bencharif

I'm not a particularly avid follower of movie actors, or of movies as they're released, which probably explains why I found "The Confession"--and Alec Baldwin's performance in it--so surprising. I'd heard nothing about this film and saw it quite by accident.

Movies like "The Confession"--that is, movies with moral dilemmas at their center ("It's not hard to do the right thing; it's hard to know what the right thing is" is the central dilemma of the film)--often bypass the ambiguities of complex moral questions in favor of a single answer everyone can love.

In this film there are moral ambiguities aplenty, and the film deals honestly with the difficulty of facing those ambiguities head-on and taking a clear position. Alec Baldwin's performance was startling and complex--a beautiful thing to watch. The supporting cast, including Amy Irving, was top-notch, too.

The film's gritty outer-borough images of Queens, familiar to any born and bred New Yorker, got my attention instantly. But it was the film's two principal characters--both middle-aged, both survivors of difficult lives--that sustained it. He, an out-of-work middle management type, is a victim of corporate downsizing now living in a homeless shelter among a multiethnic, multiracial horde of down-and-outers, where he struggles to maintain bare-minimum standards of privacy and personal hygiene--and where remnants of his middle-class life set him apart from his surroundings. She, a faded beauty and still-struggling actress, maintains an oddly genteel life in a rundown two-family house nearby, surrounded by weedy lots and shuttered factories. As they meet and proceed to remove their masks, a kind of love story--brief, impossible, and ultimately doomed, is ignited. This is a beautifully shot and acted film, and a deeply affecting one.