Manchester By the Sea

This morning I saw Manchester By the Sea, starring Casey Affleck and Michelle Williams.

Lee (Affleck) is a divorced repairman who lives a quiet life alone until his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) suddenly dies, leaving him guardianship of his only son, Patrick (Lucas Hedges). Because the two never discussed this arrangement, he must decide whether to relocate himself or his nephew to make it work.

We learn from flashbacks that Lee once had a family of his own, and in fact the first person he thinks to call when he learns of his brother's passing is his ex-wife. We also find out that he left his hometown because of an event that he caused many years prior, so being around the old neighborhood triggers bad memories.

Patrick is basically a good kid, but he's a teenager, so he selfishly doesn't want his school or his friends or his hobbies to change at all. He also wants to hold on to an expensive boat his dad owned.

Lee wrestles with the decisions he will soon have to make for both of them, and the film is basically his journey getting there.

First, let me say that all of the hype about Affleck's performance is justified. For being a character who's meant to appear numb in the majority of the scenes, he does a phenomenal job of convincing us that underneath that layer of numb lies tremendous pain. There is never a moment where we as audience members don't know how he feels, yet the people in his life likely have no clue.

The script is brilliant in that it absolutely nails the stages of grief; not by telling, but by showing.

From the denial in the first moments, when gathering logistical chores actually dulls the reality of the situation, to the rage of overreacting to little things—it's all there. I also like how the screenwriter elegantly planted "triggers" that would set the characters off emotionally, just like loss does in real life.

The pain here was raw, but the sentiment sincere and never overdone. I barely noticed the score (a good sign in a heavy drama) and imagined the characters existing long after the screen went dark on their small Massachusetts town.

I'll be baffled if this movie doesn't score several Oscar nods, and disappointed if it doesn't win at least some of them.

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I'm Still Here

Today I saw the documentary I'm Still Here about the Joaquin Phoenix's career transition.

Casey Affleck directs this sad film about the fall of a once-great actor through biased eyes (he married Phoenix's sister, Summer, in 2006) and as a result the story feels too calculated to be authentic, even if it's not a hoax.

The story begins with childhood footage of the famous Phoenix siblings performing a song-and-dance routine for a sidewalk full of gawkers. You get the sense perhaps you're supposed to pity these kids, as if they had no choice, but from all I've read of their commune-like upbringing, it's hard to believe that was the case.

Joaquin's older brother River was the true star of the family, and had it not been for his senseless fatal overdose, probably would've become one of the greatest actors of our time. Joaquin has never matched that magnitude of talent, but he's certainly displayed the potential to (he's been nominated twice for an Oscar).

In 2008, after receiving praise for his work in the critically acclaimed Two Lovers, Joaquin allegedly decided to quit acting once and for all, and begin a recording career in hip-hop. The fact that he commissioned Affleck to begin filing at precisely this time is why I say "allegedly."

He plays to the camera as someone who is "on" in every frame. Whether he's doing lines of cocaine (yes, I thought this was especially tasteless considering the manner in which his brother died), dancing and fondling hookers at his house, or ranting at one of his many pointless assistants, he's undoubtedly performing.

There are a series of funny exchanges between Phoenix and Sean "P Diddy" Combs, who is too smart not to notice that his entire genre of music may be mocked by Phoenix if he consents to produce him. Joaquin is disrespectful, showing up late and unprepared, and Combs gives it right back to him in the form of much-needed tough-love lecturing. It was the best part of the film.

In addition to that train wreck, there are plenty more (the now famous Letterman appearance; a scorned assistant retaliating in the most vile way imaginable), which makes this entire documentary nothing more than a meandering reality show. And no, I didn't appreciate the "bathroom" scenes.

I'm Still Here is meant to leave you wondering if it was all a hoax or if Phoenix was really delusional enough to think he could transition from being a serious, successful actor to a flashy, hip-hop star overnight.

I'm sure (and hopeful) it's probably the former, but whatever the case, I like Phoenix a hell of a lot less after seeing it.

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Gone Baby Gone

Tonight I screened Gone Baby Gone, starring Casey Affleck and Ed Harris.

I love it when movies make me think.

There are those that say they simply go to the movies to be entertained, and while that's important, if a movie forces me to calculate decisions as I'm watching, or question my morals when I've left the theater, I have to rank it a little higher on the list than the fluff. And this one did.

The story tells of two young 'private investigator' types (Affleck and Michelle Monaghan) who get caught up in a missing children case with the Boston PD only to arrive at disastrous results. But that's merely the beginning.

What unfolds is a story of deceit, vigilante justice, moral integrity, betrayal and heartbreak. And I'm still making up my mind about the characters.

Affleck gives a terrific performance as the quintessential good guy and Harris is equally good as the tried-and-true tough cop.

But the twists in the writing and the exciting camera work are really what make this a thrilling Departed-like ride.

Proof positive that the other Affleck (who directed and co-wrote this) is at his best behind the scenes.