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CINEMA SEEN - "Depression Is As Depression Does" By William Margold Depression is an utterly debilitating malady. It is a sneaky bastard, ignited by some form of misery inducing event (or events) that insidiously starts to drain away at your mind.and then at your body. It creates a state of "not wanting to do a damn thing." Laying in bed, looking at the clock, and being pleased in discovering that more of the day has passed than you thought, so, in fact, there will be less of it to deal with when you finally do drag your pain-wracked (for no tangible reason) body up to confront the daylight, is a very common by-product of "depressionation." Depression sandpapers nerve-endings, making you feel agitated and frustrated over the slightest annoyances. It literally sucks the life out of you! Depression is at the very center of the very smart UPSIDE OF ANGER (New Line Cinema)---from writer/director Michael Binder. And it is displayed brilliantly, and achingly, by Joan Allen, in a performance that should be reckoned with come next Oscar season. Only problem is, this is May, and we are many months away from even the first 2005 Best Actress nominations rumblings. So, as a person who likes to make predictions, and who likes to champion causes, I'm a little depressed over putting my chips on the magnificent Ms. Allen, while sensing that it may well be a futile act. When her husband "disappears"---Allen, very angrily slips under the sheets of "woe is me"---despite the presence of four pretty cool daughters (Erika Christensen, Evan Rachel Wood, Keri Russell and Alicia Witt), who despite their own complexities, valiantly attempt to offer support and solace in any way that they can. But the most attention comes from family friend, retired pro baseball player/cranky radio show talk host Kevin Costner as an overage adolescent in the body of a grown man, with, by the way, both an adolescent's and a grown man's needs. Costner, in easily one of the best roles of his career, has spent much of his career playing other baseball game related characters in such films as "Bull Durham," "Field of Dreams," and "For Love of the Game." And in essence, ALL of those roles were preparing him for this moment, and he beautifully underplays it to the hilt. Spoiled, sly, serene, and yet sort of shy, Costner conjures up rich memories of Jack Nicholson in "Terms of Endearment." And while Allen isn't really ready to deal with Costner's unbalancing act, she does manage to find a perverse pleasure at being hedonistically irresponsible herself, which temporarily breaks up her depression. Allen and Costner are remarkably comfortable, and comforting, playing off of, and with, each other. And for this, writer-director Mike Binder (who places himself in the film in a very unflattering role) must be acknowledged for deftly managing to keep his motion picture remarkably honest, vital, and for lack of a better term, "adult." Just the thought of being "adult" depresses me, as I like to fancy myself an eternal 12-year old, frolicking free of "adult" problems in my own concocted (and cockeyed) playground. But every once in a while, someone is capable of rattling my popsicle stick cage, and then I have no choice but to acknowledge that person (herein Mr. Binder) for making me realize that there are more serious things in life than waiting for recess to start all over again. end NOTE: Originally published in L.A. Xpress, May 19, 2005. |