March is certainly one of the more random times of year to release a movie. The award winners are still out there raking in the dough for the parts of the nation that didn't get a chance to see them while they were playing for -- oh, the past 150 some odd days. Studios are dumping their lousy high profile pictures to scrape up whatever cash they can and insure that the duds will be on Blu-Ray come summer time so teenage slumber parties and Netflix nights of guilty pleasure can be sufficiently fulfilled.
And somewhere in this mix there is always a strong as hell indie that pops its head straight into the arthouse world for the true cinephiles who've seen it all and are desperate for high quality work -- whether it's the latest French import, Julian Schnabel, or a stunner that should be given its moment to shine and dig its heels in for the long haul without and over-extended release blotter to unfairly drown it out. Win Win may be around a while -- or may well be back out, wowing folks in a second release come Christmastime. But it's official:
This season's solid, perfect little stunner is Tom McCarthy's Win Win -- the best film I have seen since award season -- which may not be saying much to some of you, given how early we are in the year. But I left the theater with a tear in my eye, a smile on my face, and in a state of deep thought: wondering what the hell movie is possibly going to come along between now and the major studio releases of the summer that could possibly be of better quality. This thing's got award season written all over it. From top to bottom. In every regard.
Hats off, Mr. McCarthy. Hats off. I place you in the same category as Todd Field -- though you're wildly different men of different end product, you're actors gone directors, stealthily weaving your way through a rather superb film career that walks the interesting line between indie and art-house. I don't know exactly what we want to call these Fox Searchlight-ish mini-major movies -- but they're wonderful novel-like films that pull us all into the heart of Americana and the specific little struggles each of us is going through. They continually prove that adventures and happiness can come out of nowhere, and show us how many unappreciated heroes are out there in the world.
I'm a sap, sure. But what of it? And I sat in the Angelika -- the perfect place to enjoy this movie morsel -- with my heart in a vise. I cannot recommend it highly enough and I am not going to delve into its plot and ruin it for everyone. I simply going to insist the world attend. However, I can't overlook the performances.
Every step Paul Giammati takes in the film is perfect. The kind-hearted desperado only trying to provide. The local attorney who may cross a line -- but certainly not into a realm that makes him a villain. And the kind of man who accepts the consequences of each action with full honesty and a weighty heart. He snuck into a Comedy Musical Golden Globe win for best actor this year for the very unseen Barney's Version -- who knows what will happen for PG next year. Perhaps he'll earn an Oscar nomination worthy of his consistent work, saluting the type of man he brings to the screen, rather than the period-piece boxing coach he brings to an off-kilter kitsch fest.
Is there anything Amy Ryan can't do? I barely enjoyed Gone Baby Gone and omit a comma from its title out of spite. While I can't deny Ryan's exceptional performance, the award locomotive that pulled out for that movie -- and was apparently missing a coal-car for this year's Town -- turned me off. It's perhaps my least favorite of the Southie pics. But I cannot remotely deny Amy Ryan's endless run of hits. She is the perfect match for Steve Carrell on "The Office" and now the perfect match for Giammati as the Jon Bon Jovi tattooed housewife who initially fears the runaway wrestler who moves into her basement -- nearly deadbolting him in. And flips immediately to wanting to pound the wrestler's mom's face in. And why not?
Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale -- what can I say. The wingmen to Giammati's wrestling coach are second to none. While I personally thought Cannavale stole the entire film -- and was thrilled to find him sitting in front of me at Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo (which you should all see) -- comic chemistry demands a balance of parts. Thus credit for this trio of coaches leads us right back to writer/director Tom McCarthy. Tambor's reticence and school bus screaming props up Cannavale's hero worship and over enthusiasm -- just as much as Giammati serves as the tee for every single one of their jokes. Once again Giammati lets perfect comedy performances buttress off his straight man. There's no Thomas Hayden Church here -- and that's good. It's not what the film requires. But the latitude Cannavale and Tambor take thanks to boss man Giammati can't be overlooked -- and never ceases to be hysterical.
Meet Alex Shaffer -- wrestling dynamo, Kyle. This is his first feature film and if we were still handing out statues for breakthrough males -- to actual breakthrough males -- this kid's got it in the bag. Who knows what he'll do next -- Eisenberg it? Hardwicke it? Be a werewolf? Be an X-Man? Whatever it is -- expect to see a lot more of it -- at all production levels.
Burt Young -- you've never done any wrong. Keep on trucking, Paulie. Keep on driving Jake Gittes' clients to Mexico. And keep on agreeing to the right indies. You were a wonder.
And finally, I'd like to take this time to offer a rare salute to the always working, always under-appreciate Melanie Lynskey. While the world focuses on Charlie Sheen's implosion and the impending doom surrounding "Two and a Half Men" one of the skein's little ladies has just kept plugging along, carving out the perfect career somewhere between Heavenly Creatures co-star Kate Winslet and the up and coming Rose Byrne. Melanie Lynskey has never shied away from playing the best friend, the mom, the pregnant girl in the background -- let's face it, the second fiddle. But boy, the concertos she chooses to play that fiddle in! Up in the Air, Away We Go, Flags of Our Fathers, "The L Word," Sweet Home Alabama, Shattered Glass, But I'm a Cheerleader, Ever After, Heavenly Creatures. This is not a career to shake a stick at. And Ms. Lynskey sure as heck isn't always "that girl." She is a go to actress -- plain and simple. Her work here as the derelict mother anchors the reality of this film and is the perfect balance to new-comer Alex Shaffer, veteran Burt Young, and dynamo Paul Giammati.
Run don't walk.
- Matthew J. McCue
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