Half Nelson
Hey, everyone. Capone in Chicago here. Well folks, we're nine-and-a-half months into the year, and it seems that overall the larger, big-budget films have been letting a lot of people down. The strongest proof of this trend can be found by examining reviews of some of the smaller films released of late, including Little Miss Sunshine, whose box office numbers have been going up from week to week since it's release a few weeks ago. And while I'm certainly not the type to equate box office numbers with quality, Sunshine's perseverance does show that eventually audiences will find the best movies available to them. But that film is a safe film to love, which in no way takes away from its undeniable charm and other sublime qualities.
Half Nelson is a harder film to embrace, only because a few hurdles have to be overcome before such strong feelings toward this movie are let in. I don't mean “hurdles” in terms of problems with the film; no, I mean in terms of the instinctual hurdles most audience members will have. We aren't used to piling on praise to works like Half Nelson, a film about the awkward yet soulful bond between a junkie junior high school teacher and one of his young female students. Let me just get this out of the way right now: there is nothing sexual between these two characters. Once you eliminate that possibility in your head, it may be much easier to acknowledge that Half Nelson is a work of perfection. Expect to see it on many critics' end-of-year “Best Of” lists, and expect to see its star, Ryan Gosling, get his first Oscar nomination.
Half Nelson goes against the grain at every turn. Despite the lead character being a crack addict, there is no big, dramatic withdrawal sequence. In fact, nothing in the film plays out exactly how you think it will or should or does in every other movie. Half Nelson is perfect as much for what it doesn't do as for the unexpected nature of its threadbare plot and deeply drawn character studies.
Gosling (best known for his lead role in The Notebook, but check out The Believer, in which he plays a Jewish skinhead, to see just how gifted this guy is) plays Dan Dunne, a dynamic--almost radical--history teacher in a run-down, barely functional Brooklyn school. Despite pressure from his superiors to teach from the designated curriculum, he has his own methods and way of engaging his students about the reasons for and means of change throughout time.
First-time feature writer-director Ryan Fleck (who co-wrote the script with his writing partner Anna Boden) spends a lot of time in the classroom with Dan, and his lessons are fascinating and probably a little too advanced for kids this age. But he's not afraid to challenge them, instead of merely reciting and regurgitating places, dates, and events. His theories about changes in historical direction being caused by two opposing forces is true, but it ignores the smaller, more gradual types of change. And as the film progresses, we begin to realize that, if Dan is to change, his transformation will be slow and deliberate. His only opposing force is his own suffering.
Dan is filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and isolation, much of which is self-imposed. To fill his time, he also teaches the school's under-performing girls' basketball team, who counts among its members a girl named Drey (newcomer Shareeka Epps). She makes the mistake of stumbling into the locker room long after the game is over to discover Dan in a stall just seconds after getting high. Drey sees the pipe, she sees his eyes and his state, and she understands.
Drey's life is drug free, but no less troubled. With no father in the picture and her older brother in jail, Drey is forced to more or less look out for herself. Her mother is forced to work double shifts as an EMT, and the two almost never see each other. The only person that seems to pay Drey any attention is the local drug dealer named Frank (the talented Anthony Mackie), whom her brother worked for and went to jail protecting. Frank's intentions seem decent, but that doesn't stop him from putting Drey in situations delivering drugs or being around piles of the stuff as its being packaged. Her outlook doesn't look much better than her teacher's.
Dan clearly wants to get clean, but an ill-timed visit from an ex-girlfriend and former drug buddy (Tina Homes) stirs up his demons of being heartbroken and alone. In a way, the friendship between Dan and Drey is filling a void in both their lives. He is clearly a father figure to her. He often drives her home from school and even confronts Frank in one scene asking him to stay away from her. Frank knows exactly what Dan is up to with his habit, and their exchange plays out in an extraordinary way. Dan knows that Frank spells bad news for this promising young girl, but he's not convinced that her hanging out with him is any better.
Half Nelson makes no promises about the future of any of its characters. There are no explosive encounters that promise to change the direction of anyone's life. In fact, the film is a series of smaller moments designed to provide deeper insight into these desolate and disillusioned people. Perhaps the most disturbing sequence is when Dan goes home to his parents' house for dinner, and we get a glimpse into the birthplace of his addictive personality (no one in the family is without a drink in their hand for more than a second) and his sense of self-worth (his father regularly mocks Dan's career choice with reckless abandon).
The performances in this film are beyond impressive. There is not a weak link in the fiber. In particular, Shareeka Epps does a splendid job of playing Drey as an understated, quiet, yet forceful individual. And her scenes with Gosling are so strong and deeply felt. They are tenuous and soul building all at once. The two aren't healing each other exactly, but they are part of each other's healing process. And as the film ends, there are no conclusions or morals. But hope is in the air, and under these circumstances, in these times, that's more than most of us can hope for. It means everything to Dan and Drey because it's all they have.
Capone
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