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That '70s Mope
Rating: Two & 1/2 Stars
By JONATHAN L. FISCHER, The Bulletin
Why are the suburbs so suffocating, and why were the ’70s so sad?
That’s what I wish I’d asked Steven Martini at a question-and-answer session following a screening of “Lymelife” last month during Philadelphia Cinefest. Mr. Martini co-wrote the film with his brother Derick, also its director, and it loosely depicts a school year of their childhood growing up on Long Island, N.Y.
There’s much to admire in this well-meaning and exceptionally acted bildungsroman-in-miniature, but precious little we haven’t witnessed before, from F. Scott’s Fitzgerald’s musings on an illusory American Dream to the alienated stories of John Cheever to the woe-is-suburbia films of Sam Mendes. At times, “Lymelife” also recalls smaller movies like “The Ice Storm” and “The Squid And The Whale.” But keeping tally of how few new things “Lymelife” has to say can quickly obscure how precious little it has to say at all.
Which, I suppose, is a shame: In its funnier moments, it’s easy to recognize “Lymelife” as a nostalgic movie. In the uglier instances, it’s plain that the Martini brothers want their film to be an honest one. That they’ve cast two siblings — Rory and Kieran Culkin — as stand-ins for themselves speaks to such good intentions.
Set in the late ’70s against the backdrop of a Lyme disease outbreak in an upwardly mobile Long Island town, “Lymelife” witnesses the crumbling of two families through the eyes of Scott Bartlett, played by the younger Culkin, Rory. He and we meet cute: His room is strewn with “Star Wars” figurines and he often stands shirtless in front of the mirror quoting “Taxi Driver.” In the first scene, his mother Brenda (Jill Hennessy) is duct-taping his pant legs and sleeves shut, as she doesn’t want him bit by a Lyme-carrying tick. This is supposed to be humorous, in that awkward, motherly sort of way.
The Lyme disease is also meant to suggest a sort of ill-defined, if familiar, suburban paranoia, which is put into plain relief by the person of Charlie Bragg (Timothy Hutton), a neighbor of the Bartletts who contracted the disease sometime before “Lymelife” begins. He is unemployed, and a high-pitched ringing tends to accompany his presence on screen. A “perpetual acid trip” is how he half-jokingly describes his ailment, and we sense he has become a shadow of the breadwinner he once was. Which doesn’t leave his wife Melissa (Cynthia Nixon) nor his daughter Adrianna (Emma Roberts, niece of Julia) exactly thrilled.
Here’s where things get complicated: Melissa is having an affair with Scott’s dad Mickey (Alec Baldwin), an ambitious real-estate developer, and Scott’s crush on Adrianna may or may not be reciprocal. Oh, and there’s also Scott’s older brother Jimmy (Kieran Culkin), who is in the army and is about to be deployed to the Falklands. He shows up not far into the film and beats up a bully on Scott’s behalf. A depressive pall, occasionally punctuated by nostalgic humor, envelops each scene.
Phew. Got all that?
Despite the Braggs’ and the Bartlett’s intermingled relationships, the Martini brothers’ coming-of-age tale is more concerned with characters than plot. This is a blessing, especially given the excellent performances of Mr. Baldwin (he embodies a certain ugly charisma better than any actor), Ms. Hennessy and Mr. Hutton. And although the point-of-view ostensibly belongs to teenaged Scott, eventually “Lymelife” begins to feel more like a tale of two patriarchs. (It’s also worth nothing that, given how nuanced some characters are, Ms. Nixon’s and Ms. Roberts’ are conspicuously one-dimensional.)
The larger problem is the Lyme disease motif: Employing acts of nature — like, say, an ice storm, or Camus’ plague — to suggest some other, societal condition is a well-worn path, and a respectable one. But the metaphor demands weight, and suburban ennui, at least as ill-defined as it is here, isn’t up to snuff.
Of course, the Martinis do have plenty of themes in mind: young, naïve love; the inevitable moment when we recognize our parents’ fallibility; and even a sort of oedipal conflict. But none of these are explored in any depth; instead they are dressed with cutesy accoutrements like a scale plastic model of a housing development (suggesting conformity); close, lusting, vaguely creepy shots of Adrianna’s very red lips; and a glut of fanboyish “Star Wars” jokes. As instruments of sheer nostalgia, all of this coheres endearingly, if unremarkably. For more perceptive commentary on a lifestyle, at a certain time, in a certain place, I’d stick with my Cheever and Fitzgerald, or at least my C-3PO and R2-D2.
Jonathan L. Fischer can be reached at jfischer@thebulletin.us
That’s what I wish I’d asked Steven Martini at a question-and-answer session following a screening of “Lymelife” last month during Philadelphia Cinefest. Mr. Martini co-wrote the film with his brother Derick, also its director, and it loosely depicts a school year of their childhood growing up on Long Island, N.Y.
There’s much to admire in this well-meaning and exceptionally acted bildungsroman-in-miniature, but precious little we haven’t witnessed before, from F. Scott’s Fitzgerald’s musings on an illusory American Dream to the alienated stories of John Cheever to the woe-is-suburbia films of Sam Mendes. At times, “Lymelife” also recalls smaller movies like “The Ice Storm” and “The Squid And The Whale.” But keeping tally of how few new things “Lymelife” has to say can quickly obscure how precious little it has to say at all.
Which, I suppose, is a shame: In its funnier moments, it’s easy to recognize “Lymelife” as a nostalgic movie. In the uglier instances, it’s plain that the Martini brothers want their film to be an honest one. That they’ve cast two siblings — Rory and Kieran Culkin — as stand-ins for themselves speaks to such good intentions.
Set in the late ’70s against the backdrop of a Lyme disease outbreak in an upwardly mobile Long Island town, “Lymelife” witnesses the crumbling of two families through the eyes of Scott Bartlett, played by the younger Culkin, Rory. He and we meet cute: His room is strewn with “Star Wars” figurines and he often stands shirtless in front of the mirror quoting “Taxi Driver.” In the first scene, his mother Brenda (Jill Hennessy) is duct-taping his pant legs and sleeves shut, as she doesn’t want him bit by a Lyme-carrying tick. This is supposed to be humorous, in that awkward, motherly sort of way.
The Lyme disease is also meant to suggest a sort of ill-defined, if familiar, suburban paranoia, which is put into plain relief by the person of Charlie Bragg (Timothy Hutton), a neighbor of the Bartletts who contracted the disease sometime before “Lymelife” begins. He is unemployed, and a high-pitched ringing tends to accompany his presence on screen. A “perpetual acid trip” is how he half-jokingly describes his ailment, and we sense he has become a shadow of the breadwinner he once was. Which doesn’t leave his wife Melissa (Cynthia Nixon) nor his daughter Adrianna (Emma Roberts, niece of Julia) exactly thrilled.
Here’s where things get complicated: Melissa is having an affair with Scott’s dad Mickey (Alec Baldwin), an ambitious real-estate developer, and Scott’s crush on Adrianna may or may not be reciprocal. Oh, and there’s also Scott’s older brother Jimmy (Kieran Culkin), who is in the army and is about to be deployed to the Falklands. He shows up not far into the film and beats up a bully on Scott’s behalf. A depressive pall, occasionally punctuated by nostalgic humor, envelops each scene.
Phew. Got all that?
Despite the Braggs’ and the Bartlett’s intermingled relationships, the Martini brothers’ coming-of-age tale is more concerned with characters than plot. This is a blessing, especially given the excellent performances of Mr. Baldwin (he embodies a certain ugly charisma better than any actor), Ms. Hennessy and Mr. Hutton. And although the point-of-view ostensibly belongs to teenaged Scott, eventually “Lymelife” begins to feel more like a tale of two patriarchs. (It’s also worth nothing that, given how nuanced some characters are, Ms. Nixon’s and Ms. Roberts’ are conspicuously one-dimensional.)
The larger problem is the Lyme disease motif: Employing acts of nature — like, say, an ice storm, or Camus’ plague — to suggest some other, societal condition is a well-worn path, and a respectable one. But the metaphor demands weight, and suburban ennui, at least as ill-defined as it is here, isn’t up to snuff.
Of course, the Martinis do have plenty of themes in mind: young, naïve love; the inevitable moment when we recognize our parents’ fallibility; and even a sort of oedipal conflict. But none of these are explored in any depth; instead they are dressed with cutesy accoutrements like a scale plastic model of a housing development (suggesting conformity); close, lusting, vaguely creepy shots of Adrianna’s very red lips; and a glut of fanboyish “Star Wars” jokes. As instruments of sheer nostalgia, all of this coheres endearingly, if unremarkably. For more perceptive commentary on a lifestyle, at a certain time, in a certain place, I’d stick with my Cheever and Fitzgerald, or at least my C-3PO and R2-D2.
Jonathan L. Fischer can be reached at jfischer@thebulletin.us
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| A Harmony Of Fine Acting, Fine Themes | Skewed Ethics, Strong Roles |
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