The Savages is a perfectly enjoyable, low-key film, if rather a disappointing follow-up, after nine years, to Jenkins’ previous film, Slums of Beverly Hills. There are plenty of moments that are witty and affecting, but given this film’s Sundance pedigree, it’s both surprising and unsurprising how familiar everything feels and how often it falls short of its promises. For one, it’s not quite funny enough: Hoffman’s tennis injury is played for a quick and easy laugh and then immediately dispensed with, as if the filmmakers just needed a throwaway joke to spice up the trailer. But then, it’s not savage enough either, and it plays upon the heartstrings only intermittently and without much effect.
Perhaps this is a blessing, as it is nice to see a movie about family dysfunction that doesn’t wallow miserably in self-hatred and recrimination. And in any case, films like this rise and fall on their central performances, and this is what ultimately makes The Savages watchable. Linney is racked with self-doubt and self-medication, but she’s never shrill or cartoonish, and Philip Seymour Hoffman, for once, is totally endearing, even rather sweet, while still wonderfully, recognizably P.S.H. But best of all is Philip Bosco, who very quietly, almost invisibly steals the film as the aging, troublesome Lenny. He’s awkward, distant, irritable, and tough to read — it’s an utterly real portrait of dementia that totally eschews the usual sort of cuddliness most actors try to wring from elderly characters.
by Leo Goldsmith | Source: Fox Searchlight Pictures screener
31 Dec 2007 1:25 PM | Submit Comment
