The Savages

I left The Savages, written and directed by Tamara Jenkins (who also wrote and directed the wonderful The Slums of Beverly Hills), irritated and in a foul mood, but not because it’s a bad film. It is, in fact, a pretty good film, but depressing and focused on characters who come across as more pathetic than sympathetic. Philip Bosco is excellent as the aging Lenny Savage, nearing death and growing increasingly feeble. Laura Linney, always terrific, is strong as the daughter who tries her best to help, but the fact that she is having an affair with a married man (Peter Freidman, playing a manipulative loser) makes her less likable as a character. Although she dumps him in the end, she asks to keep his crippled dog, and the closing scene with her jogging with the dog in a harness due to his arthritic legs comes across as a trite attempt to end on a hopeful note for her. Since she is a writer who begins to achieve some success as a playwright, it seemed to me it would have been more effective to simply end with the portrayal of that success signaling her life turn-around. And while I can understand her feelings of tenderness towards the dog, is it realistic that someone would take the dog into her life, a daily reminder of the bad relationship? I suppose that’s a question better addressed by a true dog lover. Not being a dog owner myself (although I don’t dislike dogs), maybe I just can’t relate to it.

Philip Seymour Hoffman as usual is utterly believable in his role as Lenny’s other child, and the interplay between him and Linney is a good portrayal of the relationship between two extremely self-centered siblings. Unfortunately, as with Jack Black in Margo At the Wedding, when Hoffman’s character cries, it comes across as pathetic rather than funny or moving, and I found myself rolling my eyes. There are moments of heart-felt humor, and moments that felt true to life, but the characters are simply not very likable. These are characters who, rather than want to see rise to the occasion and get their life together, you just want to kick in the ass. The film started to feel stifling and at a certain point, I simply was looking forward to it ending. The fact that it kept me engaged, however, is a testament to the fact that it is a well-made film focused squarely on some of the most important issues a film, or any art form, can address: death and dying, responsibility to our parents, how we live our lives, the search for love and intimacy. An interesting discussion followed this film when a fellow viewer pointed out the parallels to Peter Pan; Laura Linney’s character named Wendy, Hoffman’s named Jon, both fighting growing up and facing life head-on, and Wendy’s play, based on her brother as a boy, featuring a scene where a little boy ascends to the heavens. So, bravo to Jenkins for making a film focused on such serious issues and in some ways, an important film. Just not an enjoyable experience.

But then, perhaps there are two kinds of positive movie-going experiences; the experience of being moved (if irritated as well…) but recognizing the film as not one necessarily to be returned to, and the experience of enjoying a film so much that one immediately looks forward to seeing it again. And when the latter happens, it’s often worth going a second time; I enjoyed going back to see Ratatouille, just to see for a second time the scene where the film critic tastes the ratatouille and is transported back, for a fleeting, beautiful moment, to childhood. If A Tree Grows in Brooklyn had been playing a second time at the MOMA, I would have absolutely been there. And then there are those negative movie-going experiences, when one just wants the film to die already, and when one is better off getting up, leaving the theater, and looking for something to eat. Perhaps Thai food, or a nice thin crust pizza…