Lars and the Real Girl
I know what you’re thinking…well, I know what I’m thinking. “A review of a movie involving a sex doll? In the Rabbit Room??” But we are all safe because, well…suffice it to say, I recommended this film to my mom. My mom. I knew I was going to like it, because hey, his name is Lars Lindstrom and he wears fair isle sweaters — what’s not for a good Swedish girl to like? What I didn’t know was how the film’s quiet, stealthy tenderness would move me, or how Ryan Gosling’s nervous facial tics would immediately endear me to his character, or how sweetly this strange story would unfold and lay itself bare.
Disclaimer: I’m afraid to write this review. Why? Because I know, I know, I KNOW, like a mama bear knows her bear cub, like a pianist knows middle C, like a Canadian citizen knows the national anthem, that I will inevitably leave out scores of reasons why I loved it so. I’m still stepping out in faith and trusting that you will fill in the blanks and show me mercy if you do decide to see it. Okay, I feel better now.
Lars lives in the cold, whitewashed North in the garage apartment of his parents’ home which now belongs to his brother, Gus (Paul Schneider) and his pregnant wife, Karin (Emily Mortimer). He is painfully shy and socially awkward. He is usually found clinging to a grey blanket his mother crocheted for him when she was expecting him. His mustachioed, apprehensive smile is clouded with sadness. The family are worried about him — concerned that he’s slipping further from reality every day, only confirmed by the fact that he orders a, um….doll….named Bianca and introduces her as his girlfriend. (This is where I’ll go ahead and tell you that it never seems to occur to Lars to make use of the doll for her original purpose. You can breathe now.) Bianca is wheelchair-bound, she conveniently lost her luggage, she ‘doesn’t speak much English’ because she is ‘from the Tropics.’ He explains that, since they are both God-fearing young folks, he would like for her to sleep in the main house’s Pink Room, which belonged to his late mother. When Bianca is taken in to see Doctor Dagmar (played graciously by the lovely Patricia Clarkson), Lars’ brother and sister-in-law are basically told that, to be most helpful, they must go along with his delusion. Their conflict is at once excruciating and hilarious.
The townspeople rally (albeit reluctantly for a handful of them) and offer a heart-warming display of support for this unusual relationship with understanding, emotion, and true class. (Oh friends, you MUST see this movie!!….aaaahhhhhh!!!!!….it’s so gooood!!! moving on….) In a few of my favorite vignettes, most lovely and memorable, Lars takes Bianca to the woods and shows her his childhood tree fort, sings Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E” to her in a funny tremolo, smirks as he cuts her meat for her at the dinner table and playfully eats from her plate, and reads poetry to her.
Bianca, along with everyone who takes good care to include her in the community, ends up healing something in Lars, and the film closes with promise and hope — perhaps dim and slow in coming, but still shining. I will spare you any more of my sub-par summations, for I fear they are shooting off in all possible directions like fireworks gone bad. I will, however, leave you with these words which are marks of what this film portrays: Poignant. Warm. Sad. Sweet. Offbeat. Hilarious. Redemptive. Beauty-filled.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Great, great movie. One of my favorite films in recent memory. I love that the hero of the movie was the community. It’s a great picture of what the church should look like helping each other through weaknesses. No one in the community acted superior and condescending (well, a few did, but everyone seems to get over it).
I love this one to death. The first time I saw it, I wasn’t too enamored with it. I saw Juno and thought it was better. Then I watched Lars for a second time and was totally floored by its beauty and simplicity. I reviewed it over at MovieZeal if you’re interested (http://www.moviezeal.com/2008/04/15/review-lars-and-the-real-girl/).
A stupendous film that’s — surprisingly — pretty clean, for all you apprehensive types. It’s a wonderful example of turning a quirky premise into great storytelling.
Next in the Netflix queue.
Ugh! you’re killing me… I’ve been wanting to see this movie since I saw the trailer many months ago. I need to make more time in my life… I so wish I comment on the content of the film with you, but suffice it to say you’ve got me wanting to see this more than ever. Can’t wait, thanks.
I watched part of it again last night because my housemate was watching it with a friend (turns out I just can’t quit). Here’s a simple, short exchange between Gus and Karin as they lay in bed the night after all hell breaks loose. It made a deep cut in my heart, once more:
Gus, with a belabored sigh: “What is everyone going to think?”
Karin, as she strokes his cheek: “We can’t worry about that.”
AH. Such beauty.
Good call, Evie. I love this movie. The fundamental kindness and compassion of the characters are so moving. And they behave the way they do without agenda, without seeking personal gain. It’s interesting and ironic that such a quirky, unconventional off-beat premise depicts such uncommon decency. On the other hand, goodness and beauty are often found off the beaten path. To find it, we need to be looking closely. It’s often found where and when we least expect it.
I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this movie as well. Great words.
Hi. I recently got my own copy of Lars on DVD. Would have liked a commentary track on it, but alas. Still there is a very funny featurette where the cast and crew relate to and with Bianca as the characters do in the film.
My favorite scene is between Gus and Karen when Karen comes into the living room and sits on the couch in the evening to read her book. Gus is sitting opposite her on a lounge chair. He starts to open up about his struggles and feelings of guilt and as he does so, inadvertently plays with his wedding ring (I often touch my wedding ring when I want to be reminded of my wife and marriage). Karen puts her book down and calls Gus over to sit beside her and hugs him and holds him and nurtures him in a way only a wife can. It is so everyday and yet so affirming.
I think that is the word I would use to sum up the film. “Affirming”. It’s also a story about grief I think. Bianca is really a catalyst for people having to address things in their lives. For Lars I think she is a means to addressing (at least some of the way) all the grief and fear that has built up in his life, which has hampered him from participating in the lives of others. The film is a wonderful journey of grief and joy. That beautiful mix of the the bitter and the sweet, that midway emotion which is so powerful. The longing.
This was a great movie. Emily Mortimer should have been nominated for an Academy Award, she was absolutley amaizing in this film. Also, the portrayal of the church in this movie is so incredibly unlike Hollywood, it gives me hope for better things to come from the indie film world.
evie,
thanks for the recommendation…my wife and i would have never have seen this movie had it not been for your review…we were instantly won over…my wife and i will listen to your advice now…any more suggestions?
Ok, I’ve heard about it, but now I really want to see it.
Lyndsay and I watched this last night and we loved it. Thanks for the recommendation.
I just watched this movie over the weekend. My sister and brother-in-law had been wanting to watch it with my wife and I and I was a little resistant to the idea. I was just not very interested from the title for some reason. But I loved it. The part that sticks out in my mind is the scene where Lars performs CPR on the Teddy Bear. This movie came out around the same time as Dan In Real Life and I remember thinking they had similar titles. That’s another great movie with a lot of cool moments between family members.