Blah blah blah

I'm a Joaquin Phoenix fan, not only because it's clear that emotional engagement with his characters is a tool that he possesses and is willing to put to regular use, but also because he does so in a manner that lacks artifice. As Tricia said last night, he seems "normal" when he's acting, even when in the roles of larger-than-life people like Johnny Cash or fantastical creations like The Joker. Consequently, I was interested in seeing C'mon C'mon, even though the trailer I'd seen indicated that it seemed to lack a little heft in the story department. A radio journalist trying to make contact with the tempestuous son of his estranged sister sounds very "introspective 70s." That era of filmmaking did lead to the creation of some excellent characters and the films that they carried, but it also led to some material that was a bit of a slog to get through unless you're instantly a fan of Hallmark Channel-style stories. Good characters can cover for quite a bit, though, and it's long been my assertion that Jaws, often reviled for introducing the blockbuster summer movie phenomenon, is actually a great film because of the characters that lift it above being a schlock horror film (that Robert Shaw thought it was and which, ironically, would give him the role for which he is forever remembered.) In that respect, C'mon C'mon does the same thing. It's a character study of multiple characters and just how they react to their uncontrollable emotions and follow those emotions into eventually understanding each other. The story is secondary to what these people are doing and saying on the screen, in the moment.

The framing device that writer-director, Mike Mills, uses is an interesting one. On the one hand, it could seem trite that Johnny's (Phoenix) current job is interviewing children to both absorb and convey their views on the world at the same time that he suddenly has to do the same thing on a more personal level with his nephew, Jesse (Woody Norman, in his first major role in film.) But in a more "meta" sense, it seems like something that serves what the plot is trying to convey and is one of those jobs that most people don't think about unless they're being directly entertained or informed by the output. It is, in a sense, subliminal, just like many of the emotional cues and hang-ups that all of the characters in this film have, to one degree or another. This is a film about the language of expression, which often has little to do with words, but which words make understandable and foundational for those whom haven't yet acknowledged their own emotional language deficiencies, which is usually everyone, fictional and actual. It's a topic and approach that many will interpret differently, but which almost everyone will relate to: the difficulty of getting someone(s) else to understand what you mean and why you're feeling as you do, but often without the ability to truly (or comfortably) express it.

In that respect, we're all often 9-year-old Jesse, no matter what age we are at present. Phoenix does well with this, as he has the whiny, imposed-upon reaction to being suddenly responsible for this emotional time bomb who is now wholly within his care. It doesn't help that Jesse is both unusually perceptive and fond of expressing his concerns in oblique ways, such as pretending to be an orphan, which is a regular pantomime he's worked out with his mother, Viv (Gaby Hoffman.) Further complicating the issue is Jesse's awareness of his father Paul's (Scoot McNairy) struggle with mental illness and Jesse's concern that his emotional behavior might be signs of a similar problem. Having to convey that one's emotions are normal while still living under the strain of how to guide and advise on them is the struggle of every good parent at one time or another, if not constantly. Again, these are real characters that Mills has created and they don't veer away from that realism at any point.

The other nice touches of the production also demonstrate what a complete vision this is. The choice to film in black-and-white is smart. There are no distractions of color, either from action or lighting. Everything remains focused on the characters and their emotions, which provide the real color of the story. Similarly, using Mozart's Requiem as Jesse's choice of when to be "loud" (on Saturdays) was interesting, as the music is normally used in film to convey a sense of doom and/or majesty, but in this case was more a reaction to the overall moroseness and fear that Jesse was feeling about his father and about himself. Contrary to its frequent use, the Requiem was never meant to be a funeral dirge, but rather an acknowledgement of life that was lived fully, on top of the grief that those listening would know at its passing. It's also a choral piece, demonstrating that we are all singing this song together and trying to be heard within it. Which brings us to the title.

Johnny, in trying to explain his work and also hint at his detachment from his own emotions tied up in his mother's prolonged death, introduces the expression "Blah, blah, blah" to Jesse, who quickly catches on to the fact that it's a way to avoid communicating what one doesn't feel like revealing or confronting. Johnny makes a living listening to other people talk, so he tries to convince others (and himself) that hearing him talk is just a waste of time. But Jesse finally confronts him with his own reluctance to say what's on his mind; to join the chorus, as it were. "From the mouths of babes" and all that. Just like last time, this is a film that doesn't have a complicated story, but it does have one of depth that makes it wholly worthwhile, as long as one is willing to listen.