Time Out of Mind (Richard Gere, Jena Malone)

[Holmes]

My review -

Directed by Oren Moverman (who made a dynamic and topical directorial debut with The Messenger, but lost his way with the convoluted and overwrought Rampart), Time Out of Mind is a fascinating and hypnotic aural and visual experiment, emphasizing observation over dramatic omniscience. It is also a poignant drama with a social conscience and a vital subject: the homeless experience in a contemporary American city. Richard Gere portrays George, an itinerant and marginalized man whose daily routine pivots on finding a bite to eat, a corner on which to beg, and, at last, a place to rest his head, perhaps in a men's shelter or just on a public bench. He has no form of identification, and straight-faced bureaucrats often inform him a form of I.D. (a birth certificate, proof of residency) is required to receive another form of I.D., such as a new Social Security card. This cycle alone imprisons him in a labyrinthine system as time bends, elongates, and becomes a nearly arbitrary measure of existence.

The character so deeply inhabits the city as to be almost invisible: a figure half glimpsed through a window, another body crowding the street or subway. The elegant and rigidly composed photography emphasizes his there-and-not-there relation to spaces, often positioning him in the corner of the frame and obscuring him with an ambivalent pedestrian or a reflection of light in a dirty pane of glass. And the evocative image is always complemented by the complex sound design: George's hazily scarce words slip in and out of a maelstrom of car horns, church bells, idle chat, and other urban-noise pollutants. Such bold aesthetic choices will, of course, prove limiting on a financial level (this is a traditional "art-house" release), but they are courageous and worthwhile: no other film I have watched has depicted the plight of the homeless in such an immediate, sensory way, and it is always heartening to see a star-driven independent production madly pursue its muse without a hint of vanity or audience hand-holding. Everyone involved with Time Out of Mind is clearly serious, sympathetic, and well-researched, and the result is an uncompromising cinematic experience.

George's exact history (a presumed blend of alcohol dependence, mental illness, and self-absorption) is left ambiguous, but we learn he has an estranged daughter, played by Jena Malone, and we read on his face how his fractured mind functions: absent gazes give way to stabs of grief or rage before the fog returns. The cumulative impact of Gere's harshly non-glamorous and dialed-down performance is staggering: every muted gesture rings true, and every cough and groan hurts. Both he and the film in general also wisely resist the temptation to sentimentalize via a singular, soothing epiphany or moment of transcendence. Colorful aid is lent by Ben Vereen as the loquacious, madcap Dixon, a shelter veteran and self-proclaimed great pianist who briefly positions himself as George's "friend" through sheer force of will and maybe even does connect with him insofar as anyone can.

A