I Know How Fully Devoted You Are: Farewell, My Queen (2012)

This set of films for the month of March is taking a decided turn toward France, but that just happens to be the result of two things, either they were immediately available to me, or as in the case of this film, something I wanted to see before entirely committing to a top ten list for 2012.  Farewell, My Queen, a film by Benoit Jacquot, of whom I am not familiar with, is certainly within the context of my month of women in film, considering that it essentially focuses on the experiences of the storming of the Bastille and the subsequent attack on the residence of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI, however, where many films would place the narrative centrally within the experiences of either member of royalty, this particular incarnation focuses on one of the servants to Antoinette, both fresh in the take on the popular bit of period piece, as well as likely riding the coattails of Downton Abbey and other upstairs/downstairs oriented dramas.  Even if it is existing in the vacuum of this thematic approach, Farewell, My Queen is decidedly its own work and focuses quite directly on the experiences of one woman, whose navigating through the spaces of privilege, while also being detached from them, serves as a half-expose on the French aristocracy of the era and wholly evocative, intrusive piece of cinema.  Of course, what makes Farewell, My Queen such a heavily noted film from last year is not any of the aforementioned elements, but what it decides to suggest about the theory that Antoinette was engaged in lesbian activities, during her life.  While the film could have taken this idea and run amuck with it exploiting nudity and sexuality without apologies, the exceptionally introspective and pensive film actually considers the romantic evolution of such a relationship, particularly how navigating such a socially unacceptable relationship might have occurred, through shared whispers and back room intimacies.  I will not go out of my way to say that Farewell, My Queen is a great film, it is indeed quite good and well worth watching, where it does fail is simply in its overly ambitious narrative a fault that one can only be so critical of in a overall soundly created film.

Farewell, My Queen, while possessive of multiple characters, focuses primarily on Agathe (Lea Seydoux) a young woman attempting to make her own in the world while working as the appointed reader to Marie Antoinette (Diane Kruger).  In the beginning of the film, Agathe is more concerned with making her advancement within the halls of the palace, despite being blocked by older women who see her as being disrespectful and precocious.  Marie, however, seems to take a particular liking to Agathe and talks very candidly with her about her opinions about life, of course, avoiding to do so when in the presence of others.  Yet, within hours of this being depicted, the Bastille is sieged and it becomes rather clear that the palace will be destroyed and beheadings will ensue for all those with power, Louis XVI and Marie being the first names on the list.  This revelation, understandably, leads the palace into a degree of anarchy, a facade of formality is attempted, yet as workers begin quitting or turning to the aid of the peasants so too does the sanity in the palace.  In the madness of it all, Marie finds herself revealing a deeply kept secret to Agathe about a relationship she has been having with Duchess Gabrielle (Virginie Ledoyen), one with a very real sexual element.  Agathe sees it as her duty to keep Marie's secret hidden, even with the presence of evasive questions and a complete dismissal of authority information transition.  When it becomes quite evident that to stay at the palace will be to assure death, Marie is baffled to find out that Louis expects them both to remain, a concern that worsens when she is told that Gabrielle will be leaving, leading to them having a final moment of intimacy without interaction in front of the entire royal court.  In a last ditch effort to assure her safety, Gabrielle plans to have Agathe dress as her during the escape, just in case they run into hostile peasants,  all the while Gabrielle will attempt to pass as a maid.  This plan proves successful for them, however, as history tells us things were less ideal for Marie Antoinette, yet, in a final challenge to the viewer the closing dialogue is Agathe reminding everyone that the film is of her story, not that of anybody else, no matter how historically important.

The film is about a lot of things, however, whether it be navigating class issues or accepting ones sexuality, it is overly concerned with the idea of performance.  This exists perhaps most obviously in the manner with which class and prestige are performed.  The various servants of Marie are expected to act in an upright manner, even when she is being excessive and completely detached.  In fact, when Agathe scratches her itching arm it makes a huge controversy arise where Agathe's job is threatened for acting of a lower and filthy class, even though it is established that Agathe is to always be below Marie, yet she is also expected to perform as friend to her at all times, exchanging opinions about trivialities such as fabric.  Of course, sexuality is also performed to a degree, Marie, who the narrative suggests to be at the very least bisexual, must also perform heterosexuality, when in public and even when things are falling apart, the concern for saving face makes her reject her bisexuality openly, and the same thing certainly holds true for Gabrielle, although one could argue that she is engaging in a certain degree of deception.  I would even stretch this another layer further and add the possibility that Agathe is also a lesbian, although she claims to engage in every action as a direct result of her devotion to the Queen as an authority figure, however, given the state of authority at the point in which the narrative emerges, one cannot help but think that her affection extends beyond mere aristocratic hierarchy.  Then there is also the very real performance which occurs on the part of Agathe and Gabrielle where they essentially switch identities, one becoming the object of desire for Marie, while the other moves away from that realm, perhaps into the roles they were ideally intended for, one cannot say for sure, yet it is rather evident that their both exist feelings that betray the acts they have up until this point been performing.  It is a brilliant multi-layered identity narrative which will likely benefit from multiple viewings.

Key Scene:  There is a scene where Marie is removing her wig and wiping off her makeup that says so much about her letting her guard down only moments later, it is cinematic metaphor executed to an otherworldly degree.

This is a solid film, I am still not a hundred percent sold on it, as such, I would suggest renting it to see what you think.

Why Do Some People Have All The Luck While Others Are Miserable? Summer With Monika (1953)

I am currently working my way through the fascinating set of episodes entitled The Story of Film: An Odyssey which are currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly, I might look into writing a brief blog about them when finishing.  The expertly crafted documentary has served as a refresher course on some of my favorite moments in film, while also reminding me that there are a ton of films, both globally and genre wise that I have yet to see, or am even aware of for that matter.  While I knew about Summer With Monika due to its relatively recent Criterion release, I had sat it aside as something I might get around to watching, an action that seems far to frequent when concerning the works of Bergman.  However, when the episode of European New Wave film came about a brief scene from Summer With Monika popped up and I was instantly captivated and pushed aside who knows what film in order to assure that it would be included at some point on this month of women oriented posts.  I am glad I did so because, in a uniquely Bergman way, the film manages to weave together an existential reflection on suffering and satisfaction, while also being a multi-narrative coming of age tale set against a working class Swedish landscape so bare and disparaging that it makes Bergman's most critically well received film, a personal favorite of mine, The Seventh Seal look optimistic.  Many seem content to claim Orson Welles as the master of black and white filmmaking and while I would never question his relevance or magnitude as a director, I think the magical minimalism one receives from the work of Bergman rivals, and at times surpasses, Welles on multiple levels, not to mention, Bergman's deceptively innocent narrative, which begin optimistic and carefree only to come clashing into the bitter truths of reality.  Upon my initial viewing of Moonrise Kingdom, I suggested that it was quite a great film, and I do still think it better than a lot of things that were released last year, however, when I realize that the quirky beach romance scene is heavily lifted from a far more sobering scene in Summer With Monika, I am reminded that the "borrowing" Wes Anderson often does places him in a category far similar to that of Tarantino than as an indie god that he seems intent on maintaining.

Summer With Monika, focuses, as the title suggests on a summer spent with a girl named Monika (Harriet Andersson), but the narrative does not solely focus on Monika, but, instead; her relationship with a young man named Harry (Lars Ekborg) whom she takes a liking to after bumming a match off of him at a restaurant.  The two instantly fall head-over-heels for one another spending countless days and nights together, so much so that both eventually quit their jobs in order to assure plenty of time together, yet, what starts off as innocent dates to cheesy American movies evolves into a very serious and intimate relationship that is not wholly embraced by their friends and family, particularly considering that Monika appears to have romantic pasts with multiple men in the town whose jealousy is often directed in a physical manner upon Harry.  After one to many instances of frustration and condemnation the two commandeer a family members boat and take a trip to a secluded beach.  It is there that they set up a small pseudo-life together eating what they can acquire off the land and sharing in a very physical relationship.  Yet, when Monika discovers that she is pregnancy their faux-adulthood comes crashing into reality and every action and though its predicated upon assuring the safety of the unborn child, including Monika's desire for real meat, which leads to them stealing from a rich household, only to get caught in the process.  Eventually realizing that they can no longer survive in the wild the two return to their town where they are faced with needing jobs, Harry goes to school to be an engineer while also helping Monika raise a child.  Monika grows discontent quickly without being able to spend frivolously and engage in a carefree lifestyle.  She eventually leaves Harry out of frustration at their lack and is shown talking with men at bars, at which point Monika breaks the fourth wall in a defiant reaction to viewers condemnation.  Harry is shown taking care of the child on his own and the film ends rather abruptly, no hope for the reunion, because in reality young love rarely works out perfectly.

It would be easy for a viewer to call this movie depressing and, as a result, not very watchable.  It would also be simple to dismiss Monika as a vindictive and ignorant character and thus not likable.  However, both situations absolutely betray the complexities present within Bergman's beautiful film.  A certain portion of people go to movies to escape the woes of reality and hope to be shown something that affirms a higher good in the world.  Those persons are not who Bergman made films for, particularly considering that he was highly personal with the imagery and narratives he created, whether it be their scathing inquiries into the existence of God, or perplexing reflections on the possibility of romantic ideals in an abrasive modernist society.  For Bergman, and for Monika in this film, normalcy and expectation are far from comforting and, in fact, betray any sense of progress of self-affirmation.  Monika is not a vengeful character as so many reviewers seem to suggest, I would argue that she is a victim of modernity, in that she seeks answers to her own existence, one she hopes to detach from the suffering and woes of her working class parents, as well as the consuming longing of every male she seems to encounter.  It appears for much of the narrative that she has achieved this sort of free floating state of escapism with Harry, which is beautifully made into a metaphor with the boat, yet, when that constantly moving separation from the tragedies of reality is destroyed, out of what seems to be ungrounded malice that reality returns and no amount of assurance or hard work by Harry can help Monika deny her chains of working class oppression.  As such she begins her quest again, although her recent experiences seem to have darkened her prospects of escape, literally so in the scene when she breaks the fourth wall.  Instead, Monika, Harry and one could say the viewers are left to embrace the fleeting memories of touches, sounds and dances only to know that it is these infrequent moments of happiness that allow for the misery of everyday life to be bearable.

Key Scene:  Monika and Harry dancing on the pier will break your heart and it is at a point in the film when you still have hope for their relationships survival, but it is executed with such symmetrical, minimalist detachment that it clearly serves to distance this ideal moment form the aforementioned tragedies of reality.

This is a masterful film, but one should expect nothing less from the great Swedish director.  I watched this on Hulu and it looked fantastic, however, I intend to get the bluray and suggest you do the same.

It Suits You, But It's Not Right For Us: Through The Olive Trees (1994)

Abbas Kiarostami is not unfamiliar to this blog some months ago I heavily praised his work Close-Up as being not only an absolutely cinematic and politically intense work but a means to better represent exactly what I feel cinema can provide as a sort of simulacrum and recreation of our own historical and cultural understandings.  It should be no surprise then that his film from four years later Through The Olive Trees manages to provide a similar sense of metacinema that is not only referential to other moments in cinematic history as well as its own historical relevance, but too is  means to better understand our own performances within moments, particularly when those moments are clouded by disaster, loss and coming to age much quicker than planned.  While I am by no means an expert on Iranian history, nor their culture, I would venture to say that the means by which tragedy influences the film, would be similar to a filmmaker making a film about making a film about 9/11...if any of the makes sense, probably not though.  To follow the work of Kiarostami one must inherently be willing to deconstruct their notions of traditional narrative, as well as cinematic spaces, particularly when it comes to question what amount of honesty and validity can arise from a cinematic moment, one that is constantly changing and influenced by a multitude of off screen factors, whether they be something as minor as the misplacement of props or something much larger, as is the case with unrequited love in this film.  Furthermore, given the rather problematic construction of the Middle East that has been created with the Western, particularly American, rhetoric one could find themselves assuming that an Iranian film would be cultural insensitive, sexually oppressive and negative on a large scale.  However the work of Kiarostami, and from what I understand is the case for most Iranian filmmakers, they manage to remind viewers that for a very large portion of the Iranian people war and politics are just as unwelcome and corrupt as they are in the states and it is their government preventing them from speaking against these injustices, not matter how brilliantly they manage to do so within a filmic setting.

As was the case in Close-Up the line between actor and character are often blurred, something that is engaged with from the films beginning when we are shown the actor Mohamad Ali Keshavarz, who plays a director within the film, explaining that he will be going to a girls school to cast the role of a young girl within Kiarostami's film, making it as much a moment of documentary filmmaking as it is the actual narrative.  While this is the only moment of direct breaking of the fourth wall, the films other main character of sorts Hossein is played by a young man named Hossein Rezai, causing the lines between reality and fiction to further blur.  What one is able to draw from the hybrid of fact and fiction is that Hossein has given up his life as a mason worker with the hopes of becoming an actor, a dream that has been pushed healthily forward by being cast in a leading role by the director from the beginning of the film.  A problem emerges, however, when the role of lead female is given to a neighborhood girl named Tahereh (Tahereh Ladanian) of whom Hossein has attempted on countless times to court.  Despite having lost both her parents in an earthquake, an event that evades every conversation in the film, her grandmother a conservative refuses to grant Hossein's requests for marriage, despite her daughters liking him, stating that he is both illiterate and does not have a house for them to live in upon marriage.  Hossein is not stupid and realizes she is just being elitist, noting that most newlyweds do not have homes, and that if so desired he would take up masonry, yet again, solely to provided them with a private domestic space.  While it is hard to tell, Tahereh does take a liking to Hossein within their repeated performance of a scene in which Hossein is to find his shoes, eventually ending the day of shooting.  While the adult crew bickers over issues of moving equipment Tahereh begins walking home only to eventually be followed home by Hossein and in what is a moment of absolute cinematic magic, we are given an extremely long distance shot of Tahereh finally answering Hossein about marriage.  We are left to wonder about her answer as the young man runs back across a green field.

There could be countless books written on not only the state of metacinema, but the director Abbas Kiarostami as well.  In fact, I may make it a goal of mine to read at least one book of criticism on this director while on Christmas break, as I imagine it will have a profound effect on my understanding of cinema as a larger concept.  Yet this is not the topic I want to discuss when concerning oneself with Through the Olive Trees.  Instead I find it to be a film incredibly influenced by what role tragedy and loss has upon youthful bliss and ignorance.  As mentioned, an earthquake which occurred a few years prior in Iran evades every moment of the film and is, in fact, mentioned in many of the meta scenes filmed within the film.  We, as viewers, are led to believe that whole families were lost within the disaster leaving a variety of dismantled and broken homes, both literally and figuratively.  As such, many, if not all of the youth and children within this film seem to exist in an uncomfortable space where they are required to dismiss their youthful bliss in the face of forced roles in adulthood.  This certainly holds true for the two young boys bringing flowers and plants to the filming set whose looks of loss and confusion cannot be ignored.  Furthermore, it invariably affects the means and manner of how Hossein woos Tahereh, in that much of his rhetoric is surrounded by offering a safe domestic space in which they can be their own family and create their own home for the future.  Nothing in his talks suggests youthful love and blind ambition, yet the head over heals nature of his approaches to winning Tahereh certainly do, particularly when he follows her in a near stalker manner begging for her hand.  In the end it appears as though the two young people are provided with a fragile and beautiful moment of young happiness, or at least that is what I like to imagine in the film closing moments, if not it will go down as one of the saddest endings in cinematic history.

Key Scene:  There are a few car scenes with a POV camera that are still fresh and unique to watch despite having been overused since their introduction in this film.

I want to say that buying this film is a no brainer...tragically there is not film version to watch.  However, there is a version of it available on youtube that is of decent quality.  You may want to check it out before it inevitably disappears.

Whatever God Wills Is For The Best: Pather Panchali (1955)

As I dig through the last few movies on the TIFF essential 100 list, I am having trouble obtaining copies of some of the more elusive titles, particularly Region 1 DVD copies.  This was the case with Pather Panchali, until I obtained a surprisingly cheap copy on Amazon a few weeks ago.  I found out quite quickly into watching the film why the copy was so cheap.  It was clearly a rip from a television recording that was of rather bad quality and displayed a bug in the right corner of the film the entire time.  Furthermore, the subtitling for the film was terrible and often would simply remain on the screen until the next piece of dialogue occurred.  You would assume that this combination of issues would make the film all but unwatchable, but the sheer magnitude of the film, combined with Satyajit Ray's honest filmmaking allowed me to become mesmerized by the film regardless.  While it certainly helps to see the acclaimed Bengalese director's films in high-definition (The Music Room).  Viewing this film recently verified that it is equally important that his films be seen in general, for he is perhaps the most overlooked director to ever live, if only second to Jean Vigo.

Pather Panchali, in contrast to The Music Room, focuses on a poverty stricken family attempting to exist in a rural portion of the Bengalese countryside sometime in the 1920's.  Although he does not arrive for the first portion of the film, much of the narratives focus is no that of the family's youngest Child Apu, who very much in the form of Truffaut, would become the subject of a trilogy of films for Ray.  Apu, along with his rather precocious sister, Durga exist as a sort of other within their own town, living off little to no food as their preacher father wastes their money on extravagances and alcohol.  As such, the burden of the family rest uncomfortably on Apu's mother who is rarely shown in a moment of happiness and is instead forced to punish her children for constant theft while also pushing away a leeching aunt-in-law who constantly whines and consumes the families resources.  Most of the film centers on the mothers struggles, while Apu and Durga look on with confusion and a lack of understanding as to why they have so little and their neighbors seem to have so much.  At one point, it appears as though Apu's dad has finally found steady employment only to disappear for months while their residence falls to shambles.  Apu's mother has all but given up hope, until she receives a letter from her husband explaining that he will return home with a large amount of money, which will assuredly fix their strife.  Tragically, his return is a day too late as a terrible monsoon destroys their house and kills his only daughter in the process.  There is a considerable amount of mourning before the family agrees to move into the city, Apu finds a necklace that belonged to Durga as they are leaving, one which he clearly intends to keep in his possession as a memory of her, it is to be assumed that the family is moving into prosperity, if only in a technological sense.

This excellent bit of cinema won the "Best Human Document" award at the 1956 Cannes Film Festival.  While this may seem like a rather unusual award for a low-budget narrative film, it is fair to note that it is the only film in the festivals history to receive such an award.  Through his inclusion in this festival, Ray managed to become a name amongst the film world and create an acknowledgement for Indian filmmaking on a global scale.  However, it is difficult to pinpoint precisely what about the film would have led juries to create such a category for the film.  I would be so bold to suggest that it is quite possible that Pather Panchali is one of, if not, the best documents of human existence ever.  While the film is certainly narrative in its composition, it depicts a reality so earnestly and intimately that you have trouble remembering that it is fictional.  So much of the film is mundane, whether it be Apu's brief moments at school, or the way the camera lingers on the mother's chores indefinitely.  If the film were just this it may not have been received so well, but what Pather Panchali does is to take the mundane moments in life while also sprinkling in those moments of enlightenment that hit us throughout our lives, particularly evident in the moment when the children see a train for the first time, or when they are caught a storm under a tree (probably one of the most beautiful moments i have ever seen in cinema).  Like The Music Room, Ray's debut work reminds viewers that life is about existing and eventually dying and our interactions on each occasion matter more than we care to believe.  It is learning to hear and acknowledge those around you that assures your brief existence is somewhat enjoyable.  Perhaps, Pather Panchali then is not so much a Human Document, but a guideline to society about how to exist in a meaningful harmony with those around us. 

I want to tell you so desperately to purchase this film, but tragically few good copies exist.  Should you be fortunate enough to own a laser disc player, then maybe you can get a decent looking copy.  If not just wait patiently for a rerelese in HD...I hear Criterion has one deep in the works.

I Pray My Soul Comes To Maturity, Before It Is Reaped: The Phantom Carriage: 1921

When bringing up early silent cinema most discussion either lead to acknowledging the technical revolutions of Georges Melies, or the innovative narrative abilities of D.W. Griffith, and in most instances to the oneiric qualities of German Expressionist filmmaking.  Few, however, bring up Sweden's involvement in the movement, particularly Victor Sjöström and his horror drama The Phantom Carriage.  As technically unique as Melies and as narratively grandiose as Griffith, The Phantom Carriage is a thing of exceptional beauty and grace that manages to both astound general audiences and art house fanatics alike.  Not only is the film composed brilliantly and written with a astute understanding of human nature, but it has proved to be one of the most influential films to emerge from the silent era, something that has directly and indirectly influenced Ingmar Bergman and Stanley Kubrick amongst others.  The Phantom Carriage in a mere hour and forty minutes manages to take a deep look into human sacrifice and the nature of forgiveness with such meticulous care that it makes you wonder why this film is only beginning to reemerge as a silent classic, because it is equal to its contemporaries, if not a notch better.

The Phantom Carriage takes place on New Year's Eve in a small Swedish town.  Tragic news has emerged that a Salvation Army nurse named Edit (Astrid Holm) is in the through of death.  Meanwhile, at the local graveyard a drunkard named David, played by the director, spews out a story to his fellow drunks about the curse of the first person to die in the New Year taking over the job of the grim reaper's chauffeur.  After telling this tale, David is approached by an old friend named Gustafson (Tor Weijdan) who informs him of Edit's sickness and attempts to convince the inebriated David to return to her before she dies.  Confused and enraged a fight breaks out between David and the other drunks, which leads to David accidentally being killed right before the clock strikes midnight.  As a result, David's eerie tale becomes a reality as he is visited by death and is informed of his new duty for the coming year.   Death, however, turns out to be David's former friend from the story he told named Georges (Tore Svennberg) who realizes that he is in an unusual circumstance and takes David on a journey through his past before taking him to reap the soul of Edit.  In a series of flashbacks, it is revealed that David led a considerably bitter life, particularly following his bout with tuberculosis, which he spreads cynically to those around him.  He, in fact, is responsible for giving tuberculosis to Edit and desires greatly to receive her forgiveness before she dies.  In a bit of magnificently composed paranormal communication David is finally able to mend things with Edit and display his regret.  As such, Edit dies in peace and David is spared the job as the driver of the phantom carriage.  He is also allowed another shot at life, which he takes to the fullest, making sure to save his wife who was on the cusp of suicide.  The film closes with David and his wife embracing, as the previously cynical man now celebrates the fleeting moments that represent his life.

The Phantom Carriage is incredibly fixated on notions of sacrifice and forgiveness and the film focuses on these themes with a method that is both subtle and direct.  In the tradition of silent film styling, many of the title cards are composed with words like "forgiveness," "sorry" and "my fault," and are often followed by gestures of grand acting in which each performer depicts a hyper-sorrow, which ensures that viewers understand the characters guilt.  More subtly, the narrative approaches how one comes to deal with guilt and earn forgiveness.  In Sjöström's film one is not granted the comfort of forgiveness until they have gone through a Buddhistesque trial of loss, in which they learn the value of gaining.  It is not until David has assumed that he has lost everything, including his life, Edit's and that of his family that he realizes the true meaning of nothingness.  Prior to this he assumed that simply being sick was the worst thing God could do to him and that in rebellion against such an unfair treatment that spreading his disease was justifiable.  At this point his soul was not able to sacrifice for others and, thus, not able to receive forgiveness.  It is not until he can see the sacrificial actions of Georges, or the saintly patience of Edit that he comes to understand the nature of a truly loving soul.  Ultimately, the film reminds viewers that to sacrifice, means to accept ones own fortunes as well as ones own faults and that, in order to be forgiven, one must truly accept responsibility for their wrongdoings.  It is at this point that a soul can then be reaped.

The Phantom Carriage is yet another masterful release by Criterion.  The bluray is most excellent and comes with multiple scores to listen to while viewing the film, which is extraordinary and wholly captivating.

Hi, Are You In There?: Everything Must Go (2010)

As a comedic actor, Will Ferrell is boisterous, abrasive and condescending.  Yet when he takes on serious roles this childish demeanor becomes tragically real, as is the case with Dan Rush's inaugural film Everything Must Go.  The film does not offer anything new to the middle aged drunken failure narrative, nor does it display the medium of dark comedy in any new or unusual way.  Yet, the film works harmoniously to show one man's struggle to rediscover life after losing everything and realizing that it is when a person has nothing that they are in a position to truly give everything. Everything Must Go is a soundly made film that benefits from veteran actors, a heartfelt soundtrack and the right dash of indie style cinematography.  It is an enjoyable film that at no point tries to overpower its viewers, but instead offers them a window into one man's rise and fall.

The basic premise of the film is that Nick Halsey (Will Ferrell) becomes a middle aged unemployed man after yet another work related skirmish that was directly tied to alcohol abuse.  This problem is only exacerbated by coming home to find his belongings strew across his yard, as a result of his wife leaving him.  This combination of bad luck leads Nick to undertake a drunken stupor in his front yard in rebellion.  His refusal to reconcile the situation is quickly ended when he is informed by his AA Coach Frank (Michael Pena) that it is illegal for him to reside outside of his residence.  Fortunately, Nick is able to salvage a few days of life on his lawn by running a yard sale.  In the process, Nick befriends a young boy Kenny (Christopher Jordan Wallace) who reminds him that learning and growing are continual processes, even in ones later years.  Nick eventually recovers and after another round of devastating news and decides to move on with his life, even if it means starting over clean.

The film is very reminiscent of Eastern philosophy, particularly notions of Karma and cyclical life experiences.  Nick represents the particularly bad person, who eventually receives punishment in the form of job and love loss.  However, in classic Hindu fashion, his choice to be good and promote positive actions result in favorable experiences as his karmic energy changes.  More importantly, however, are the notions that life is truly a continual flow of ups and downs, to steal from Eastern ideas it is an inexplicable series of Yin and Yang days.  Nick realizes this truth not when looking at himself, but instead when visiting an old high school friend Delilah (Laura Dern), who after having brief luck now resides in his town with two children alone.  She is the aftermath of Nick's experiences and serves as a reminder to him that even if life is currently miserable it is his choice to accept the fate or to correct it through positive actions.  He is reminded of his possibility for good nature as Delilah points it out to be something he undertook quite regularly in the past.  It is a story of loss and gain, both physical and spiritual and could be easily missed for those only skimming the film at the surface level.

This film is likely still in theaters in much of the U.S. and is certainly enjoyable.  Despite being a blatant commercial for PBR it is well worth watching and picking up when its released on DVD.