The terrible pain of this film is oftentimes as subtle as the main inciting event. Every scene that should be dramatic is underplayed and vice versa. With this admittedly shrewd balancing act, Permanent Record sets itself up for some profoundly moving and affecting scenes of truth and maturity. Whereas many a coming of age story have approached the topics of death, loss and grief, there is one undercurrent that this film is (to my perspective anyway) interested in, and that is David's behavior early in the film. To my humble eyes (and knowing what I know about his actor, the great and talented Alan Boyce), it appears David may be struggling with an invisible condition, that of an identity problem. To me, that underscores the great tragedy of this stunning movie.
The premise of these films is largely based on the search for identity. The search for who we are as people, and the trials and tribulations of self-discovery. My greatest fear for David is that he had figured himself out, and in doing so, felt he had no place in this world. Chris's desperate attempts at meaning or understanding are but vain attempts, incendiary forms of impassioned pleas to a friend he could not comprehend. That's the thing -- how well do we know the people we love? When we are young, and we have no concrete conclusions about our friends but what they offer. We take words and actions for granted, never looking closer to their most basic selves. For many people, the actuality of the self isn't visible but for those with utmost authenticity. I've been in Chris's shoes before, and I felt nothing but the most sincere empathy in his scenes. I saw them in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I wanted to cry.
Which brings me to Keanu Reeves. His performance here, arguably his finest, is so baked in sincerity and conviction, that when he cries, the movie cries with him. Whenever he or anyone else in the film needs compassion, we as viewers, as kind humans, wish we could give him a hug and tell him what he can do with himself. The same way we do in real life, but inform him that life is worth it for those we leave behind. And although oftentimes we feel the great sadness of our brethren, our collective species, we are here, and what we choose to do with that is of our own will and volition. Although we feel the ghosts of mercy and the phantoms of presence, we are never far from those we have given our hearts too, whether it be as close as a whisper or as far as eternity.
The terrible pain of this film is oftentimes as subtle as the main inciting event. Every scene that should be dramatic is underplayed and vice versa. With this admittedly shrewd balancing act, Permanent Record sets itself up for some profoundly moving and affecting scenes of truth and maturity. Whereas many a coming of age story have approached the topics of death, loss and grief, there is one undercurrent that this film is (to my perspective anyway) interested in, and that is David's behavior early in the film. To my humble eyes (and knowing what I know about his actor, the great and talented Alan Boyce), it appears David may be struggling with an invisible condition, that of an identity problem. To me, that underscores the great tragedy of this stunning movie.
The premise of these films is largely based on the search for identity. The search for who we are as people, and the trials and tribulations of self-discovery. My greatest fear for David is that he had figured himself out, and in doing so, felt he had no place in this world. Chris's desperate attempts at meaning or understanding are but vain attempts, incendiary forms of impassioned pleas to a friend he could not comprehend. That's the thing -- how well do we know the people we love? When we are young, and we have no concrete conclusions about our friends but what they offer. We take words and actions for granted, never looking closer to their most basic selves. For many people, the actuality of the self isn't visible but for those with utmost authenticity. I've been in Chris's shoes before, and I felt nothing but the most sincere empathy in his scenes. I saw them in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I wanted to cry.
Which brings me to Keanu Reeves. His performance here, arguably his finest, is so baked in sincerity and conviction, that when he cries, the movie cries with him. Whenever he or anyone else in the film needs compassion, we as viewers, as kind humans, wish we could give him a hug and tell him what he can do with himself. The same way we do in real life, but inform him that life is worth it for those we leave behind. And although oftentimes we feel the great sadness of our brethren, our collective species, we are here, and what we choose to do with that is of our own will and volition. Although we feel the ghosts of mercy and the phantoms of presence, we are never far from those we have given our hearts too, whether it be as close as a whisper or as far as eternity.
