Printer-friendly version »

Movie Review: Love, Liza

Bland and forgettable, chalk up a rare miscue for Philip Seymour Hoffman.

by Janey | 2003.02.12

There’s a rumor going around San Francisco that you’re not allowed to show a film here unless it features John C. Reilly or Philip Seymour Hoffman. I can’t confirm or deny this, but honestly, I wouldn’t particularly mind if it were true.

The latest film to qualify for screening in SF is Love, Liza, in which Hoffman appears in almost every scene. And he holds up his end of the bargain with great aplomb. His role is not glamorous in any way – he plays Wilson, a youngish and rather unattractive man whose wife has recently committed suicide. He tries to hold his life together to some extent, but he finds it nearly impossible, not least because Liza left him a note that he cannot bring himself to read. The film centers primarily on the anguish that he feels, his coping strategies and the process of deciding whether or not to read the letter, which he carries with him at all times.

Love, Liza is billed as a “comic tragedy,” and there certainly are amusing and sometimes funny moments. But they are neither funny enough nor frequent enough to warrant the “comic” subtitle, and the tragedy in the film is blurred both figuratively and literally by Wilson’s addiction to the high that can be obtained from gasoline fumes. I found his compulsion sad and somewhat illustrative of the profound grief that he was experiencing, but at the same time, I found it extremely irritating that he wouldn’t simply let himself feel bereft. But it’s not within Wilson’s power to simply experience his life, and one is left with the sense that he has always operated at some distance from immediate experience. In one scene he recalls watching Liza as she dries off after a shower, and even his memory takes place from the distance – the distance both of gasoline fumes and of physical proximity to her as he watches from another room.

Wilson is temporarily dragged out of his exile by his boss, who harbors a not-so-secret admiration for him, and her brother, Denny, a radio control enthusiast. Some of the best moments in the film are in the interactions between Wilson and Denny. Denny is played by Jack Kehler – and if you don’t recognize his name, you’ll surely recognize his face. There’s an organic bond between the two actors that hits just the right level. They are neither too familiar with one another nor too distant, and each actor holds up his end of the relationship well.

Hoffman’s face speaks worlds, even in his drugged haze. He never gives in to simple caricature or blunt expression, but always reaches deeper into his character. His is a remarkably nuanced performance, matched in this film only by that of Kathy Bates, who plays his mother in law, a woman who has lost her daughter to suicide. In only one moment does she ever strike a false note, and I suspect that, as with many of the faltering moments in this film, the real culprit is the script (by Gordy Hoffman, Philip Seymour’s older brother) or, more likely, the direction (Todd Louiso, in what is for all intents and purposes his directorial debut).

Love, Liza is shot on video, which always bugs me, even though I understand and appreciate the need and uses for the technology. As an audience member, however, I find video to be visually irritating and emotionally cold. And while one could surmise that the Louiso has chosen the flat palette of digital video as a metaphor for Wilson’s life and work (Wilson is a computer programmer or something along those lines, by trade), I think it’s far more likely that the choice was made for the usual reasons – budget – and that had money not been a concern, film would have been used.

Love, Liza makes a brave attempt to bring the grieving process to the screen but, in the final analysis, it fails. Wilson spends far too much time under the influence of his drug of choice for my taste. To some extent, the drugs further the plot, but not enough to warrant the amount of time that the audience is forced to gaze at blurred images and dull stares. Unfortunately, if the drugs are taken out of the story, there simply isn’t enough film left to make a movie, even taking into account the radio control subplot. And that’s a shame, but a film needs a story as well as a couple of good performances, if it doesn’t want to fade off into nothingness which, at the end of the day, Love, Liza simply does.

Read more articles in Arts »