2.5 stars out of 5
Jeff Goldblum and old-timey mental hospitals? This really seemed up my alley. We meet young, sad, inexpressive Andy who works in a hockey rink run by his grandpa oh wait the movie says it’s his dad. It is the early 1950s and the world is grey and brown, or at least the director’s color palette is. Andy’s life is one of routine — driving the Zamboni, sharpening skates, wandering the rink’s dark back rooms, etc. — though he occasionally betrays an interest in… shhh… ladies.
Tye Sheridan, 23, plays Andy, and I was very impressed with him all the way back in 2013’s Mud, and he was also solid as the lead in Ready Player One. Here, he has the perfect mid-century face for the role. We learn that Andy’s mom is gone and won’t see him, and later we learn that she’s in a… shhh… mental hospital.
The dad dies and what is Andy gonna do now? Luckily Jeff Goldblum shows up. He is Dr. Wally and he treated Andy’s mom at the hospital. Wally is the anti-Andy — he’s loose and jokey and charming and he loves the ladies. Basically he is Jeff Goldblum turned down to about a 4. Wally offers Andy a job, traveling around with him, photographing patients. What is Wally doing to these patients? Electroshock therapy and lobotomies, that’s what!
We have the makings of a coming-of-age/road movie/buddy picture, but because it’s an “art film” it’s not really any of those. They drive from town to town to these sad hospital wards, Wally does his thing, followed by the exploding FLASH of Andy’s Polaroid Land camera. At night Wally drinks and fools around with ladies and has crippling drunken bouts of guilt about what he’s doing to these poor patients, as we slowly learn that Wally’s methods are being replaced by more “humane” procedures. Andy just watches.
The movie feels like a poem, and there is much arresting imagery, but unfortunately the script doesn’t have very much to say. Which is not the worse thing in the world, except then there’s a contrivance in the plot that hurtles us toward a conclusion which I didn’t buy at all. The film really gets away from director Rick Alverson and I became eager for it to end. I noticed that Alverson was one of three co-writers; I feel this movie would’ve benefited from just one person behind the wheel.
Jack Silbert, curator