The Descendants (***1/2)

With his last four features (of five total), Alexander Payne has become our foremost cinematic chronicler of the adult white male self-examination crisis. However, perhaps because he has adapted a series of novels, he hasn’t repeated himself. Those who found Paul Giamatti’s wine snob in Sideways too ornery or found About Schmidt too slow may still like watching lawyer Matt King (George Clooney), imperfect husband and father, muddle through his own difficult time. King’s crisis comes when his wife lapses into a coma following a water-skiing accident. Payne’s faithful adaptation of a novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings isn’t as plot-driven or pithy as 1999’s Election, but it’s his most mainstream film since then, and in this case that’s not a bad thing.

As much as the California wine country in Sideways, the Hawaii of The Descendants is an important part of the story. The title alludes both to the state’s unique history—haole money men displacing missionaries and, then, the native aristocracy—to King’s two daughters. As Clooney’s voiceover, which paraphrases the novel, tells us, Matt’s the understudy, now cast as the star parent of his ten-year-old, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. So he gets his 17-year-old, away at boarding school, to help. The older daughter is played by Shailene Woodley, erstwhile costar of The Secret Life of the American Teenager, who’s both terrific and looks the age she’s playing. (First-time actress Amara Miller seems very natural as the younger daughter, a smaller part.)

Clooney is almost too likeable in the lead; only the voiceover and the anger of his daughter (no flashbacks) assure us that King’s been a neglectful husband and father or anything other than the reasonable man he seems here. A subplot about King’s being the trustee of a 25,000-acre parcel of land set to be sold to developers resolves how you’ll likely assume as soon as you’ve seen that first gorgeous shot of pristine coastline. Still, there’s an honesty to the storytelling and a good deal of humor right at the same time as the sad parts, which is as it should be in a movie where a comatose woman features so prominently. Alive yet unavailable, she forces King both to contemplate her death when he’s still angry at her and to figure out what he values. And yes, it’s a tearjerker.

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viewed 11/14/11 at Rave UPenn (PFS screening) and reviewed 11/18/11

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (***)

Jean-Dominique Bauby (Mathieu Amalric) was a successful journalist, the editor of the fashion magazine Elle, when he suffered a severe stroke. He was left with something called “locked-in syndrome” that left him able to move nothing but one eyelid. This is a film made by an artist, Julian Schnabel (Before Night Falls), so insistent on his vision that he made this story of a French man in French, which is notable because he’s American. It’s a notably artistic film, aimed at presented the experience of its subject, not his life.

The first third of the movie is shot entirely from Bauby’s point of view. We hear his thoughts, we see his at-first blurred vision, and so on. Confusion, annoyance, and frustration, along with sometimes wry observation, predominate, not sadness or self-pity. In other words, it’s not nearly as depressing as you’d think. It’s about the taking stock of one’s life, not death. Bauby reacts to visits from his doting ex-wife (Emmanuelle Seigner), his attractive (he notices) therapists, and his former business associates, with a mind as sharp as in health. When we see him, eventually, it’s a shock. This is an impressionistic movie, not plot-driven, and so may not be to everyone’s taste. At the same time, it’s unique and beautiful, with camera work that exquisitely conveys Bauby’s point of view.


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