polyprufrock

Interesting that this 2007 film is only now getting the recognition it deserves (a 2009 GLAAD nomination for Outstanding Film / Limited Release -- see Message Boards). Having never even heard of it when it was released, I just now finished watching it, and was deeply moved by its even-handedness and lack of melodrama. Instead of being a potboiler, Save Me (which indeed could have used some rescuing from the back burner of publicity) gently simmers its characters in a subtle stew of reason and emotion. One might expect the climax of such a film to concern sexuality, but instead it reaches out to encompass the gestalt of human relationship, of being and belonging.

As someone who watches almost no TV, I didn't recognize any of the actors, so I was pleased to discover them in this film. Gant and Allen were fine, Lang was excellent, and Judith Light was an absolute phenomenon: an astonishing performance of understated depth and nuance. She deserved an Oscar nod. The writing was thoughtful and well-balanced between character interaction and personal introspection (through individual disclosures to an off-screen presence revealed at the end of the film). Production values were superb, given what I assume was a small budget.

Along with exploring the psycho-dynamics of the individuals and their subsequently conflicted relationships, the film places the viewer at a level of detachment which promotes compassion for all of the principals - as well as a sense of forgiveness that is Christian in the very best sense of that word.

From all the reviews so far, I'm thinking I've stumbled upon a meeting of the Monty Lapica Fan Club.... Meanwhile, there's this film I saw last night with an audience that merely got up and walked out when it finished. And this particular indie theater is the kind of place where audiences easily clap when the credits roll -- unless the film is a dud.

This may not be the worst movie I've seen, but it's no Basketball Diaries. For starters, I commend Lapica for his multiple efforts, but he would have done better to have an actual teenager play the lead. I kept looking at this mid-to-late-20s guy and wondering why he was trying to portray a high school angst-ridden druggie. I don't care how intelligent the character (i.e. Lapine) is, he was just too-- neatly pressed, and too old, to be believed.

The dialog was wooden, the acting either stilted (Lapica and various reprobates) or overblown (Bowen), and the cinematography often washed-out and grainy (and not for effect). I'll give editor Kendall points for good flow and no continuity errors. But he had to work with trailing characters who said their lines and went nowhere -- and a big hole in the form of the pivotal but missing father whose death remained unexplained, and whose memory was as poorly detailed as the home movies that featured him.

There was a homogenized blandness to the proceedings that had me wondering if this project was backed by the Mormons or some other white-bread Christian group.... Despite the profanity, it had a fundamentalist ring to it. As a result, I had to keep focusing my attention consciously instead of being drawn in. The story may be based on actual events, but I had a hard time believing in it because almost everyone was isolated and self-centered. And so I remained unmoved by the plight of a handsome young narcissist who miraculously mends his ways thanks to the homeless black angel "Gabe"(riel), reminiscent of a Bulworth plot device.

All in all, it just goes to show what GQ looks and financial backing will do for a fella (who is this Tommy Bell producer-dude anyway?).... but I'm crashing the party here. Both the film and all the gushing about it smacks of major pretense. In fact, "Self Medicated" almost made me wish I was when I sat through it.

Every good fish-out-of-water story has a hook. In this film, it's not excitement or glamour or derring-do (well, no more derring-do than an aging retiree can muster) that moves events along, but the very real strength of human connection based on the frailty of human nature.

Harry is literally carried out of his NY apartment slated for demolition, and must learn to re- define home by going on an odyssey he never would have planned. He begins as an unwilling participant -- but because he has one remaining link to the life he knew (the tail-waving Tonto), he remains able and willing to see what's around the next bend.

Encountering children and grandchildren, bus drivers and prostitutes, old flames and old farts, each with their own agenda, Harry stays true to the notion of not reaching home until he knows he's truly arrived -- and that requires letting go of his need to matter to someone, as well as accepting the importance of his mattering to himself. It is one of the sweetest and most human (non-mythical) journeys you'll encounter on film.