Barney’s Version

Rating: ****

Like any good life story, the autobiography of Barney Panofsky spans times of great joy, sorrow, doubt, self-obsession, and fascination. And like the film based on it, the entire experience goes by like a breeze, it loads you with emotion and leaves you with fleeting memories as you try to hold on to the best parts. The wonderfully acted and richly photographed film version of the Mordecai Richler novel Barney’s Version is an extremely satisfying film that rewards viewers that like the complexities of human life and drama.’

Barney’s Version follows the life-long adventure of Barney Panofsky, who over the course of his life marries no less than three women. His first wife, who he marries after getting her pregnant, commits suicide after their child is stillborn. He meets his second wife years later while doing a bizarre bit of unenthusiastic fundraising for the cause of fighting Anti-Semitism, and then meets and falls for the third while at his wedding reception to his second wife. The film is replete with lessons of love won and lost, and with a potential murder mystery to boot.

At the centre of the film is a tremendous performance by Paul Giamatti as the titular character, a Jew from Montreal that often dives head first into love only to ding his head on the hard bottom of the pool. Of course that doesn’t stop him from getting right back out and trying again, and try again he does. Three times. Although he can come across as a sometimes selfish and self-indulgent character, Giamatti fills Barney with an easy likeability that makes you root for him through the screw-ups and just plain hiccups of life.

At the same time Giamatti leads a wonderful ensemble, including, first and foremost, Dustin Hoffman as Barney’s father, Izzy. Izzy could have been a caricature, but in Hoffman’s hands there’s a naturalness and ease that makes the character very grounded. Hoffman plays well off Giamatti, with the more exuberant Izzy playing well, in mismatch way, against Barney’s neurosis. Scott Speedman, meanwhile, adds another feather to his acting cap as Barney’s good friend Bernard 'Boogie' Moscovitch, a troubled writer that ends up at the centre of a darker chapter of Barney’s story. Speedman plays raw and tortured as ‘Boogie’, but still maintains his sense of charm.

Of the three wives, Rosamund Pike gets the most screen time as Barney’s third wife Miriam, so naturally she gets the most opportunity to create a well-rounded character. She’s gorgeous sure, but Pike does a really great job of portraying a lot of what goes on inside Miriam, the quiet frustrations and uncertainties that she can’t say, but nonetheless feels. Minnie Driver’s a blast as Barney’s unnamed second wife, and adds a lot of humour to the film’s middle. Rachelle Lefevre gets to stretch her acting muscles a little as the ill-fated first wife, who makes a brief but all so memorable appearance at the beginning of the film.

The technical specs are excellent thanks to the beautiful, globetrotting locales like Rome, New York City and, of course, Montreal. The cinematography by Guy Dufaux (The Trotsky) consumes every detail and renders it in loving fashion; the colours, the buildings and the foliage all create a wonderful pallet on which the drama takes place. The script by Michael Konyves doesn’t take anything for granted and director Richard J. Lewis keeps the action moving tightly, and expeditiously. The film is over two hours long, but doesn’t feel the least bit bloated. Another fun touch by Lewis is the Who’s Who cameos by a few famous Canadian filmmakers.

But in the end, Barney’s Version is a fun tear jerker, a sad clown kind of movie that is carried simply by the quality of the actors and the characters they play. The worthy Golden Globe winner Giamatti deserves every accolade in what maybe his finest performance since Sideways, and for, at the very least, making cigar smoking a colourful affectation for a film character once more. Of course the title of the film, and the book, implies that there maybe only a little truth in how this character tells his story, but for the most part I bet that Barney’s Version is the version that’s the most fun.

TIFF - The High Cost of Living

Rating: ***1/2

There was something about the new Deborah Chow film The High Cost of Living that immediately signalled to me something kind of cheesy and perhaps more ideally suited to cable TV than the Toronto International Film Festival. The story, about a pregnant woman who loses her baby after a hit-and-run, and how she comes to terms with that loss after befriending the man who, unbeknownst to her, was responsible for the accident, really seemed to have only one way it could all turn out.

But while the destination was written on the wall from the beginning, the journey to get there is epically rewarding in an emotional way. The acting is sublime and the digital cinematography has a crisp, yet strangely voyeuristic, visual effect on the screen. But mostly it’s the performances of leads Isabelle Blais and Zach Braff that dazzle you. The film is incredible to watch as you not only wait for that moment for the truth to come out, but you kind of find yourself hoping that it never does.

Braff is Henry, an American ex-pat and petty drug dealer who’s way too wasted to be driving when he hits the nearly ready to give birth Nathalie, played by Blais. Nathalie’s baby dies in the accident, stillborn in her womb, and the child can’t be delivered until she’s had a chance to recuperate from her other injuries. The loss creates an even greater distance between Nathalie and her husband Michel (Patrick Labbé), as Henry uses the teenage son of his landlords to try and find out any information about the pregnant woman he hit.

Henry’s guilt forces him to seek Nathalie to see how she’s faring after the accident, and the answer is that she’s not faring very well. Walking out on Michel out of anger, Henry has a “chance” encounter with Nathalie and the two begin to form a bond as Henry becomes Nathalie’s guardian angel and the one person she feels comfortable confiding in about the tragedy. Henry, meanwhile, struggles with whether his affection for Nathalie is genuine or whether it’s just guilt, even while he struggles to make sure that neither she nor the police learn of his culpability in her condition.

What makes The High Cost of Living so compelling is that Chow constructs a world where people do and don’t act the way you’d expect them too, and doing both at the same time. True, Henry’s trying to hide his true complicity in Nathalie’s condition, but he’s so invested in her well being it’s hard not to think that here’s a man who almost wants to be caught. Blias’ performance is beautifully restrained and understated. Her suffering and grief are so palpable that she makes you feel it. And more than that, she almost makes it seem that she’s not doing any acting at all.

There are a couple of subplots that didn’t quite strike the right feeling with me. The whole matter of Henry’s teenage cohort seemed kind of tacked on to give the film a bit of “action” or as the obvious escape hatch through which Henry’s loving plot unfurls. I also was initially ambivalent about Labbé’s performance about Michel, as he seemed to walk like a zombie throughout the film, but later I came to feel as if he played it just right. It was low key, kind of apathetic and a little “checked out” in mind and soul. And honestly, can you blame Michel for acting in such a way?

But The High Cost of Living is a very rewarding film for the acting and is almost obliviously in how complexly those performances are delivered. It’s a very human tale, and I find myself revisiting it in my mind every now and then ever since I’ve seen it. It’s a simple fable, but Deborah Chow does an impeccable job in making the film lively and human and down to Earth. A very well done film.