The Descendants
Starring: George Clooney
Directed by: Alexander Payne
2 out of 5 stars
Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor
From beginning to end, everything that happens in The Descendants feels forced.
I’ll let you in on a little secret: the unspoken danger of a film as well-reviewed as Alexander Payne’s newest is that it can rarely live up to its hype.
An Oscar frontrunner, the familial dramedy imposed here is just as manipulative as it is manufactured, pulling at our heartstrings with forceful tugs and false tears.
The story follows Honolulu lawyer Matt King (George Clooney), the prosperous offspring of a Hawaiian family who is dealt a hand of personal blows.
“Paradise can go fuck itself,” he aptly bemoans in voiceover.
Turns out that a waterskiing mishap has landed Matt’s wife, Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie), in a coma. His two daughters, the precious tween Scottie (Amara Miller) and hard-living teen Alexandra (Shailene Woodley), are beyond his authority, with Alexandra in possession of potentially devastating news. “Dad, Mom was cheating on you!” she vents in a heated exchange, conveniently setting the film, and Clooney, on a mission to discover the identity of his wife’s lover.
The awkward script, penned by four co-writers (which may account for the film’s uneven tone), manages to be simultaneously superficial, simple, mawkish and cliché.
It’s a shame, and a shock, for a man like Payne – so talented, so biting in his previous Election and About Schmidt from years past – that he would wait seven to fashion such a banal dud.
Try as it might, the film’s attempt at humour is largely entrusted to dad jokes, or cheap laughs, like Alexandra’s stoner boyfriend Sid (Nick Krause), a character of great irritation and inexplicability.
Truth be told, his presence and stilted delivery nearly ruins every scene he’s in, making portions of the film’s scenic beauty undercut by Payne’s unwillingness to let up on Sid’s idiotic quips. No family in their right mind would allow a doofus like him to tag along when dealing with personal betrayal. It’s simply poor writing.
Aside from that agony, the film finds Matt unfairly belittled by his surly, hard-nosed father-in-law (Robert Forster), a man who blames him for Elizabeth’s accident.
Adding to Matt’s responsibilities is the decision (as head of the King family trust) to sell or bequest a large plane of unspoiled Hawaiian property, inherited from ancestors.
The two narrative strands cross when Matt discovers that his wife’s lover (Matthew Lillard), a yuppie realtor, is miraculously vacationing with his wife (Judy Greer) and kids adjacent to the rendezvous where Matt is meeting with family, most memorably his breezy cousin (Beau Bridges), to finalize their soon-to-be fortunes. Coincidence or contrivance?
Despite the talented cast put together by Payne, The Descendants boils down to mediocrity of the highest order. My suspicion is that the film hit me wrong, but, perhaps, will hit some just right. Look no further than its seemingly universal acclaim.
I have liked other Payne movies about middle-aged men on journeys of self-discovery, but I couldn’t buy the convenient storytelling and erratic tone that litter this one.
Clooney, always the affable star, gives the film’s best performance, establishing a soft-spoken and refreshingly weary look, decked out in high-waisted slacks and floral-printed shirts.
In terms of real acting, however, it’s nothing new for the man, who relies on his expressive eyes and constantly pursed mouth, so common in better films like Up In The Air and The American.
Having seen it at TIFF in September, where it premiered to upbeat enthusiasm, The Descendants has gone on to reap praise for its enlightened sensitivity.
Best Picture predictions abound; this film, not unlike Slumdog Millionaire, encourages audiences and studios to feel good about themselves.
Not me. Save for Clooney’s solos with his comatose wife, the film’s pathos left me cold and certain. In five years, The Descendants will be forgotten.
Take Shelter
Directed by: Jeff Nichols
Starring: Michael Shannon, Jessica Chastain
4 out of 5 stars
Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor
There can be something positively terrifying about a performance that makes you tense. What Michael Shannon miraculously achieves in Take Shelter goes beyond that, and into embodiment.
With courage, talent and vulnerability, he takes the viewer into the mind of an early-onset schizophrenic, revealing a man torn between apocalyptic premonitions and his relationships with family and friends.
The movie opens on Curtis (Shannon), a construction worker with growing concerns about the clouds and greasy rain that persistently loom over his land. Inside his household we enter domestic normality, where his loving wife, Samantha (Jessica Chastain), attentively upholds family breakfasts and points of discussion. Together they raise their deaf preschooler in what feels like parental conviction and not plot contrivance.
Early in Take Shelter, we become familiar with Curtis’ work routine, as well as his loyal co-worker, Dewart (Sean Whigham). Similarly, Samantha’s outside life is explored, as she divides her time between entrepreneurial interests and her daughter’s sign language classes.
The film shifts though, and soon Curtis begins suffering from night terrors that consume his consciousness. The dreams retain similar motifs of unruly storms that turn familiar faces into murderous souls. In one instance, a vicious nightmare involving the beloved family dog leaves Curtis with a mysteriously sore arm and distrust towards the canine.
When his visions cease to curtail and begin to extend into real life delusions, the separation between prophecy and lunacy symbolically merge with the construction of a backyard storm shelter.
The film is so delicate, so entrenched in Curtis’ intensity that you hold your breath as his social sphere starts breaking away. Events of grave consequence take effect and soon the heart of the film splits into two unsettling realisms: the whispering gossip of his sanity, and the confidence of his own doom’s day suspicions.
Michael Shannon inhabits his extraordinary performance with a scary charisma that cannot be described, but observed. He knows he has a problem. He knows he needs help. When the story reveals a family history of mental illness, he seeks counseling. Hopelessly, the sessions amount to no more than empty compassion and textbook rhetoric, leaving Curtis, and us, in a state of despondency.
The movie excels through its braveness, which requires our empathy as we interpret the decisions made. Why does Curtis insist on building something so absurd at the risk of losing everything? How the film balances dream logic with the disintegration of relationships, marriage and finances is one of its great strengths.
It is precisely the brand of drama that defines Take Shelter, investing heavily in emotional paranoia, as well as post- 9/11 angst and uncertainty.
For a picture of such power, it is refreshing to see the restraint that director Jeff Nichols brings to the narrative. Wisely, he avoids religious aspects of Curtis’ apocalypse and keeps it very close to life, making forces of nature vengeful and destructive right until the very end.
Many films have addressed the plight of mental health, but few rarely seem to live them out. This one does it with a quiet fearlessness that has you thinking days afterwards.
