P.S.

I've been fond of Laura Linney ever since I saw the PBS miniseries of Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City in high school. She played the seemingly-goody-two-shoes character Mary Ann, who becomes seduced by the crazy world of San Francisco during the 1970's. That series began my fascination with San Francisco, and with gay culture. I didn't make my actual first gay friend until I was 16, a couple of years later. He's still one of my closest friends.

I'd occasionally taken interest in Laura Linney's career since then. She was passable in The Truman Show (which pretty much revolved around Jim Carrey, anyway), but I still thought of her as Mary Ann until I saw a film called You Can Count on Me. Laura beautifully rendered every thought and emotion of that character; she was so human, so vulnerable, so lost. She should have won an Oscar, but it was taken by Julia Roberts or Helen Hunt or some other blandly cheerful, opaque actress. Since viewing Laura's performance in that movie, I became a huge fan. (I also fell for Mark Ruffalo after his charismatic turn here.)

As someone who constantly seeks information regarding "smaller" or "independent" films (as they are charitably called), I had heard good things about her performance in a film called P.S. released last year, which received little media attention. So, while perusing through the selection at my trusty artsy local video rental store, I picked up the DVD to rent. Short summary: A Columbia University admissions officer named Louise (Laura Linney) meets a young student named F. Scott (Topher Grace) who bears an uncanny resemblance to an old flame, and they begin an affair. There have been a lot of movies lately with this sort of male May/female December bent, eh? That controversial movie Birth with Nicole Kidman also revolved around the possible reincarnation of a loved one, although in that case, it was a young child (ew). I can't bring myself to watch that one.

So, back to P.S. I dare say that Laura Linney is becoming typecast. While her work here is very touching and human and vulnerable, as always, I feel like I've seen this sort of character from her many times already. The lonely single woman who feels alienated and isolated from her surroundings. She has trouble reaching out and allowing herself to be loved. She has a troubled past and new secrets which threaten to take over her life. She has family issues--a critical mother, and again, issues with a brother (see also: You Can Count on Me, Love Actually). I appreciated the discussion about art, of course--because any talk of art will always move me, unless it's exceedingly pretentious or simplistic--but I wasn't particularly moved by her character, or what her character was experiencing. Compounding the problem was Topher Grace's performance. He's been praised a lot recently for his movie performances, but I found him inscrutable and wooden. His character didn't feel real to me. But then again, maybe he wasn't supposed to be very real--he served mostly as a fantasy figure for Laura Linney's character, anyway.

I think that the editing did a disservice to the film. When I saw the deleted scenes, I felt like I understood the characters much better, and their behavior made a lot more sense. Among those deleted scenes, there were some beautiful exchanges between the two main characters which I found far more affecting and emotional and electric than almost all the scenes that made the cut. I didn't "get" why the two characters were so into each other while watching the movie, but I "got" it, somewhat, after the cafe scene, and the basement scene (both deleted). The DVD includes the director Dylan Kidd's commentary for the deleted scenes, and he explains why they were deleted (mostly for story consistency purposes, since certain facts were changed from the script after shooting). But in the end, I think the film suffered from their deletion.

Some things to point out about this film: often when a main character in a movie is a praised artist, that character's art sucks. Some examples are Titanic and Big Eden. The writers and directors of this film seem to be quite knowledgable about art, and thankfully, F. Scott's paintings are genuinely beautiful. They're not particularly clever or groundbreaking...they have soft, slightly unfocused lighting actually remind me of Seurat's paintings and gorgeous charcoal sketches of opera singers and boys sitting on a riverbed, but with contemporary imagery. But they are beautiful enough to give me chills, and to awaken a deep ache, a deep hunger, to paint. I've not felt overcome by this sort of mad desire for months and months. But at that moment, I feverishly wanted to create something beautiful as well, to use color and shape to recreate life on paper, and to devote the rest of my life to this task. I had no paints, the moment passed, and so I'm typing about it instead.

Another thing that struck me about this movie was the objectification of the hot young thing, in this case male. Films, the vast majority of which are directed by men, usually objectify the young pretty female thing, showcasing her body and her charms for aesthetic effect. The tighter, sheerer, or more scant the clothing the better. Other than a bit of pale cleavage, not much was shown of Laura Linney's body. Instead, the director took her character's point of view to objectify Topher Grace's form. His body was much more thoroughly revealed and exalted, with lingering shots of his naked, well-muscled chest, back, and perhaps ass as well (that detail manages to escape my memory). Marcia Gay Harden's character at one point salivates over his "creamy skin." I think this may account for some of the woodenness of Topher Grace's acting...he's basically just a pretty boy mannequin for these older women to use for their fantasies. It's nice to see the guy objectified for a change. Let's see some more male full frontal nudity too! C'mon, Hollywood.