Blythe Danner should get to do this more often.
The Tony- and Emmy-winning actress is just splendid in Brett Haley’s unexpectedly terrific indie I’ll See You in My Dreams. Imbued with unwavering realism, generous restraint and careful nuances, the film manages the tragicomic evocation of aging with grace and humility, and without much care for forced conflict. It’s all the better for it. Despite taking on a rather standard episodic structure for this kind of small-budget slice-of-life, everything that goes into Brett Haley’s sophomore feature is seamlessly executed. Courtesy of a magnificent cast and a well-observed script, it promises to be one of the summer’s brightest cinematic surprises.
From the outset, there’s something very different about I’ll See You in My Dreams. Opening on Carol (Danner), a Los Angeles widow of decades who lives nicely if not with much excitement, the film makes a firm point: you don’t seen a movie protagonist like this very often. Seventy year-old Carol wakes up, feeds her dog, plays bridge with her gal-pals, makes herself dinner, and turns off the lights around 11:30. It’s a comfortable routine. That is until one morning, when the dog doesn’t wake up.
Mike White’s brilliantly odd Year of the Dog used a similar catalyst to drive his protagonist out into the world, but his hyperactive sensibilities are the exact opposite of Haley’s. Thankfully, this movie doesn’t push the death too hard. Carol still goes on with her day; she doesn’t wallow, or find herself miserable, or light up with an epiphany. The emptiness of the home gives way to an inescapable sense of loneliness, one that was in reality there all along. The film’s opening act is blessedly patient and honest, allowing us to feel out Carol as a human being without spelling out her mindset or dragging her into a predicament. She strikes up a friendship with her pool boy, Lloyd, played by a perfectly-cast Martin Starr (killing it in a different way on Silicon Valley). The script, by Haley and Mark Basch, pulls these two together so organically that the lack of contrivance is practically magical. An offhanded comment from Carol makes Lloyd laugh; an admission of confusion from Lloyd touches Carol, both for his openness and his humility. There’s a draw between the two that doesn’t need to be verbally described. We understand it by simple osmosis.
This is a movie about aging, but its preoccupations are much subtler and more universal. The absence of conflict or drive is actually quite staggering; the movie’s great risk is its immense reliance on the audience’s ability to connect to the characters, the relationships, the words. The scenes between Carol and her retirement home-laden friends are lightly funny and dramatically engaging, but the dynamics are intensely raw and genuine. The casting here doesn’t hurt. June Squibb steals every moment with her wickedly comic edge, Mary Kay Place lends gravitas and dry comedy to a part that doesn’t say much on the page, and Rhea Perlman looks to be having a ball just by getting to be buddy-buddy with Ms. Danner. These four women sit around their bridge table, bantering better than most any quartet on a network sitcom right now. But in the innocuous moments of conversation, we get into their lives and their very being. This Jerry, that Jerry, the Gerry with a G -- their lengthy, confused back-and-forth about “which Jerry is dating who” reveals a sense of community. Their splashy, playful talk of dating reveals each woman’s relationship to grief, to romance and to the past. And their final scene together, in which they agree to go on a cruise (even though Place’s Rhonda gets seasick), shows off a resilient group, unwilling to stop living but very willing to make fun of themselves in the process.
Again, though, the “unwilling to stop living” concept isn’t played broadly or as a cliche; rather, it’s treated more as a “Why the hell not?” proposition. My eyes tucked up and were ready to roll when the four decided to test out Perlman’s medical marijuana -- were we getting into a Betty White-style romp of old ladies smoking pot? Most definitely not. Haley’s direction through these scenes is astutely measured, allowing the comedy to blend in without a hitch but not by treading into broad territory. It’s refreshing not only to see a “pot” joke done right, but to be able to watch a bunch of seniors get stoned and just, well, hang out afterwards. The trust in simplicity is mammoth in its effectiveness. One could call it “pleasant,” in the best sense of the word. But I prefer effortless: the dynamics still persist, even if the personalities are a little heightened and the comedy a little more potent. The characters are still very much themselves, just able to inhale the excitement of doing something for the first time in a while.
A budding romance between Carol and Bill, an enigmatic, cigar-chomping retiree played irresistibly by Sam Elliot, similarly crackles for its authenticity. The script shines brightest in scenes between them, capturing the awkwardness, the uncertainty and the childlike wonder of new love. Haley’s direction is also at its best here, demonstrating a staunch comfort in silence and a profound perceptiveness in the ways in which people connect. Their growing closer is never glossed over -- through every word and every reaction shot, we feel the shared affection strengthening. On their first date, when Carol makes a well-timed Sopranos joke, Bill’s eyes jump, ever-so-slightly. “You watch that show?” he asks, admiringly. “Every episode.” He smiles. It’s the kind of small, astute moment that makes this movie so special. Fiction sometimes has us believe people just fall for each other. But through friendships and romances alike, I’ll See You in My Dreams demonstrates how -- the moments of recognition, of emotion, of understanding. You don’t realize how rare it is until you experience it with this movie.
What I love most about Danner, and what I think comes through so marvelously in this film particularly, is her acting pitch. She doesn’t go big unless she needs to. She’s always centered and never manipulative. She runs the sensory spectrum here, managing both harrowing sadness and biting humor within a singular voice. (Plus, she nails a musical number, as if she needed to prove herself any further.) It’s an unimpeachably great performance: natural, honest, personal, layered and connective in the purest sense of the word.
Certainly, the film is imperfect. Like many indies of its kind, it opts for a rather trite framing device and concludes on an admittedly anticlimactic note. But I’ll See You in My Dreams is smart, and it's very moving. The film eventually goes darker; you're bound to choke up eventually. But it’s completely earned, beautifully fitting into the film’s tonal template and thematic structure. As it approaches its climax, the film reveals itself less as a moral or redemptive tale and more a sad, wistful and open-ended story of regret and loss. Carol is investing in new friendships, new loves, new ideas -- but it’s a lot more difficult when so much time has already passed, and so relatively little awaits. As Carol grows older, connecting with people gets tougher. So does finding meaning in it all. But that’s what makes it worth it. I’ll See You in My Dreams is an unflinchingly honest expression of hope, loss, grief and dignity. It’s humane, messy and slight. It’s also real. This is a part of life, both physically and emotionally, too rarely conveyed in art. Kudos to I’ll See You in My Dreams for doing it justice.
Grade: A-