“Hemingway must have had longer arms.”
Swift shot: Acting must be a hell of a drug, and even the most mundane people may suffer from dementia or Alzheimer’s, but when an actor loses his grip on reality – the torture to the soul is almost unbearable. At least, that is what I was hoping for when I started watching this film. That wasn’t what was conveyed, sadly.
Al Pacino almost plays himself, as aged thespian Simon Axler, a man who is approaching 70 and trying to keep everything together through bouts of apathy and depression. The film starts off with him having a bizarre conversation with himself before a mirror. He then takes the stage and proceeds to take a full gainer into the audience. In one comical scene (there weren’t many) he asks the ER nurse if she believed his moans of pain.
As you guessed, he’s committed to a rehab clinic, where he meets another mentally unstable person, Sybil (Nina Arianda) who has a flat affect as she explains to Simon that he must kill her husband. Naturally, he wants no part of this, and he’s not thrilled with her performance, being that she’s so emotionless. He doesn’t believe her character would be so dry given the reason she gives for why she wants her husband dead.
After he is released, an old friend’s daughter comes calling on him, Pegeen (Greta Gerwig) brings him a care package and quickly explains that she has always been infatuated with Simon, ever since he gave her a prop wedding ring, when she was 11 years old. Of course, with her mother being an actress, and her object of affection being Simon, she gravitated to the theatre. She is a professor at a woman’s college, oh, and she is a lesbian . . . supposedly. Faced with her old desires though, the youngster [she’s 40 in the novel] decides to seduce the old man. In his feeble state, it’s not that hard. Yes, I meant exactly what you think I mean, there. Presumably, they do have sex, and thankfully, we aren’t a witness to that.
Simon is warned off by Pegeen’s parents, her ex-lover, the head of the college, where Pegeen readily admits she slept her way into the position. Then there is Pegeen’s ex-lover of six years, Priscilla, or Prince, depending on your vantage point. Pegeen is a saboteur of souls, and all she really seems to be doing is teasing Simon and spending his money. She convinces herself that she’s pushing him to act again. I think that is a cover for her selfishness.
The story is ultimately about a desparate, sad old thespian bedding a self-absorbed lesbian who teaches him a lesson about . . . something or other.
I have never seen King Lear, nor read the play, but much of The Bard’s work is heavily displayed in The Humbling, from the novel of the same name by Philip Roth. I am not much of a fan of these slow, meandering films. I kept thinking they should re-title this one The Mumbling as it comes across as pretentious drivel, and I often have a hard time finding sympathy for most of the characters . . . especially Simon Axler.
I was excited to see Charles Grodin on film again, as he is one of my favorite actors from yesteryear. He was good, but really under-used. Al Pacino brought a theatre performance to the screen, and many times I felt like I was at the theatre and not watching a film. Greta Gerwig was miscast in this one; she’s a fine actress, but the way she was deployed by Director Barry Levinson left a lot to be desired. I had a hard time pinning down much about her identity, and as she got more screen time, the less I liked her. She wasn’t much of a muse, either, nor was she very amusing.
I did like how Simon’s episodes of dementia were handled, without being too artsy, it made you think, this poor guy must be having a hell of a time just getting through his days. And I wanted to feel something for his character, but like with Pegeen, I don’t even think he knew what his character was supposed to be. In one line, he even says something like that, about how he has no discernible identity.
If you are an actor, this movie might serve as a kind of warning for what awaits you in your golden years. A kind of Spotlight Scare affair, if you will, for when the curtains close on your mind. I don’t think many other folks will enjoy this languishing tragedy. For the record, I like Al Pacino and Greta Gerwig, but this film just left a bitter after taste on my palate.
[Swift aside: I did some brief research on the Roth novel; it would have been more believable if they stuck to it instead of tacking on a cliched ending about a final performance. Now I can see why Pacino released this his way, it was an homage, to himself!]
