2023 Top Ten List #4 Showing Up

Writer/director/editor Kelly Reichardt

Reichardt on the set with Michelle Williams

Reichardt and Williams at Cannes

 

 

 

 

SHOWING UP                      A-                                                                                                   USA  (107 mi)  2022  d:  Kelly Reichardt

The portrait of an artist takes an unusual turn, immersing viewers inside a defunct art school, the Oregon College Of Art And Craft in Portland, which shut down in 2019, one of the nation’s last remaining craft-focused degree programs, first opening in 1907 as part of a movement reacting against changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution.  According to a recent New Yorker article (The End of the English Major), “In 2022, a survey found that only seven per cent of Harvard freshmen planned to major in the humanities, down from twenty per cent in 2012, and nearly thirty per cent during the nineteen-seventies,” a pattern that is reflective across the national landscape, mirroring a society that denigrates art and literature as purely frivolous, having little to do with the economic realities of the future.  This film begs to differ.  Establishing an alignment within the artistic community, Reichardt takes us through the college from room to room, like a Frederick Wiseman exposé, offering a wordless commentary on the making of art, as this becomes the predominate focus of the film, filling the classroom spaces with Portland-based artists whose pieces are seen throughout the film, exposing viewers to more artworks in this brief timespan than they have likely seen in years, which is a remarkable accomplishment.  Working with actress Michelle Williams in their fourth collaboration, initially seen as a homeless woman trying to find her stolen dog in Wendy and Lucy (2008), then part of a wagon train heading west bound for the Oregon Territory in Meek's Cutoff (2010), and as a domineering matriarch hellbent on building that perfect home in Certain Women (2016), this couldn’t be a more unglamorous role, wearing no make-up, looking frumpy in colorless attire with an unstylized, pageboy haircut, exhibiting little flair or personality, strangely inhabiting the same desolate universe as Barbara Loden’s Wanda (1970), whose very character is personified by a lack of personal drive.  There’s not an ounce of artifice anywhere to be found on the screen, becoming an unflinching portrait of a dour woman who takes little pleasure in doing anything other than working on her art, which dominates every waking minute of her life, spending her time doing small ceramic sculptures of women in various states of motion, while colorful watercolor drawings decorate her studio walls, yet her only companion is a finicky cat who rules the roost with persistent meows.  Returning to Oregon, notably Portland for the umpteenth time, known for its DIY counterculture lifestyle, perhaps more than any film since Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973) this perfectly encapsulates that West coast vibe, where there’s a chill about each of the secondary characters, as nothing is ever rushed, yet they exhibit something eccentric and individualistic about the West coast that simply doesn’t exist anywhere else in the country.  Despite her inestimable talent, Kelly Reichardt is not a household name, though her films can be overpraised to the hilt, yet some find it hard to engage with the lack of onscreen drama.  Still, she can always be counted on to make low-key, quietly naturalistic films in her own distinct style, using minimal plot devices to build contemplative, meditative spaces about ordinary people living life on the margins, where her vast catalogue of independent films also includes River of Grass (1994), Old Joy (2006), Night Moves (2013), and First Cow (2019).  Lizzy Carr (Michelle Williams) lives in a cramped apartment over a garage that she’s turned into a studio, renting space from a longtime friend and fellow artist who lives next door, Jo, played by Hong Chau, so good in Alexander Payne’s mystifyingly weird Downsizing (2017), who makes more dramatically eye-appealing collages of yarn, fabric, and metal that occupy greater dimension and space.  The two exhibit a passive-aggressive relationship throughout the film, not exactly rivals, as their work is so different, yet their approach couldn’t be more different.  Jo is a more celebrated artist-in-residence at the school, surrounding herself with a roomful of admirers, where her home can sometimes resemble a party atmosphere, releasing the tension after being cooped up in an art studio all day, while Lizzy struggles to find time after hours, working alone at home, where solitude works for her, undisturbed by outside forces as she embodies an unspoken ambivalence, where the fragility of her work resembles the intricacy of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie.  While Jo earns money from the sale of her work, Lizzy does not, yet in something of a pleasant surprise, Reichardt is completely nonjudgmental about implying any instrinsic value, allowing viewers to decide.  In that sense, her observational style is diametrically opposed to the ostentatiousness of Ruben Östlund’s The Square (2017), which does nothing but make value judgments about class distinctions in a calculated contempt for art.  However, not since Rivette’s LA BELLE NOISEUSE (1991) has a film so comically dealt with some obsessional human eccentricities involved in creating art.

This is the sixth collaboration with Portland screenwriter Jon Raymond, while working with cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt for over a decade, developing a comfort zone working together with films unraveling in a relaxed pace, where there’s something calmly appealing about this film, with an underlying humor that’s often missing from her other films, yet it also carries with it a profound sadness.  Lizzy supports herself by working in an uninspiring desk job at a campus office (where a dog sits in the doorway) which is inexplicably run by her mother Jean (Maryann Plunkett), which allows her access to the facilities, seemingly existing in a state of personal dissatisfaction, where part of her frustration is designing posters for other featured artists, routinely seen sitting alone outside on the steps eating out of her tupperware container, just staring off into space, watching the “Thinking and Movement” class out on the grass, or roaming through the various rooms in an attempt to escape the drudgery of her job, where it’s clear this takes her away from doing what she’d prefer, which is working on her art.  Ironically, she’s surrounded by a multitude of student artists who are doing exactly that, as hanging out is an essential component to making art, each working at their own unhurried pace, where the filmmaker presents the panorama of their works as a kind of collective collage of creative inspiration, where stenciled onto one of the classroom walls is a sign that reads “Do Not Mix Chemical Dyes with Natural Dyes.”  Reichardt works with such a deliberately low-key approach that it resembles a documentary style with fictitious interludes, yet what’s immediately clear is just how ordinary the artists appear to be, as they could be anybody walking down the street, completely unrecognizable from the wide breadth of humanity, yet the extreme degree of focus in their work is as unique as it is exemplary.  With just a few days before an upcoming exhibition, Lizzy’s life is continually interrupted by unexpected events that take her away from what she needs to be doing, starting with her cat, waking her up in the middle of the night as she’s nearly mauled to death a captured pigeon, having already nibbled on one of the wings, leaving it incapacitated and unable to fly, quickly disposing of the bird by sweeping it up and placing it out the window on the end of a broom, leaving it to its fate somewhere else, but like bad karma, it comes back to haunt her.  Jo discovers the injured bird the next morning and immediately attempts a rescue, enlisting Lizzy to help her wrap the wing in a bandage, place the bird in a cardboard box, and leave it right back with a stunned Lizzy to look after before running off to her art studio, as she has two upcoming exhibitions, and a prospective buyer from New York, hilariously described by Guy Maddin in a wonderfully illuminating interview as “It’s almost like a Preston Sturges gag as directed by Kelly Reichardt,” (A Need to Focus: Guy Maddin Interviews Kelly Reichardt About Showing Up).  Meekly reminding Jo that she has no hot water, she’s alarmed at her dismissiveness, but it will have to wait due to more pressing needs.  This is what amounts to drama in this film, as the saga of the injured bird becomes the link between these two women, each passing it off to the other, with Jo expressing less and less interest, while Lizzy develops a certain fascination, alarmed enough to take it to the vet, who suggests there’s little else to do, reminding her that “it’s a pigeon.”  Babysitting duties create a dilemma, as she’s obviously forced to keep the cat away from the bird while she works in her studio, but we see the paws underneath the door, like an ominous reminder.  The quirkiness of the set-up, along with the instant likeability of Jo, who’s mind always takes her to places that demand our attention, like a force of nature, is something rare in film today, as this is a woman who steadfastly follows her instincts, in stark contrast to Lizzy, who seems to be on the short end of the stick most of the time, where this little saga only escalates the mounting tension between them, as Lizzy has no place to shower, becoming a grating nuisance that wears on her after a while, as she’s in a daily battle for basics like hot running water and a decent wage, remaining dedicated to her craft with no discernible financial reward in sight.  Yet we can’t help but be mesmerized by the diverse collection of her artworks that she readies for the exhibition, as each of her “Little Women” exists in their own space and time, exuding distinct personalities that their creator seems to lack.  She enlists the aid of Eric (André Benjamin, aka André 3000, co-founder of Outkast whose flute playing can be heard near the end), an amiable guy who runs the kiln at school, always giving her time to heat and glaze her collection, while others continually drop in to see her latest creations, where there’s a student-generated interest that’s much more enthusiastic than anything we ever see from her, which is one of the fascinating aspects of the film.     

An Artist-in-Residence in the Film Arts program at Bard College since 2006, Lizzy’s life resembles the director’s own, an undervalued artist struggling to make ends meet, writing, directing, and editing films on a shoestring budget while supplementing her income by teaching college students, which also provides her with health insurance, something she doesn’t have within the film industry’s Director’s Guild as she works so infrequently.  With claims that independent filmmaking has not been open to women in any way, Reichardt has spoken candidly about the reality of making low-budget films, saying, “It also just means that I’m not getting paid, and I’m in my 50’s.”  The opening title sequence is beautifully orienting, as it simply lingers on various paintings lining the walls of Lizzy’s studio, which has a way of imprinting the subject into viewer’s imaginations.  Lizzy’s intense fixation on caring for the injured pigeon is mirrored in her complicated family dynamics, as her parents are bitterly divorced, and she’s seemingly the only member of her family that’s consistently concerned about Sean (John Magaro, the gentle frontier chef in First Cow), her unstable brother prone to frequent bouts of paranoid conspiracy theories (described in Variety as a little like one of R. Crumb’s brothers), seen digging a giant hole in his back yard, clearly agitated that Lizzy doesn’t hear the voices that are speaking to him, “You have to listen to what’s not being said,” claiming she’s not listening hard enough.  She’s following in the footsteps of her father (Judd Hirsch), an accomplished pottery artist who’s now retired, yet she’s concerned that two nomadic bohemian guests have moved into his home with no indication of leaving, yet he’s not bothered, as he seems to enjoy their company.  The combined stress of caring for the bird, looking after her family, surviving without hot water, and trying to get her sculptures done in time takes an exasperating toll, leaving Lizzy thoroughly exhausted, yet for all her accumulated fatigue, her exhibition is rather inspiring, as her pieces are unique, like little pieces of herself, well-attended by the people who matter most to her.  While her parents get into a personal dispute that expose the family dysfunction, all is well with the world.  However there’s a beautifully designed sketch involving the bird that plays out through the entire film, often darkly humorous, though it takes everyone by surprise when it suddenly takes flight within the indoor exhibit, drawing the interest of the entire gallery who are spellbound by the unexpected turn, and flies away, with all the patrons moving to the outdoor sidewalk to watch.  It’s a liberating moment that feels effortless, but unusually refreshing, as this kind of thing never happens in a Kelly Reichardt film, as she never resorts to sight gags, but it achieves the desired effect, as there’s such a sense of relief afterwards, as all the built-up tensions are washed away, suddenly of little consequence.  Lizzy and Jo go looking for the bird in the trees, but never seem to find it, and go walking down the street chatting together as if they’re best friends, which they very well may be, while the camera offers a bird’s eye view from one of the tree branches overlooking it all.  It’s a magical moment that delivers, like a much appreciated wave of fresh air that has the effect of joyously cleansing our souls, eradicating all the unnecessary content.  Among her better edited films, viewers are left with a stream of artistic images of rotating art projects, almost like a video instillation, each capturing that moment of surprise when first seen, offering generous support for the creative student artists of the future, where a film like this elevates the cultural significance of art, which is typically among the first programs cut out of public schools, which only shortchanges developing lives.  To put it bluntly, no men are making films like this.  With a nation obsessed by the male-dominated brutality of gun violence and weaponized political views, quiet, contemplative films offer such a peaceful alternative, providing painstaking visual detail of people working on their art, offering a celebratory tribute to the work of rarely seen artists, including Jessica Jackson Hutchins, Michael Brophy, Chris Johanson, Storm Tharp, Johanna Jackson, and others, embracing the idea that artistic communities are a haven for friendship and for working, and that a lack of community, or an each man for himself scenario, is a bad idea, emphasizing what a difference a creative outlet can provide in establishing a human connection while strengthening the ties of any community.  Lizzie’s works are by CYNTHIA LAHTI, a largely unrecognized artist based in Portland, while Jo’s are by Israeli-American artist Michelle Segre, a MacArthur Fellow working out of a Bronx studio, while it’s notable that the uncredited Portland location scouting was done by Janet Weiss, the former drummer for the all-girl rock band Sleater-Kinney. 

Running On Empty

 

River Phoenix with director Sidney Lumet

River Phoenix with Martha Plimpton

RUNNING ON EMPTY          B                                                                                                 USA  (116 mi)  1988  d: Sidney Lumet

I’ve done three movies, Daniel, Running on Empty, and Family Business, that are thematically the same thing—the cost that others pay for one’s passions—and I only recognized this afterwards…. Any deep emotional commitment on the part of the parents is going to cost something… not just to the parents but also almost always to the children.                       —Sidney Lumet

A film that takes us back to the fallout from the Vietnam War of the 60’s, revealing the ominous implications still reverberating decades later from the aftermath of that momentous event, recalling the paranoia of 70’s films, yet made a decade later, with the passage of time having a decidedly toned down effect on the subject matter, which is fictitiously portrayed.  Largely shaped by the Great Depression, Lumet began his career at the height of McCarthyism, brought up in New York City with a Jewish, left-wing background, claiming there’s no real left-wing in America anymore, like there is in Europe, so political ramifications may be something he intrinsically understands, as it’s in his blood.  What’s unique about the 60’s generation is the tireless effort extended to bring about the end of the Vietnam War, with kids going against their parent’s generation, causing plenty of family strife, but this was largely a young person’s crusade that successfully ended the war, something unprecedented in American history, yet with Nixon re-elected with his racistly repressive law and order campaign, still targeting all the 60’s radicals, it wasn’t the result they wanted, so they grew weary and exhausted and simply ran out of gas, thus, the title, something they never recovered from, abandoning earlier alliances with blacks and chucking their ideals for monetary gain, with many of those same kids growing up and voting for Reagan.  Revisiting the era of the Weather Underground, a radical left-wing offshoot of the Students for a Democratic Society in the 60’s, a student activist counterculture movement that attempted to stop the war in Vietnam, which splintered from a disagreement in tactics, with the radically inspired Weather Undergound taking on a targeted bombing campaign meant to disrupt the machinations of the war effort, committing strategic acts of sabotage against the government by carrying out bombings of the United States Capitol, the Pentagon, the State Department, Bank of America, Army bases, as well as the New York City police department, yet slowly disbanded by the mid 70’s.  By the mid 80’s, they were essentially history, yet several fugitives from justice were able to successfully hide themselves for decades under assumed identities, eventually emerging quietly by turning themselves in, often pleading to lesser charges, as the government’s case against them was compromised by the 1971 exposure of the FBI’s questionable and even unlawful methods of domestic surveillance under the COINTELPRO program, which quickly evolved from a legitimate effort to protect the national security from foreign threats of Communism into an effort to suppress a wide range of domestic activism (that included Martin Luther King and other Civil Rights leaders) through an array of dirty tricks, including illegal wiretaps, warrantless searches, planted media lies, and much more.  Recalling earlier films like Hal Ashby’s COMING HOME (1978), John Sayle’s RETURN OF THE SECAUSCUS SEVEN (1980), Lawrence Kasdan’s THE BIG CHILL (1983), or Oliver Stone’s PLATOON (1986), and a latter crop of Bill Siegel’s THE WEATHER UNDERGROUND (2002), Robert Redford’s The Company You Keep (2013), or Kelly Reichardt’s Night Moves (2013), most of it is watered down revisionism that screws up 60’s politics, often looking back nostalgically with a sense of guilt, while regretting past mistakes.  An extension of his earlier film DANIEL (1983), which examines the generational consequences of the Rosenberg spy trial (The Rosenberg Case), resulting in the execution of both parents, specifically exploring the trauma suffered by the children, where the sins of the parents are hoisted upon the backs of the children, a strong burden to carry, where Lumet’s primary interest is not the politics, but the emotional costs, while in this film crimes of consciousness and acts of terror are largely indistinguishable in the eyes of the law, where an overriding theme is that actions, no matter how nobly intended, have consequences.  The obvious reference is Bill Ayers and Bernadette Dohrn, leaders of the Weather Underground, who went into hiding for ten years before surrendering to authorities in 1980.  Making no apologies for their activism to bring about the end of the war, likewise no apology was ever offered by the United States government to the country of Vietnam, dropping nearly 400,000 tons of napalm, an incendiary chemical compound that burns at 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit, literally burning people alive, spraying 19.5 million gallons of Agent Orange at twenty times the recommended dosage, containing a toxic chemical contaminant linked to cancers, diabetes, birth defects, and other disabilities, remaining in the soil for decades, affecting three million Vietnamese (7% of the population), causing birth defects in 150,000 children, with millions still affected, not to mention other atrocities committed.  The film’s inciting event, the bombing of a napalm laboratory that blinded and paralyzed a janitor, echoes the infamous Sterling Hall bombing of August 24, 1970 (When bomb tore through Sterling Hall 50 years ago, he was ...), where radicals attempted to shut down an Army Math Research Center on the campus of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, but instead killed a university physics researcher, Robert Fassnacht, a postdoctoral researcher conducting physics experiments on superconductivity, completely destroying the physics lab, with three other grad students suffering serious injuries, while a night watchman suffered memory impairment and permanent loss of some hearing and vision.   

No reference to any actual event ever occurs, while the title is appropriated from the Jackson Browne song (notoriously absent from the movie and the credits), a huge hit in 1978, also featured prominently in FORREST GUMP (1994), with a controversial history as well, due to its unauthorized use by Senator John McCain and the Republican Party in a controversial ad targeting Presidential nominee Barack Obama in 2008, forcing Browne to sue, eventually settling out of court for an unnamed sum, with the Republican Party apologizing afterwards.  Screenwriter Naomi Foner (mother of Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal) was nominated for an Oscar, yet acknowledged making changes at the behest of Lorimar Productions, a subsidiary of Warner Brothers, worried about controversial content, drawing from personal experiences of her radical friends, including a classmate at Columbia University who went underground in 1969 and resurfaced in the 80’s, sharing with Foner the hardships she faced in hiding while trying to raise her two children, as noted in a Vanity Fair article, THE WEATHER OVERGROUND | Vanity Fair | October 1988, while a nearly identical plot is also attributed to acclaimed Berlin filmmaker Christian Petzold in THE STATE I AM IN (2000).  The film is listed at #10 on Roger Ebert’s Top Ten from 1988, Roger Ebert: 1967-2006, though largely missing from other lists, not nearly as pivotal as many of his other films like 12 ANGRY MEN (1957), LONG DAY’S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT (1962), SERPICO (1973), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Network (1976), The Verdict (1982), and Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007).  The biggest misstep is the insipid music by New Jersey guitarist Tony Mottola that feels hijacked from some limp romance drama, never once capturing the actual feel of the movie, which turns into a family relationship drama, with a budding romance at the center.  While some may view this family as terrorists, it goes to great lengths to create a family with moral values and strong ties to love, where they genuinely relate to one another, making substantial sacrifices for deeply held principles, moving every few months, constantly assuming new names and identities, relying upon an underground network for money, cheap housing, and phony documents.  Rarely do you ever see movies with children on the run, yet the level of domesticity that the family has achieved is mirrored in the camera work, shot by British cinematographer Gerry Fisher in a decidedly low-key style, like a 1950’s Playhouse 90 domestic drama (live television, several episodes directed by Lumet).  At the outset of the film, the family quickly relocates to another city when it becomes apparent the FBI is watching their house, soon finding themselves in the fictional town of Waterford, New Jersey.  Artie and Annie Pope, Judd Hirsch and Christine Lahti, are the radical couple on the run with two sons, 17-year old Danny, River Phoenix, the older brother of Joaquin in his only Oscar-nominated performance, starring later in Gus van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho (1991) before his untimely death two years later at the age of 23, and ten-year old Harry (Jonas Abry).  The film is largely seen through Danny’s eyes, exhibiting a mixture of shyness and self-assurance, seriously introverted because his parents have cut him off from the rest of the world, much like the early childhood of Phoenix, part of a controversial Christian religious cult known as the Children of God, emphasizing unlimited sex with no restrictions, moving from Venezuela to Mexico to Puerto Rico to spread the word.  Unable to draw attention to himself, he quickly stands out to his music teacher, Mr. Phillips (Ed Crowley), because of his impressive (and overly idealized) talent on the piano, playing Beethoven by heart, Running on Empty, Beethoven Pathétique YouTube (1:15), easily separating him from other students who are completely hooked on the MTV era of Madonna and pop music videos.  Both parents quickly find jobs, where the transition seems relatively unforced until the school inquires about prior transcripts, which are strangely missing.  Normally this would be no big deal, as they never stay long enough at a single location, but Danny is at the age where he needs to start applying for college, where transcripts are mandatory.  Given access to his teacher’s home to play the piano, he’s pleasantly surprised when a same age daughter takes an interest, Lorna, Martha Plimpton, the real-life girlfriend of Phoenix at the time, having met on the set of Peter Weir’s THE MOSQUITO COAST (1986).  Lorna’s quirky personality registers with a Bob Marley poster on the inside of her bedroom door, a Charlie Chaplin poster taking up the entirety of her closet door, while inside is a poster of James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause (1955), where she has a unique collection of hats hanging from a rack, one of which grabs Danny’s attention, a boater straw hat reminiscent of Silent film stars Buster Keaton or Harold Lloyd, but also the musicals of Fred Astaire and Maurice Chevalier, playfully trying it on, even wearing it out of the house, giving him something of hers to think about.  Their budding romance makes this a coming-of-age movie, with romantic walks through the woods and along a lake, continually keeping his distance, never allowing himself to get too emotionally attached, which eventually turns her off, thinking this guy really doesn’t care, getting pissed off, finally forced to confess his secrets, creating something of an emotional steamrolling effect.

A pop visit from an old friend causes ripples, Gus, L.M. Kit Carson, something of a counterculture artist, a co-director of Dennis Hopper’s The American Dreamer (1971) and co-writer of Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984), yet here he appears as a connection to their radical past, showing romantic inclinations towards Annie that she quickly deflects before trying to recruit Artie for a bank robbery, still holding onto his youthful revolutionary ideals, suggesting what they’re doing is too safe and comfortable, with Artie going apoplectic afterwards, refusing to have anything to do with guns, defiantly repulsed by the idea, angrily declaring “Guns aren’t what we’re about.”  Danny’s interest in his parent’s welfare is significant, often hidden and isolated from the rest of the family, yet still supportive during troubled times, where all they’ve got is each other, which probably means more to his parents, as they’re the ones responsible for the predicament they’re in.  While the parents are openly conscientious, they even leave a pet dog behind during one of their moves, a disturbing image for animal lovers, actually having more of an impact than the headlines revealing Gus was shot and killed in a bank robbery escape, the living embodiment of what can go wrong with radical ideals, certainly putting a punctuation point on the end of his dreams, suggesting there are good radicals and bad ones.  Afterwards, Artie gets the urge to pack it in and head for another destination, coming across as a bit of an ass, overly regimented and authoritative, patriarchal, continually barking out orders, where his one-note character isn’t really developed, lacking the nuance and complexity of Annie, who is more comforting and understanding of what her kids must be going through, where you can grow exhausted from all the running, acknowledging at one point, “What are we doing to these kids?  They’ve been running their whole lives like criminals, and they didn’t do anything.”  Danny, in particular, feels overwhelmed by the decision, even defiantly so, where his need to grow and break free from the family’s stranglehold becomes the central drama, wanting to pursue his own dreams, thrive in a romance, with the faint possibility of something lurking beyond if they don’t screw it up, where this inner dilemma was similarly explored in Siân Heder’s Academy Award winning CODA (2021), with the deaf community replacing the underground, a confining world of silence where the unique talent of one family member offers the promise of something more, something they never anticipated.  Mr. Phillips is so enamored with Danny’s playing that he encourages him to apply for Julliard, offering him a stellar letter of recommendation, but it keeps getting back to his earlier school transcripts, leaving him in a precarious position, as he doesn’t really want to abandon his family.  Lorna quickly sees through the family dilemma, emphasizing Danny has nothing to do with it, “Why do you have to carry the burden of someone else’s life?”  The failures of the radical left and 60’s counterculture movement are never really addressed, as there was a unique multi-racial coalition where privileged white college students and Black Panthers were mingling together sharing a common cause, creating something of a cultural revelation, while the promised revolution never happened.  Instead the film emphasizes family above politics, where any earlier propensity for violence is thoroughly discouraged, countered by a communal BIG CHILL dance sequence, The Big Chill (1983) - Dancing in the Kitchen Scene (6/10) (1:48), set to a James Taylor song, "Fire and Rain" Birthday Dance Scene - Running on Empty ... (1:53), all captured in a single take, acting as an anthem and memorial tribute for so much from that era which has been lost or forgotten.  This film was made more than 30-years ago, when ramifications of the Vietnam era were still at the forefront of everyone’s minds (the devastation of the AIDS crisis was about to take its place in terms of having a generational impact), but looking back today, very little is known about the turbulent times of the 60’s, as books and movies serving as eloquent time capsules simply do not do it justice.  Yet it wouldn’t be a Sidney Lumet movie if there weren’t several standout emotional scenes, like Annie discovering Danny already auditioned for Julliard, playing Mozart’s Fantasia, K. 475, Running on Empty - Danny auditions for Julliard -Who did you ... YouTube (2:00), so she breaks her cover and cautiously meets her father who she hasn’t seen in 15 years (Steven Hill) for a heartrending reunion in a restaurant, an emotionally devastating scene that traverses plenty of territory in a short period of time, leaving both something of a trainwreck afterwards, one of the most poignantly affecting scenes ever filmed by Lumet, while Danny and Lorna have an equally wrenching, tearjerker moment.  While Christine Lahti is superb, convincing performances by River Phoenix and Martha Plimpton are the real stand-outs, given greater dramatic extension than the adults, covering up for the movie’s deficiencies, refusing to explore what was essential about the times, like why people would be willing to take such drastic measures, instead becoming a smaller character study that has a way of sneaking up on you, reminding us of how much we truly miss the loss of River Phoenix.  That alone is reason to see the film.