The End of the Tour, James Ponsoldt’s wordy, meticulous new film, is never completely sure of itself. In straining to turn towards a more structurally conventional path, it’s the rare movie where conflict mostly fills space, while dramatic tension and mood erupt out of loose dialogue.
It works, almost in spite of itself. Centered on the late novelist David Foster Wallace (played by an unassumingly transformed Jason Segel) and his assigned Rolling Stone profiler, David Lipsky (Jesse Eisenberg), The End of the Tour carefully wrestles with notions of fame and the ordinary, of impulse and what’s inherent. Wallace is caught by Lipsky near the end of his book tour, having endured weeks of swarming fans and attention. It’s contrasted with Wallace’s near-obsession with an Americana plainness; he lives remotely and is remarkably paranoid about technological dependence. Lipsky, some five years his junior, is meanwhile seeking that notoriety: his novels don’t sell very well, and a Wallace profile is the among most substantial pieces he’s been ever able to work on for the magazine.
There’s an unsettling, distressingly quiet way in which the two men project onto one another; Wallace’s suicide, which came not long after, similarly hangs over the film and informs its every move. A lot is at play. It might seem easy to dismiss what Margulies, the playwright behind Dinner with Friends, a masterclass in banal conversation, brings to Tour. After all, a majority of its content has already been published, whether in Lipsky’s actual article or his follow-up book (published in honor of Wallace after his death). But when the two men sit in a diner, or a car, or Wallace’s chilly, remote cabin, the precision of the words and the calibration of momentum is a sight to behold. Every beat is exacting, every word and phrase carefully selected.
Margulies holds a vital skill: he’s able to openly inject big ideas into dialogue without a heavy hand. Indeed, Wallace’s rambling, tenderly philosophical oeuvre demands such a command of words. But by expanding each silence and by capitalizing on each inflection, Margulies sets on a beautifully volatile rhythm. He realizes the core elements of struggle between his two principals – power, idolization, fear and intimidation – and allows them to flow loosely, back and forth. As a portrait of two individuals, it’s impressively full. As drama, though – as pure drama, in which every bit of intrigue and momentum is dependent on character interaction – it’s just spectacular. This is a work that comes down to loneliness, exploring it as a natural consequence of the American conceptualization of success. Margulies deftly writes to this idea: you hear it in the long quiet spaces, in the moments of existential inquiry and in every awkward chuckle.
Perhaps expectedly, The End of the Tour veers off track when it tries to extend beyond freewheeling duet. The conflict swells and there’s an unnecessary charge in the energy; as the mood intensifies, the film loses its core of intimacy. It’s never quite assured enough, or it at least seems only sporadically aware of its strengths. Jealousy arises over whether Lipsky was flirting with an old flame of Wallace’s – hint: he was – and from there, the tension between them builds to take up physical space. It’s palpable, but also distracting – disappointing, even. Early on, there are moments when Lipsky or Wallace notice the other stealing one of their pseudo-profound phrases – they hear it, and they lock eyes, but don’t say a thing. It’s subtly, unnervingly embedded in every subsequent conversation – a more nuanced evocation of their strenuous bond, in other words. The film is simply harder to connect to when Ponsoldt and Margulies feel the need to spell these issues out, as they sand off some of its ruggedly humane exterior.
Ponsoldt’s method is incredibly hands-off; The End of the Tour is thoroughly dominated by its script and performances. The director is effective from moment to moment – for the most part, scenes are terrifically-paced and -pitched – as he’s nicely in-sync with his actors and is able to capture his characters at their most vulnerable. Furthermore, while his camera is unobtrusive, it plays a role: two people consistently fill the frame, but loneliness always takes up the most space. It’s that juxtaposition that gives this film its beating heart. It’s suffused with melancholy.
But this is also a work that could have benefited from a more commanding vision. The End of the Tour is unfortunately plagued by Ponsoldt’s anticipation, an issue the director also contended with on his last pic, The Spectacular Now. (Remember that car crash?) Margulies writes to a definitive three-act structure, but eventually, the film is overwhelmed by animosity. It thrives as the talky, wonky, quirky two-hander. But as core ideas – mainly, about the relationship between writing and fame – turn repetitive, and Ponsoldt turns the atmospheric notch up a bit, Tour sacrifices realism for a mixed attempt at more encompassing drama. Then, its ending engages in the kind of “Great Man” cliche that everything preceding it so intently avoids.
The End of the Tour is in its element when it’s messy. When it’s ordinary. It reaches catharsis in the most innocuous of moments – in a quick side-eye from Lipsky, or an isolated esoteric musing from Wallace – and the characters’ naturalistic rapport evolves marvelously as a two-character study. For that, you can thank the actors, Tour’s chief asset. Wallace, as a public figure, is an assumed damaged eccentric – one need not look beyond his literary style or tragic fate to carry that belief. But Segel’s performance focus is startlingly contained; rather than impersonate the man, he embodies an essence, and if not note-for-note accurate, it’s a harrowingly honest interpretation. Eisenberg, in a turn equally intelligent, spare and committed, compliments this nicely. He plays Lipsky with rough, complex empathy, and he works off of Segel vividly. In these actors' hands, the film’s ideas and emotions stick on like glue.
Therein lies this film's very soul. Throughout, Wallace and Lipsky question each other, less interested in the answers than the dialogue itself. They're striving to connect their inner-most selves with something tangible (as in, each other). And to that idea, at the very least, The End of the Tour provides an essential humanist demonstration.
Grade: B+