Tommaso (2019, Abel Ferrara) (Patreon)
Content
61/100
Another instance of my tabula rasa approach paying dividends. Only in the last few seconds, as we watch the three-year-old dancing around for no apparent reason other than to showcase her cuteness, did I suddenly think "Oh, that must be Ferrera's real-life daughter." Confirming that further revealed that Cristina Chiriac, whose oddly amused performance I'd found tolerable at best (though still less off-putting than Emmanuelle Seigner tends to be, I gotta say), is Ferrera's wife, and that their actual Rome apartment serves as the characters' abode. Would I have processed Tommaso differently had I been aware going in of just how autobiographical it is? Quite likely, since I spent most of the film marveling at how...un-Ferrara it feels. Granted, it ultimately lands somewhere familiar, taking a violent turn (for which I didn't much care) en route to a self-pitying summation that literalizes the "Ballad of John and Yoko" chorus (with a wry nod toward Dafoe having been up there once before). Most of what precedes that, though, is remarkably simple and direct, devoid of the jittery fervor that usually animates his work. Took me a while to realize that this is in part a stealth recovery drama, as the first AA meeting we see is pitched at the same quietly observational tenor as, say, Tommaso shopping for groceries, or teaching what I assume is his acting class, or struggling—sometimes successfully, sometimes less so—not to hit on women who are even younger than his beloved but possibly unfaithful spouse. It's far and away the slice-of-life-iest movie that Ferrara has ever made*, and the occasional dreamlike interludes paradoxically reinforce its overall sense of atypical normality. Again, I wish that its climactic shift into severe self-criticism had taken some less hackneyed form, and that Ferrara had hired an actor of Dafoe's caliber to play opposite him. (Chiriac's improvisational skills are not formidable.) But most of my time in this aging reformed addict's company was very well spent, even when—perhaps especially when (I'm thinking of Tommaso walking that comely fellow alcoholic home, or the caterwauling vagrant)—nothing terribly exciting happens. Plus, coming up with a strong ending to something ambling and anecdotal? Christ, you know it ain't easy.
* I haven't yet seen some early films, including Ms. 45 and The Driller Killer, but feel pretty confident that they bear little resemblance to this one. Call it a hunch.