Twenty-something Thomas (Callum Turner) leads a difficult
life, although his problems have a definite upper class bent. His father
(Pierce Brosnan), a publishing house executive, has always been distant and
hypercritical, a sharp contrast to the manic-depressive affections of his
mother (Cynthia Nixon). He lives in a small apartment on the Lower East Side
that looks quite homey, but is apparently geographically incompatible with others’
expectations of him. There are also girl troubles: Mimi (Kiersey Clemons), a
young woman with whom he had a one night stand, wants to continue their
friendship while he yearns for more. An aspiring writer whose ambitions met
with paternal discouragement early on, Thomas remains entrenched in a
post-collegiate funk of “finding himself”.
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| Callum Turner and Kate Beckinsale in The Only Living Boy in New York |
The plot really kicks into gear one evening when Thomas and
Mimi spot his father out at the same bar with an unknown younger woman, Johanna
(Kate Beckinsale). Concerned for his mother’s mental stability, he first sets
out to learn more about this stranger, then tries to force her to end the
illicit relationship. Thomas is arguably more successful at the former since he
winds up entering into an affair with Johanna himself. Throughout all the
upheavals and minor tragedies hovers W.F. Gerald (Jeff Bridges), Thomas’
heavy-drinking, cigar-smoking neighbor, who provides him with timely, often
humorous advice.
There is a strong sense of the Hitchcockian—romantic
intrigue, secret identities, a loss of innocence—at work in Allan Loeb’s
script, with one important distinction. Although selfishness and cluelessness
abound in his characters none of them are fundamentally bad people. Their
attempts at happiness may compromise chances of a similar outcome for others
around them, but even philandering dad Ethan seems to hope everyone can emerge
relatively unscathed. Such optimism in the face of increasingly tangled
deceptions is quite welcome, if improbable in practice. One quibble would be an
unnatural abundance of witticisms and sage observations scattered throughout
the dialogue. Those who found Cormac McCarthy’s The Counselor pretentious might lodge a similar, albeit less
severe, complaint here.
Great performances distinguish all the members of the main
cast. As Thomas’ neighbor, though, Jeff Bridges routinely steals the show. He
injects a great deal of humor into the serious proceedings and, at times,
voices aloud some of the absurdities silently noted by the viewer. Callum
Turner holds his own very well in the strong ensemble. Toeing a realistic line
between youth and adulthood, his distinguishing naiveté lends a sympathetic air
to those around him.
Marc Webb directs with an assured and indulgent hand. We
sometimes view a conversation framed through a distant doorway or window,
lending to it a sense of furtive intimacy. Several long takes allow players
major and minor to trace the full emotional course of a scene, rather than the
flashcards of expression that prevail when too many cuts occur. Rob Simonsen’s
score makes for the perfect complement and adds a touch of classic drama to the
proceedings. Amidst the references to Soul Cycle and Starbucks a touch of
nostalgia endures: for the old New York, for old movies, perhaps even for days
made simpler by our ignorance at the time. What’s most refreshing about The Only Living Boy in New York is its
conclusion that life’s complications can enhance, rather than diminish, one’s
experience of it. We might not always get happy endings in the real world, but
it’s a treat to watch a story that reaches for something beyond ever-trendy
cynicism in its telling.
RATING: ★★★ ½
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