Last year's best film, American Fiction, is something that appealed to me beyond the great writing and the equally excellent acting because of its subject matter: a frustrated writer who feels like his message isn't getting across and being unwilling to change that message to what's "popular." I've just seen another film that shares the geographic application and is also about a frustrated writer, but is a bit more directly personal and emotional and is, in some ways, obviously being played for a farce. That doesn't mean that its message isn't delivered with the same intensity but it does mean, as good as I found it to be, that it doesn't quite, uh, measure up to the best film of 2023. It might be the best thing I've seen so far in 2024, though.
American Dreamer is the latest effort by Peter Dinklage or, at least, latest that I've seen, since it was produced in 2022, but not released in the US until earlier this year. (The Thicket was just released two weeks ago, so I'm hoping to get to it soon.) I'll obviously see almost anything involving Peter Dinklage, not only because he played my second-favorite character from Game of Thrones but also because I was a fan of his from things before that like The Station Agent and Death at a Funeral. This film is clearly a vehicle for the type of character that he's been most closely identified with: highly intelligent, frustrated at being constantly underestimated, and trying to adapt to hurdles that others of (ahem) greater stature might not encounter because of money, societal position or, well, size. He plays an adjunct professor of economics whose insights are revelatory but contrarian so earn him little respect and even less money and whom is desperate to find a place in life that might earn him some self-esteem; most notably by getting a long-suffering novel published. In the process, he encounters a woman who's way past that level of respect (and wealth) in the form of Astrid, played by the still-wonderful Shirley MacLaine, and the two of them try to figure out their paths forward, together and alone, sometimes simultaneously.
It's not outrageous to dismiss the entire thing as a parody of Dinklage's own life, in that the main thrust of the plot can be (short-sightedly) seen as a declaration that "Little people can do this, too!" Anyone who's seen him perform before doesn't need that message and so watching him portray it can seem to be something of an underselling of his abilities and one wondering why we're seeing it delivered on the screen. But what stuck out to me is the unabashed emotion underpinning everything that Phil (Dinklage) does and how the audience is able to sympathize with him, even when they're fully aware that he's doing the wrong thing for no other reason than that he's acting out like a five-year-old. Astrid is in a somewhat similar situation frequently confronted by seniors in this country in that she's often being treated like an invalid even when she is manifestly not one. (One assumes that the actual MacLaine, at the age of 90, has had that experience before...) Again, we don't need to be told that these are fine actors. We know this. And that means that, despite the predictability of much of the plot, it might be worthwhile watching it simply for the sake of the very human story and the often black humor contained therein.
Again, this is obviously a farce. One can tell this from the first scene of Phil talking to his buxom imaginary friends and how servile they are to his every want and need, only to be shrugged at by him in the course of those daydreams because he's self-aware enough to know exactly what he's doing and what "they" are. This is further heightened by each segment of the story being announced by typeface running across a blank screen, announcing a new chapter summary of anguish and failure that Phil will have to endure. (This is, of course, the writing part that I can't help but find appealing.) Part of that farce is also Dinklage's enormous talent in physical humor. An encounter with a shower and then a toiler and then the bathroom floor, only to have his inflicted injuries partially solved by duct tape is one of the several moments when I actually laughed out loud, which isn't a frequent occurrence, even in supposed comedies. But the other aspect to the story is where all of what Phil is encountering is relatable to most, if not all, of us and to those of us in the writing sphere most of all. Is anyone listening to what I'm saying? Does anyone understand what I'm saying? Is it that they're idiots or that I am? These are all questions that a lot of creative people ask and which Phil asks throughout the film, even as more and more absurd obstacles end up in his way, at least partially created, knowingly or not, by Astrid who then interjects with an acerbic declaration that answers all three of those questions in one manner or another. (No. No. And I think it's you.) Phil is helped along his tortured path by some solid performances by Matt Dillon, as his real estate agent, and Danny Glover, as a private investigator, as well. So, while I wouldn't hold it in the highest regard, I do think it's worth the time to see it, not least to get an hour-and-a-half of Dinklage's baleful stare at the fools that he can't avoid springing up around him, including the one in the bathroom mirror.
[Meanwhile, yes, I am back doing this film criticism thing that no one reads because, as often happens in creative ventures, real life has gotten out in front of my creative partner and we've run into some degree of delay. That, of course, means that I have not a lot to do, word-wise, with my other blogging efforts shut down so why not come here and write more stuff that no one cares about? Guess I could always go back to the long-suffering novel, just like Phil...]
