How do you define the essence of a man
who's no longer here? No longer here in a mental sense, that is.
Alexander Payne and veteran character actor Bruce Dern venture to do
just that in Nebraska. As a character study about a somewhat
tragic figure nearing the end of life's journey, it is rife with
fascinating nuance, although not without expense to the story it
tells on the surface.
Woody Grant (Dern) is a millionaire. Or
so he believes. The letter he received in the mail clearly tells him
that he's a “winner”, and failing to recognize the blatant scam,
he sets out on foot from his home in Billings, Montana to Lincoln,
Nebraska to claim his million dollars in person. Surely, any
reasonable kin would agree that the time has come to put Woody in a
home, but his son David (Will Forte) has other thoughts. Much to the
chagrin of his harried mother (June Squibb) and his older brother
(Bob Odenkirk), David plays along with his dad's delusion, agreeing
to drive the stubborn codger to Lincoln until Woody accepts the
reality of his quest. Stopping over in Woody's hometown – the
depressed community of Hawthorne – gives some old family and
friends a chance to catch up, but word about his money luck starts to
get out of hand.
Dern finally gets the career role he's been working for in Woody Grant. The expositional dialogue penned for his convoy of family, friends, and enemies may be a needlessly clunky backstory vehicle, but it does liberate Dern to focus on acting method and internalize what other actors may have felt the need to make explicit. The brilliance of his performance is not so much in his commitment to the behaviours of a senile old fool, but in his most underplayed reactions to hearing others describe him and his past. We get the sense of a man with an entire lifetime of history he wishes he could express, but which his deteriorating mind won't allow him to.
But however spellbinding Dern may be to
watch, Nebraska suffers when he's not in it. Bob Nelson's
script – though insightful when it wants to be – indulges in a
few too many predictable cliches
from a narrative standpoint, and vacillates between really nailing
middle America and simply exploiting obvious stereotypes more than
Woody vacillates between doddering dementia and self-aware lucidity.
Also, the affectations of Payne's directorial rhythm feel a bit put
on when going for laughs. It's not that the film isn't funny, but
it's just not “haha” funny, leaving many awkward beats stranded
throughout the film that dulls its potency.
Perhaps the reason its comedic elements
only work in fits and starts is because even the observational humour and relationship
healing is informed by a deep underlying sadness, and Payne is
careful to craft the film as such. Phedon Papamichael's stark
black-and-white photography nicely captures a heartland fallen on bad
times, while Mark Orton's elegiac bluegrass dirges make for perfect
scene transitions on the soundtrack. For all its
dry wit, Nebraska is ultimately a eulogy for a generation at the end of its
long and winding road, with nowhere to shuffle off into but a barren,
uncertain future.
**1/2 out of ****
