L.I.E.
by Jason
Clark, Co-Creator and Theater Editor, ©
Matinee Magazine
Tom
Cochrane once sang that "Life is a highway, and I wanna ride it
all night long", and in the opening moments, we see the ultimate
highway of mystique, the Long Island Expressway, which our young
narrator Howie (Paul Franklin Dano) helpfully instructs us is where
singer/songwriter Harry Chapin ("Cat's in the Cradle"), film director
Alan J. Pakula (Klute), and his own mother have all been
victims of deadly accidents. This ominous road has both a scary
and comforting effect on the teen, as it is the very road that robbed
him of his preferred parent, but also an example of a life ahead
that he would much rather get on with. Michael Cuesta's L.I.E.
begins with Howie traversing the overpass of the expressway, and
you think you're in for another precious musing on lost childhood
and unsteady adolescence. You do get some of that, but what makes
L.I.E. an especially arresting indie film is that it keeps
pulling the rug out from under you in terms of where it's heading.
By the end, it isn't necessarily how you'd hoped (or desired), but
the trip was well worth it.
The film has
already caused controversy for its subject matter (which has been
slapped with yet another wholly unwarranted NC-17 rating by the
MPAA). Pundits have already dubbed it "the pedophile movie", as
it chronicles the mysteriously defined romantic tryst between Howie,
an impressionable but bright 15-year old, and Big John (Brian Cox),
the much older ex-Marine Howie develops a relationship with after
his sex-for-pay best pal Gary (the perfectly cast Billy Kay, who
was plucked from the very same region the film takes place in) has
split town after their botched robbery of Big John's home. Gary
was a client of Big John's, turning tricks by the roadside; Howie
has been left to take the fall, but makes a deal with Big John.
He will attempt to get his stolen property back, but Big John wants
something in return.
That something
is exactly where the film's biggest surprise lies. Instead of being
an object of leering disgust for Howie, he begins to cling to the
notion of what Big John represents. The film pulls no punches in
detailing Big John's affection for underage boys, but the novel
thing is that it never punishes him for it. Howie has a concrete
father figure in Marty (Bruce Altman), his tart-bonking, mostly
absent dad who is eventually arrested for business reasons, but
he finds Big John's dedication pleasing. In one gripping scene,
Big John explains to the boy in very graphic, frank terms what he
sees in such a boy, and the scene gives one a jolt simply because
of its honesty. Howie, like many kids his age, seems unfazed by
Big John's lasciviousness, mainly because he can identify with the
lonely man that resides under it. They find that they need each
other for more than sexual reasons; they are the missing part of
their lives personified in each other.
L.I.E.
is not meant to titillate audiences or invite snickers, as it never
passes judgment on either character. Neither is necessarily doing
the right thing for their well-being, but it seems right to them
and therefore rings true to an observer. The reason the movie comes
off so well is in the performances of Brian Cox and Paul Franklin
Dano, who command one's attention with their detailed portrayals
of the older man and young boy, respectively. Dano is the greatest
young find in years, and has the film's most difficult role. Somehow
he must convey the skill and assurance of a teenager while retaining
a believable vulnerability in order to make his relationship with
Big John seem credible. But in the hands of this beguiling, utterly
natural young performer, Howie possesses all of these characteristics
and more, and evokes true sympathy for someone whose most cherished
figures seem to be plucked from his life in succession. Cox, whose
gallery of work is already impressive, is similarly stunning in
his ability to make Big John more than your garden variety, creepy
old troll. Cox pulls off the unenviable task of creating a noticeably
underhanded character that doesn't make you want to head for the
hills. The actor finds considerable reserves of sadness and pathos
in Big John, even though his philosophy might seem terrifying. When
the movie settles in on their give-and-take relationship, you're
watching two of the year's most arresting performances.
If only the
movie has resisted the detour it takes in its final (unsatisfying)
20 minutes, as the relationship between the two is truncated to
provide an all-too pat resolution that is completely out-of-sync
with the psychological depth of the rest of the picture. Its view
of suburban culture lacks a lot of what made Sam Mendes' American
Beauty a little too flip by really probing their surroundings,
but the wrap-up reminds one a little too much of that lesser picture
by transparently finding a way to resolve the story that doesn't
seem in keeping with how fairly it had been playing to the audience.
But for a first film, L.I.E. remains highly admirable and
wisely makes you forget the countless dumb movies about teenagers
moviegoers have been forced to sit through this past year (Terry
Zwigoff's miraculous Ghost World is, of course, excepted).
Based on this terrific effort, the road ahead for Michael Cuesta
looks very promising and detour-free.
|