Philip. Seymour. Hoffman. Three words that may be the sign that all is not lost in Hollywood. The sign that we are not condemned to an eternity of banal and insipid romantic comedies and action hero movies. An actual indication that at least in some circles talent is valued over poster boy prettiness. This is a man who makes an indelible impression on every movie in which he is involved. A small part in Magnolia becomes bittersweet in his hands. And a huge role in Love Liza becomes a ninety minute showcase of substance outclassing, outacting and outshining every pretty boy superstar out there. In other words, I really like Phillip Seymour Hoffman. And I really like Love Liza.

Love Liza tells a tale that has been told many times before (what tale hasn’t?). Wilson Joel (Hoffman) is grieving after the death of his wife Liza. The movie opens with Wilson arriving home, presumably after the funeral, to his dark and quiet house. The scene is so quiet that I kept reaching to turn up the volume. But there is no volume. There is only bottomless silence. This is the world that Wilson has entered.

We find out nearly immediately that Liza killed herself. Wilson seems unable to pass more than a few moments without someone or something reminding him of this fact. He is called at his workplace by the newspaper wanting to know if they should include this tidbit in Liza’s obituary. He is condescended to by nearly everyone who doesn’t simply weep upon laying eyes on him. And then there’s the letter. Wilson, understandably, is not sleeping well, and tries various locations within his house (and outside his house) to attain some elusive peace. One night after finally entering the bedroom he shared with Liza to get a pillow, he discovers the letter. A suicide note. Addressed to him. And he simply cannot bring himself to open it.

Wilson’s mother-in-law, Mary Ann (Kathy Bates) is the only person he initially tells about the letter. In her grief, she wants him to open it, but the pressure is subtle, for she needs him, he’s all she has left of her daughter. Even this loving, yet needy, presence is more than Wilson can handle, and he eventually lashes out at Mary Ann. His work suffers, and it is suggested that he take some time off. This he does, taking a vacation to the place he honeymooned with Liza. He pretends to be happy. He pretends to be functional. He pretends that he’s not dulling his pain via substance abuse. Eventually all this pretending comes crashing down when his boss declares that she finds him attractive, and he just goes away. Simply goes. Taking his substance of choice with him and careening through the world in a frenzied effort to escape. Escape the pain, escape the job, escape the letter (although he carries it with him). The movie chronicles the weeks following the death of Liza, and Wilson’s decline into an endless spiral of grief and guilt.

Director Todd Louiso gives us a beautiful film in Love Liza. The film is filled with silence, oppressive and menacing. It’s the silence of the one left behind, of a home wrenched apart in the most brutal of ways. It’s the silence that comes after the public part of death is over. It’s the silence of a house so filled with memories that the sole remaining occupant is drowning in them. When that silence is broken by the movies few outbursts, the effect is shattering. He gives us a man in Wilson who is not heroic, not in the movie sense. He doesn’t do what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t act the way he’s supposed to act. What he does is what real people do. He falls apart. He becomes a childlike addict, living only to get to the next moment, and doing whatever it takes to get him there. He follows every whim, every self-destructive impulse, with no thought to the consequences. And he does so, at times, with a manic sort of glee so heart-breaking that it’s difficult to watch.

The people around Wilson are as mired in themselves as he is, only on a different level. Mary Ann quietly grieves for her daughter and her son-in-law, while harboring the dark jealousy of a parent who has entrusted the care of her child to another, only to have the unimaginable happen. Wilson’s boss, Maura (Sarah Koskoff) is intent on ‘fixing’ him, so that he can get on with things. She even introduces him to her brother-in-law, Denny (Jack Kehler), with whom she mistakenly believes Wilson shares a hobby. Denny turns out to be the only one who can even remotely help Wilson. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, Denny sees things in the same concrete, here-and-now way as Wilson, enabling him to interact with the Wilson that is, not awkwardly attempt to hold on to the Wilson that was.

The whole movie is very spare. The scenes are, for the most part, short and definitive, without a lot of exposition on the nature of loss and the process of grieving. The photography (Lisa Rinzler) is the same. There is not lushness here. No rich, colorful world, but lots of fading to black as a short scene closes. Everything is sparse and lean, the only exception being the visual portrayal of Wilson’s dissolution under the influence. Even the scenes of Wilson’s more outlandish behavior are filmed straight on, no artsy angles to interfere with the story on the screen. Rinzler gives the house a beautifully composed combination of chronically shadowed rooms and fumbled attempts at making a living space, leading eventually to a stark barrenness that mirrors the heart of Wilson.

The score is interesting. For the meat of the movie, the score is spare to the point of being nearly nonexistent. Which is, of course, necessary if the silence thing is going to work. There are times, however, that silly sixties-type pseudo peppy music bursts forth. This is the music that accompanies Wilson on his journeys into fake happiness, or into delirious enthusiasm. All of these false emotions and fruitless actions are well accompanied by this out of place “shiny happy people” music. The score does appear at other times as well, generally as accompaniment to one of the less dark scenes without dialogue. As a whole, the score (and lack of score) is impressive, and adds greatly to the tone of the film.

The performances. Saving the best for last. As I may have mentioned, Philip Seymour Hoffman is outstanding as Wilson. He does not have the physical characteristics of a typical leading man, and he uses his body, with all its everyman flaws, with great success. He has Wilson’s grief written all over his face, in his voice, in his hygiene, in his posture, in his actions. We can no more escape it than can Wilson. But his Wilson is not only unconcerned with his appearance, he is largely oblivious to it, and the affect it may have on others. He has Wilson living totally within himself, to spectacular effect. Hoffman is in virtually every frame of the film, and it is almost impossible not to soak in the sorrow and pain that his character exudes. A fantastic and heart-wrenching performance.

Kathy Bates has a fairly small role as Mary Ann. In her scenes, she gives a good sense of the loss felt by Liza’s grieving mother, as well as the anger and confusion that are not only part and parcel of that pain, but also of Wilson’s stubborn refusal to grieve in her preferred manner. She gives a good sense of Mary Ann’s desperation to hold onto Wilson, as well as her need to see what is in the letter her daughter left behind.

Jack Kehler actually has a meatier role as Denny. He is able to portray Denny as finding Wilson fairly normal, even when it’s clear he’s not. Kehler doesn’t have Denny come off as dumb, but as a very concrete thinker who accepts things as they are, speaks bluntly, and isn’t overcome by the situation as are the others in Wilson’s life. Kehler manages to make Denny both a bit dim and quite endearing, as we see him actually willing to talk on the level that Wilson needs.

One of my first thoughts after seeing Love Liza is that screenwriter Gordy Hoffman has some very real experience with the type of situation he creates for his characters. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but he and director Louiso have created a movie that dwells in the lonely place between the shattering loss of death and the slow process of healing. In order to make an audience want to visit this place they have mined the wonderful skills of Philip Seymour Hoffman, who is ably supported by Kathy Bates and Jack Kehler. With photography and music that mirror the story’s core, the finished film is a testament to the universal feelings of isolation, desperation, fear and helplessness that accompany tragedy. A compelling and poignant piece of filmmaking, I highly recommend Love Liza. The only caveat to my hearty recommendation is that any viewer who has had this type of experience, or lost a loved one recently, should be aware of the subject matter going in. While this is not necessarily a morose or morbid film, the emotion is raw and painful. Hollywood is indeed lucky that Philip Seymour Hoffman chose acting as his profession, and we are truly lucky to be able to enjoy the fruits of his labor.






* The DVD includes some trailers, audio commentary by PS Hoffman, Gordy Hoffman and Louiso, as well as filmographies of Hoffman and Bates. While audio commentary can be fun after watching an action movie or a comedy, I find that it dilutes the experience of a really good drama. As a result, I didn’t listen to it. It would certainly be interesting to hear the thoughts of these three men about the experience of making the film, but I wasn’t ready to have the illusion broken right after watching the film. Perhaps I’ll listen another day.


Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD