disembowelment any ol’ day of the week.

4/23/15: One Family’s Trash, Everyone’s Treasure

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cinema, coming of age, dramadies, dramas, dysfunctional family, Eva Birthistle, family in crisis, film reviews, films, Fionnula Flanagan, foreign films, grandmothers, independent films, Irish films, Kelly Thornton, Lance Daly, Lesley Conroy, Life's a Breeze, lost money, low-key, media circus, Movies, Pat Shortt, Philip Judge, set in Ireland, Willie Higgins, writer-director-cinematographer-editor

As far as problems go, Nan (Fionnula Flanagan) has quite a few on her plate: she’s just about to turn 80; her pie-in-the-sky son, Colm (Pat Shortt), is habitually unemployed; her daughters, Margaret (Eva Birthistle) and Annie (Lesley Conroy), don’t understand her; her granddaughter, Emma (Kelly Thornton), doesn’t want to spend time with her; and her little Irish town is just about as economically depressed as one place can get. And she’s just had her life savings accidentally sent to the landfill by her well-meaning but hopelessly inept family: you know…no big deal.

The loss of Nan’s fortune (she was quite the thrifty saver!) is, of course, only the catalyst of writer-director Lance Daly’s low-key Life’s a Breeze (2013): the meat of the matter is the way in which her dysfunctional family must pull together in order to undo their own colossal blunder, during which they’ll heal old wounds, create new friendships and actually become a family. As the motley group races around town, desperately seeking the tossed-out mattress that holds just south of a million euros, they’ll learn the most important lesson of all: family may drive you crazy but, when the chips are down, they’re also the only people you can ever really rely on.

Story-wise, Life’s a Breeze (which takes its name from the logo on a prominent air freshener, in but one of many sly sight gags) is pretty standard-issue, independent film dramady but it’s elevated exponentially by a truly great cast. As always, Fionnula Flanagan is a complete treasure, one of those actors who is so immensely entertaining that she can carry just about production on her shoulders. In this case, however, the heavy-lifting is alleviated by the presence of Pat Shortt (equally outstanding in The Guard (2011) and Calvary (2014)), Eva Birthistle and Lesley Conroy as Nan’s constantly feuding children. The chemistry between the family is pitch-perfect, leading to some deliciously on-the-nose bickering, all tempered by a genuine sense that these misfits actually love each other.

If Life’s a Breeze has a secret weapon (besides Flanagan, of course), it definitely lies with Kelly Thornton. This is her debut and, to be honest, she’s nothing short of astounding. Emma’s coming-of-age journey from petulant teen to strong, confident young woman is never less than riveting and Thornton very nearly steals any scene that she’s in. With her ever-present knit cap (complete with ears), Emma often reminds of a life-action version of the incomparable Louise Belcher and I mean that in the absolute best way possible. Suffice to say that I hope (and expect) to see much more of Thornton in the future: everything about her performance suggests that she’s just beginning what promises to be a must-see career.

Ultimately, Life’s a Breeze is an agreeable, surprisingly serious and incredibly well-acted (if overly familiar) entry in the “dysfunctional family” subgroup of independent films. Fans of Fionnula Flanagan (and, let’s be honest, who isn’t?) will definitely want to check this out but I suspect that Kelly Thornton’s Emma will be the one that stays on most audience member’s minds well after the credits roll. At the end of the day, Daly’s film is really about the passing of the torch from the older generation to the younger and I can’t think of anyone more deserving of receiving that prestigious flaming honor than Thornton.

3/8/15: Last Flight of the Golden Eagle

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2014 Academy Awards, 87th Annual Academy Awards, Anthony Michael Hall, based on a true story, Bennett Miller, Brett Rice, Capote, Channing Tatum, co-writers, competition, Dan Futterman, Dave Schultz, David Schultz, dramas, du Pont, E. Max Frye, eccentric billionaire, envy, father figures, feuding brothers, Foxcatcher, Greig Fraser, Guy Boyd, insanity, John E. du Pont, low-key, Mark Ruffalo, Mark Schultz, mental illness, Michael Scott, Moneyball, mother-son relationships, multiple award nominee, multiple writers, Olympic athletes, Rob Simonsen, set in 1980s, sibling rivalry, Sienna Miller, sports movie, Steve Carell, tragedies, Vanessa Redgrave, wrestlers

As serious and stone-faced as garden statuary, Bennett Miller’s Foxcatcher (2014) is a bit of a conundrum: on the one hand, the overly stately film has a portentous, heavy atmosphere that practically demands we pay attention, drenching everything in the sort of numbing foreboding that all but guarantees a tragic resolution. On the other hand, Miller’s follow-up to his smash-hit Moneyball (2011) is so grim and po-faced that it often approaches the level of self-parody: it’s like spending an afternoon with your glowering, disapproving, elderly aunt as she constantly swats your hand for trying to sneak extra Lorna Doones. When the film’s serious-mindedness and its themes collide, there’s some genuinely affecting drama to be found here. Much of the time, however, Foxcatcher is…well, it’s a bit of a slog, to be honest.

Falling under the “they can’t make this stuff up” designation, Foxcatcher is based on the true story of eccentric millionaire John E. du Pont (Steve Carell) and his tragic relationship with Olympic gold medal-winning wrestling brothers Mark (Channing Tatum) and David Schultz (Mark Ruffalo). John, the mentally unhinged heir to the massive du Pont plastics fortune, was constantly trying to break away from the disapproving eye of his aging mother, Jean (Vanessa Redgrave), who valued her prized “horse flesh” over her son’s “silly” wrestling fixation.

John sought validation by pinning his support on Mark, the sullen half of the legendary Schultz brothers. By serving as the father figure that Mark so desperately needs, du Pont uses the wrestler’s natural skill and need for validation to make his own mark in the sport. More than anything, however, du Pont sees a kindred spirit with Mark’s own desire to break away from the over-bearing shadow of his super-successful older brother. John exploits the inherently rocky nature of Mark and David’s relationship, using Mark’s jealousy and David’s need for superiority to put new prizes into his trophy room.

The fly in the ointment, of course, is that du Pont is a loon. Prone to firing guns off for no reason, given to staring weirdly into space and so cold and distant as to appear almost alien, John is the absolute worst role model/father figure a person could possibly have. His increasingly erratic behavior and cocaine use (a habit that he, helpfully, introduces to the naive Mark) kick off a cycle of chaos that leads to tragedy, violence and, finally, redemption.

The big selling point to Miller’s multi-award-nominated Foxcatcher is, undoubtedly, Carell’s ultra-serious performance as the demented wrestling enthusiast. Best known for his portrayal of Michael Scott, the fumbling manager for the mythical Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, Carell has mostly stuck to comedy roles across his two+decades in the biz, although he’s snuck out for the occasional “dramedy” role, ala Little Miss Sunshine (2006) or Dan in Real Life (2007).

Here, we get nothing but the serious, stone-faced side of Carell (along with some seriously heavy-handed facial makeup) and it’s kind of a mixed bag. For the most part, Carell is fairly inert here, his silent, brooding watchfulness often blending into the background as if he were a stage prop. We do get scattered moments of pure Michael Scott-ism, such as the oddly humorous bit where du Pont encourages Mark to call him “Eagle, Golden Eagle, John or Coach” but it’s a largely flat-lined performance that seemed to garner an Oscar nomination on pure novelty factor, alone.

Much better is Tatum’s portrayal of du Pont’s brooding, unhappy protegé. Tatum has always struck me as a bit of a puppy dog on-screen, so naturally friendly and non-threatening as to be almost a cartoon character. Here, we get a completely different side of the matinée idol and it’s a pretty good look for the guy. There’s some genuine nuance to his portrayal of Mark, including a dressing room trashing scene that almost rivals Michael Keaton’s similar bit in Birdman (2014), and it really opens up new avenues for Tatum. I’m genuinely surprised that he wasn’t nominated for his performance but I’m willing to wager that he’ll get plenty of additional opportunities in the future. Let’s start to get this guy some more serious roles, Hollywood!

Falling between these two poles is Mark Ruffalo’s take on Dave Schultz. Neither as inert as Carell nor as dynamic as Tatum, Ruffalo strikes me as thoroughly reliable here, if completely unremarkable. This was another case where I have to wonder, at least a little, at the resulting awards nominations: while he was consistently solid, nothing about the performance stuck out, for me.

From a filmmaking perspective, Foxcatcher is almost relentlessly austere and serious-minded. This is the kind of movie where the very notion of “cracking a smile” is unthinkable: time after time, we’re reminded of just how grim everything really is, often to the point of near parody. The film has a pleasantly gritty, grainy look, which definitely works in its favor, but everything else about it practically screams “serious film” and it kind of sinks under its own weight. I’m not insinuating that the film needs a humorous edge, mind you: I am, however, stating that it takes itself far too seriously to be effective. There’s an inherently ludicrous element to the proceedings that the film never really exploits, giving everything the air of a particularly ponderous PBS film when it could’ve been a much more dynamic affair.

Ultimately, Foxcatcher was well-made but left me cold. I appreciate what Miller and company were going for but the film never seemed to cohere into anything more than a mildly thought-provoking take on obsession. There were plenty of hints at larger themes, especially relating to patriotism, but they never seemed to develop into anything more than footnotes. As such, Foxcatcher felt much “smaller” and slighter than was probably intended, especially considering how self-important the film feels. Inherently sad, introspective and muted, Foxcatcher is a decent-enough drama but nothing more. While it may be note-worthy as Steve Carell’s first truly “serious” role, I’m willing to wager that Channing Tatum’s performance will be the one that people still talk about, years from now.

12/26/14 (Part Two): Woody the Pimp

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best friends, cinema, dramadies, Fading Gigolo, Film, film reviews, gigolos, indie dramas, John Turturro, Liev Schrieber, low-key, male friendships, Movies, New York City, Orthodox Jews, pimps, rabbis, romances, Sharon Stone, Sofia Vargera, Vanessa Paradis, Woody Allen, writer-director-actor

If you were asked to come up with a list of actors who would seem like natural fits to play a pimp, I’m willing to wager that actor-director Woody Allen is probably the very last person you would think of: hell, there are probably dead people that would seem more appropriate for that kind of role. Allen, the patron saint of nebbishy, fidgety, neurotic indie-film characters since the mid-’60s, may be many things but a pimp? C’mon, already. For better or worse, however, that’s exactly the roll that Allen’s Murray fulfills in writer-director-actor John Turturro’s Fading Gigolo (2013), a modest little film that often feels like “Woody Allen-lite,” even as it approaches the material from a decidedly more earthy direction than Allen’s own films.

Murray (Woody Allen) and Fioravante (John Turturro) are best friends who also seem to be the two most low-key, laid-back guys in New York: Murray runs the dusty old bookstore that he inherited from his father (who inherited it from his father, before him), while Fioravante works a few hours a week in a little flower shop. After Murray has to close his shop, however, they take a look at their respective bank accounts and realize that they’re each uncomfortably close to the poor house, a prospect that causes the aging friends no end of worry.

After being approached by a doctor friend (Sharon Stone), however, Murray comes up with a new business strategy: he’s going to set his buddy Fioravante up with local women in need of some “adult” companionship. That’s right: Woody wants to pimp out his buddy to New York’s cougar population. Although initially hesitant, Fioravante quickly agrees, even adopting the nom de plume “Virgil Howard” as a way to keep both halves of his life separate. In short order, Fioravante is a very, very busy man and Murray is becoming a very wealthy one, as we find out in one of those montages that’s pretty de rigueur for this type of thing. Complications arise, however, when Murray sets Fioravante up with Avigal (Vanessa Paradis), a local Orthodox Jewish widow. This ends up raising the ire of Dovi (Liev Schreiber), one of the Orthodox neighborhood’s resident “patrolmen” and the poor schmuck who’s been admiring Avigal from afar for years. As Fioravante and Avigal appear to be falling for each other, Dovi conspires to uncover the truth about Murray’s activities, with the goal of hauling him before the neighborhood’s Orthodox rabbinate. And let’s not forget Dr. Parker and her friend, Selima (Sofia Vargera), whose only goal in life appears to be roping Fioravante into a threesome. What’s a nice, Italian boy to do when everybody, including his best friend, wants a piece of him? Why, keep smiling, that’s what!

For the most past, Fading Gigolo is the kind of modest, low-key film that doesn’t make much of an impact, even if there’s nothing especially wrong with it. The acting is solid, with Allen and Turturro reasonably convincing as friends and Stone and Vargera quite fun as the hot-to-trot cougars. The film is reasonably well made, with a great score, although the overly muddy color contrast is a bit of a bummer. The whole thing moves fairly quickly, although some of the machinations involving Schreiber’s character tend to make the film unnecessarily confusing and cluttered in the final third. For the most part, Fading Gigolo hits all of the required beats, even of most of them come and go without much fanfare.

This, then, is kind of the rub: while pleasant enough, little of Turturro’s film makes much of an impact…the whole thing is so breezy and lightweight as to be almost completely inconsequential. The subplot with Avigal and Fioravante never quite pans out as promised, making the whole thing feel a little extraneous, and there’s something a little too convenient about the way that Stone and Vargera’s ravenous characters are completely tamed in the presence of Turturro’s kind-hearted lover-man: this is a film where true love beats all because…well, just because.

While I’ve always been a huge fan of Turturro’s acting (I think he’s easily one of the most criminally under-rated actors around), this was actually my first experience with him as a writer-director and I must admit to being slightly underwhelmed: again, there’s nothing critically wrong with Fading Gigolo (aside from the inherently silly storyline, that is) but there’s also not a whole lot that sticks to the ribs, either. For the most part, Fading Gigolo comes and goes without making too much of a ripple, which might be some sort of parallelism regarding the two main characters but is, more than likely, just the mark of a film that’s decent enough but hardly relevatory.

4/1/14: Only the Lonely

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Bobby Cannavale, cinema, drama, dramadies, dwarfism, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, food truck, friends, friendship, independent films, indie comedies, John Slattery, loneliness, low-budget films, low-key, Michelle Williams, Movies, Patricia Clarkson, Paul Benjamin, Peter Dinklage, Raven Goodwin, small town life, The Station Agent, Tom McCarthy, train depot, train-chasing, trains, writer-director

Some folks are just slightly out of step with the rest of the world, despite the best efforts of the rest of the world to bring them back into line. Humans are social creatures, we’re told, and companionship is necessary for our survivals (and mental health). The best way to succeed in life is through a positive outlook and cheery disposition: like attracts like, after all, and grim, unpleasant people will lead grim, unpleasant lives. In order to succeed, you must constantly push ahead, remaining endlessly active: idle hands and all that, you know. These are all truisms, little global facts that will help us all become better people…if we’d just listen and get in line, of course. What about those individuals who don’t “play nice,” however? The people who would rather go it alone than hang out with the crowd? Those folks who don’t find a smile to be their resting expression but something closer to a resigned grimace? Are the dour and serious-minded among us fit only to be reformed, devoid of any societal use on their own? Tom McCarthy’s low-key, dour independent film The Station Agent takes a good look at one such “unfriendly” individual and comes up a similar conclusion: even loners need companionship…even if they don’t realize it at the time.

Finbar McBride (Peter Dinklage) runs a model train store with Henry Styles (Paul Benjamin): the two live together and appear to be each other’s only friends, enjoying a quiet, tranquil existence filled with lots of comfortable silences and humble meals in their tiny kitchen. Nothing can remain forever, however, and Fin’s life is upended when his only friend suddenly drops dead. Henry has sold off his store, leaving Fin unemployed, but he’s also bequeathed his friend some land with an abandoned train station on it. Fin pulls up stakes and moves into the train station, making it his home. Once there, he meets his new neighbors: Joe (Bobby Cannavale), a boisterous, out-going, talkative food-truck owner and Olivia (Patricia Clarkson), a rather odd, high-strung artist. Joe has a tendency to park his food truck right outside Fin’s new doorstep, making him something of a mobile next-door-neighbor.

At first, Fin wants nothing more than to run down the clock of his life in peace, away from any other human contact. Bobby, however, takes a real shine to Fin and seems determined to become friends with him, even if it means wearing down his resistance with a constant, never-ending stream of good-humored chatter. Along the way, other people end up in Fin’s orbit, people like young Cleo (Raven Goodwin), local librarian Emily (Michelle Williams) and Olivia’s rather bewildered ex-husband David (Mad Men’s John Slattery). Despite his best intentions, Fin ends up interacting with all of them, to one extent or another, and each one brings him one small step closer to rejoining the rest of humanity. Will Fin ever embrace the friendship around him or will he continue to sequester himself away from the world, greeting everything with downcast eyes and a sigh? Will romance bloom in surprising ways? Or will long-held secrets and Fin’s naturally stand-offish demeanor doom him to a life alone?

One of the charges frequently leveled against indie films is that they have a tendency to be unrelentingly dour and po-faced: this certainly isn’t anything that The Station Agent works particularly hard to disavow. If anything, the film may stand as one of the most serious “comedies” I’ve ever seen, although most indie comedies from the past decade tend to be a bit of a misnomer. There are certainly funny, upbeat moments in the film (almost all courtesy of Bobby Cannavale) but the overall mood is definitely one of serious pensiveness. Peter Dinklage mopes about the film with an expression that seems more befitting of Wuthering Heights than anything with the descriptor “comedy” and Olivia’s backstory (and subsequent breakdown) keep the story in some pretty dark territory. There’s also the notion that only Olivia, Joe and Cleo (and possibly Emily) ever treat Fin with anything approaching warmth or humanity: everyone else he comes across is content to mock him, snap photos on the sly or gawk as if he were a three-headed space alien.

Since the film is so serious, and Fin is set up as so stand-offish and unpleasant, there’s frequently a disconnect between the characters. I can’t count the number of times that I visibly cringed whenever Joe said something to Fin: Joe was always so sweet and happy, while Fin was always so dismissive and curt that I really just wanted to grab Fin and shake the shit out of him. It’s certainly not fair to make Fin responsible for “babysitting” Joe, as it were, and being friendly to him. On the other hand, however, Joe does absolutely nothing derogatory to Fin, yet often gets a big, heaping helping of nothing, in return. Once Fin warms up, a genuinely sweet, touching friendship develops. Even then, however, there’s still a sense of distance and disconnect: you get the feeling that Fin stops smiling the moment his “friends” can no longer see his expression.

Despite Fin’s rather churlish attitude, however, The Station Agent is still able to make some nice points about friendship and companionship. Deep in the heart of the film is the idea that real friends, the kind that stick around for a lifetime, never require any more of us than our presence in their lives. There’s real power to the moment where Fin finally lets Joe sit and read with him: even if Joe can’t quite keep his end of the “complete silence” deal, this feels like a real breakthrough moment for both. Equally powerful is the scene where we see Fin, Olivia and Joe sitting quietly together, staring off into the distance, drinking wine and smoking a joint. No one says anything but there’s nothing uncomfortable about the silence. This, the filmmakers seem to be saying, is the real definition of friendship: real friends don’t need to talk…real friends would be just as content to sit there, listening to the buzz of mosquitoes in the warm summer air, enjoying their time together on earth.

The Station Agent may seem to be about a man who just wants the world to leave him alone but it’s actually much more: it’s about a man who just wants the world to meet on his own terms, in his own backyard and on his own two feet. Finbar doesn’t want anything less than respect from the world at large: can any of us ask for less?