





 |
 |
July-August 2002
Missing
out
I Am Sam, dir. Jessie Nelson. Sam is intellectually disabled,
Annie is socially disabled, Margaret is disabled by regulations and Rita
is disabled by a hunger for perfection. You may have noticed a pattern
emerging. I am Sam has a good point to make, it just makes it too
many times and with not nearly enough nuance. The point is this: bringing
up a child is confusing, challenging, frightening, even disabling at times,
but if you show abundant and unconditional love your child will probably
come up trumps. A handsome sentiment and basically true, but what thunderous
complexities it fails to acknowledge.
Despite
having the intellectual capacity of a child, Sam (Sean Penn, right) has
cared for his daughter Lucy (Dakota Fanning, far right) for nearly seven
years as a single parent. When her intellectual capacity starts to challenge
his own, child welfare authorities step in, believing the unconventional
situation is detrimental to Lucy's development. Lucy is put into care,
but Sam vows to get her back.
I am Sam is about judgment and love and how painfully blind we
can be when it comes to judging others. If you want a good weep and sniffle,
this film is right on the money, but it just doesn't quite pull off the
very difficult (granted) task it sets itself. Sadly, Sam's intellectual
disability becomes a dull metaphor for the mistakes and confusions of
any parent and in so doing fails to acknowledge the individual realities
of bringing up kids, disabled or not.
-Siobhan Jackson
Crossing the bar
Last Orders, dir. Fred Schepisi. There are faint echoes of Chaucer
in this delightful film. It follows a group of friends on a pilgrimage
to fulfil the last wishes of one of their boozy company that his
ashes be scattered from Margate pier. They even visit Canterbury on their
way, but the tales they tell (mostly to us, not each other) are the bitter-sweet
flashbacks of memory, not episodes of instructive fiction. These flashbacks
explore the pains and complex triumphs that lie beneath the phlegmatic
surface of the lives of these ordinary men and their women.
Australian Fred Schepisi has gathered an extraordinary cast of British
stars to bring to life his adaptation of Graham Swift's prize-winning
novel. Michael Caine plays butcher Jack Dodds whose post-mortem instructions
are the last orders of the title. The film opens with Jack's friends Ray
(Bob Hoskins), Vic (Tom Courtenay) and Lenny (David Hemmings) meeting
with his son Vince (Ray Winstone) in their local pub for a priming ale
before their uncomfortable journey begins. An uneasy presence is the urn
containing Jack's ashes and an uneasy absence is his wife Amy (Helen Mirren)
who cannot bring herself to make the trip. Instead she is visiting their
severely retarded daughter June (Laura Morelli) in the institution to
which she has been confined for 50 years without a single visit from her
father. June has never shown a flicker of recognition of her mother. Vince's
connection with his father is real but ambiguous.
As the past unravels in layers of flashback, we learn of the betrayals,
compromises and delicacies that have formed these lives. Caine's nudge-wink
Jack beautifully complements Hoskins' restrained portrait of the reticent,
overshadowed Ray who is nonetheless a semi-professional gambler. David
Hemmings is fine as the ex-boxer Lenny full of menacing grievance, while
Tom Courtenay's undertaker Vic presents a dignified, wry fulcrum for the
group. Ray Winstone's Vince shows the virtues of understated acting and,
as the young Jack, J.J. Feild gives a flamboyant, insinuating portrayal
of irresponsible charm.
One might cavil at a few plot tricks, and at the end there is the now-common
British fantasy of Australia as a distant paradise, but this is a film
not to miss. Don't wait around for closing time.
-Tony Coady
|
|
|
 |