Movie review: Things We Lost in the Fire

by John P. Meyer

Moving drama is initially hard to follow but delivers emotional payback for attention invested. (Oh, and Del Toro rocks.)

It's impossible not to be moved by the tragic yet hopeful narrative of Danish-born director Susanne Bier's first English-language feature film, Things We Lost in the Fire. If you can figure it out, that is.

I add this proviso because the story is presented in a non-sequential, stream of consciousness timeline that is particularly confusing in the early sequences, as we attempt to decipher whether new scenes precede or follow the ones we've already witnessed. Before too long we conclude that Steven Burke (David Duchovny) is "currently" (i.e., film-time) dead - because people are attending a wake for him, for one thing - but in scenes that do not feature Steven it takes us a while to get a handle on where they segue into the global scheme of things. Furthermore, the bulk of the proceedings are presented in that unsteady docu-cam POV style that's maintained its trendiness in spite of the fact that actual camera dollies and their handlers are probably within the budgetary constraints of many of the directors foregoing them.

As for the wake: it's hosted by Audrey Burke (Halle Berry, pulling out all emotional stops to erase any taint of the Catwoman stain from critical memory - and looking damn good while doing it, I'm pleased to say), Steven's widow, who's gone to great lengths to invite everyone she knows who might have had a close acquaintance with her husband. The list ends up including (in fact, downright featuring) Steven's old school chum Jerry Sunborne (the continually remarkable Benicio Del Toro), who's lately fallen into the dark and timeless purgatory of heroin addiction. Audrey's brother Neal (Omar Benson Miller) volunteers to seek out the seedy apartment where Jerry was last know to be holing up with his skanky fellow addict and girlfriend in order to invite him to the funeral.

Audrey has long harbored ill will against Jerry because she's considered him a threat to her marriage: Steven refuses to give up on his seemingly-beyond-hope buddy and insists on continuing to visit him, even though by doing so he leaves Audrey alone on nights when she'd rather have him safe with her in bed and not out on the mean streets or camped in a flophouse with Jerry. After all, Audrey has the welfare of their two children to consider. But after Jerry's violent death, Audrey's better nature compels her to invite Steven's avowed best friend to the proceedings.

Turns out Jerry's presence at the wake has an unexpected salubrious effect on all in attendance, most particularly on Harper and Dory (played by Alexis Llewellyn and Micah Berry), Audrey's young daughter and son. Even in his faintly hazy drugged-up condition, Jerry's shared insights into the history and personality of his deceased friend shed surprisingly brilliant light on the man. And the kids find Jerry's natural playfulness a delightful distraction from the dour occasion.

Speaking of light: oft-referenced themes include fluorescence (defined in the film as "light from within," as when Steven tells his son, Dory, that he's fluorescent) and water as an emollient - which works out well, because the story is set in Seattle (though filmed in Vancouver, BC). It's an extremely stylish production, with director of photography Tom Stern making extensive use of zoomed-in, eye examination-worthy close-ups to the point that we wonder whether the ghost of Sergio Leone might have hijacked the camera.

Add to this a few episodes of literal clock-watching, lots of verbal reminiscence (employed as an agent of emotional healing) and some dialog-free cinematographic reflection and you'll begin to see how the movie's run-time ends up being just one minute short of two hours. (Given all this, I never found the film's pacing to reach the level of tediousness, though I did occasionally wish they'd just get on with things.)

Dependence is perhaps the predominant theme of the film, both from the standpoint of mood-inducing substances and the common human tendency to rely on another person for one's emotional well-being. Jerry's dependence on heroin is obvious and front-of-mind, while Audrey's dependence on Steven (for so basic a need as going to sleep at night) only becomes clear after the enabling element is no longer obtainable.

Following a series of incidents that serve to explain Audrey's improving opinion of Jerry, she goes to the rehab center where he's bunking and working (though not rehabbing) and invites him to pack his belongings and take up residence at her house - there's an unfinished guest room under construction in the detached garage of the Burke property where he can hang out; there might even be some work for him around the house (and elsewhere, if the Burke's congenial neighbor Howard has anything to say about it). The fact that Jerry integrates so successfully into the routine of the family - charming, as he does, both of the Burke kids and unintentionally one-upping their former Dad in key areas - leads to the resurgence of Audrey's discomfort with Steven's old friend.

Just as Jerry's drying out and religiously attending NA meetings - even working to pass his investment counselor exam so he can go to work for Howard - Audrey comes unglued and rebels against his elevated and upwardly-mobile status in the household. She's troubled that the kids might begin to consider Jerry their new father (which, of course, they have begun to do) - and perhaps subconsciously Audrey realizes that she, too, has come to accept Jerry as a surrogate Steven. It's just too soon for a potential like that to become a reality, so she reacts by giving Jerry his walking papers - with predictable short-term results.

A taught psychological drama such as this depends upon the performances of its actors to carry the production, and fortunately the casting director has chosen wisely here: Mr. Del Toro injects the complex character of Jerry with a tragic blend of self-destructiveness and worldly wisdom, while Ms. Berry's tendency to tortured melodramatic despair is for the most part reigned in by director Bier, who allows us only glimpses of those closely-banked fires as warranted by the dictates of the plot. Surprisingly, Mr. Duchovny succeeds as a Messiah-like point of reference for the behavior of all those around him - perhaps in part because he has so little screen time. The kid actors (Ms. Llewellyn and Mr. Berry) are both competent and photogenic, while Mr. Lynch (as Howard Glassman) is engagingly naive and refreshingly open-minded. If only more neighbors were like his character.

Though the baroque stylistic elements employed in the storytelling may prove a bit heavy-handed for some, Things We Lost... ends up being a non-formulaic, uplifting and hopeful tale told by artists at the height of their talent.

BLACK SHEEP OF THE (EXTENDED) FAMILY: "Why didn't Steven ever mention you?" - Howard to Jerry, as he's helping the latter move into the Burke's garage apartment.

"Because I'm a recovering heroin addict?" - Jerry to Howard, with a shrug

NOT ANYMORE: "She gets all her decorating from Udei Hussein." - Howard to Jerry, re. the ornate furnishings in his living room.

STEVEN'S MANTRA: "Accept the positive."