(rated R, 90 mins)
During a slow opening in a slow-moving town in Middle America, we learn one thing: Wilson Joel (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) has lost his wife, Liza. She has killed herself. And with her death comes the healing/denial rituals of a widower, which include perusing nude bathing shots, a gasoline-snorting fetish, and dealing with a wacky mother-in-law (Kathy Bates; no wonder the girl killed herself). As Joel drifts through the days, trying to make sense of his wife’s act, there’s only one thing he doesn’t attempt: opening his wife’s sealed suicide note. While Hoffman gives a tour-de-force performance in this well-defined role, the overall story is a flop. We never really care, partly because Liza hardly exists for us – we barely even see a photo of her. The only thing that keeps us hanging on is a morbid curiosity about what’s inside the envelope.
During a slow opening in a slow-moving town in Middle America, we learn one thing: Wilson Joel (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) has lost his wife, Liza. She has killed herself. And with her death comes the healing/denial rituals of a widower, which include perusing nude bathing shots, a gasoline-snorting fetish, and dealing with a wacky mother-in-law (Kathy Bates; no wonder the girl killed herself). As Joel drifts through the days, trying to make sense of his wife’s act, there’s only one thing he doesn’t attempt: opening his wife’s sealed suicide note. While Hoffman gives a tour-de-force performance in this well-defined role, the overall story is a flop. We never really care, partly because Liza hardly exists for us – we barely even see a photo of her. The only thing that keeps us hanging on is a morbid curiosity about what’s inside the envelope.