cinemattraction

Sleepwalking runs through standard Hallmark movie territory. It comes complete with themes of familial abuse and parental abandonment, as well as some kidnapping and murder for good measure. That’s not to mention some severe tonal inconsistencies and major narrative convolutions. Yet somehow – in spite of everything – the film nearly works.

The credit does not belong to director Bill Maher (no, not that one) or screenwriter Zac Stanford. Rather, it should largely be bestowed upon the stars, Nick Stahl and AnnaSophia Robb. The movie belongs to them, despite what one might think given the presence of such luminaries as Charlize Theron, Woody Harrelson and Dennis Hopper. As an overwhelmed uncle and put upon niece, forced together by some tragic circumstances, Stahl and Robb inspire enough empathy to demand our continued investment, even as the story takes stilted turns.

Set in a dilapidated small town Northern California milieu, the film opens with the troubled Joleen (Theron) sobbing and reacting angrily to a police officer’s intimations of her unfitness as a single mother to Tara (Robb). We learn of the foreclosure on Joleen’s house after her boyfriend, the homeowner is busted for possessing and selling drugs. Without a better option, she and Tara move in with her brother James (Stahl). Sharing his decrepit apartment – complete with dusty floors and peeling walls – does little to remedy the resentment Tara feels towards her mother or Joleen’s apparently eroding mental state. When mom abandons them without warning, the pathologically passive James and embittered Tara begin a collective journey towards some measure of fulfillment.

The episodic plotting makes the film seem less a coherent whole than a collection of bit parts awkwardly jumbled together. The story shifts focal points and generic conventions far too often, transitioning from Joleen’s downward spiral during the early scenes to James’ everyday struggles, before briefly turning into a kidnapping drama and a road trip dramedy. Things culminate with James confronting his abusive father (Hopper) and the film ascending to Grecian dramatic heights. The experience of watching the picture roughly resembles that of a rollercoaster ride, with heights and valleys, twists and turns and absolutely no stability.

Similarly, the better-known members of the ensemble seem to be operating in entirely different productions. Theron goes completely over the top, spending most of the movie screaming or teary eyed. She takes the soap opera approach to her performance, heightening every emotion and mannerism to such an extent that Joleen cannot be regarded as anything but a forced dramatic construction. Harrelson, folksy and humorous, appears to have wandered in off the set of Kingpin and Hopper’s sadist could well be Frank from Blue Velvet aged 20-plus years. The contrasts in their work serve to further the sense of Maher exerting rather tenuous control over the production.

Fortunately, Stahl nearly saves it. Playing an individual that internalizes and represses the same volatile emotions Joleen regularly displays – compensating for them with a painstakingly nice, pushover façade- the actor demonstrates the correct way to underplay a character and still make him resonant. He makes strong use of his subtly expressive features and hesitant vocal intonation, which collectively suggest the tensions brewing beneath his exterior. It’s no coincidence that the movie’s best scenes follow his precarious journey through the difficulties of childcare, holding a daily job and making rent payments. Stahl imbues his performance with a sense of desperation that perfectly fits the portrayal of a man at perpetual war with himself and his past.

Robb acquits herself similarly well, standing apart from the Hollywood adolescent lot. Her complex performance draws on the character’s more adult and childlike strands, as she copes with her changing body and the attendant awakenings, as well as the bitter, hurt feelings of a daughter abandoned by her mother. She rarely lapses into histrionics and for the most part maintains an engaging repartee with her co-star. Most significantly, she follows through on the promise of her work in last year’s Bridge to Terabithia, forgoing the usual child star cutesiness for some surprisingly intense brooding.

Maher, working with cinematographer Juan Ruiz Anchía, ably captures the small-town detail of the early scenes, the scenic byways of the American West during the road trip sequences and the grim, grey horrors of the Freudian finale. However, the compelling imagery and the fine work by the two leads never quite compensate for the alarming narrative deficiencies. It’s hard to take any movie seriously, even one with such upside, when it so resolutely lurches in so many different directions.

© 2008 Robert Levin. All rights reserved.

Filed under Reviews