Off the Map

What a pleasure to see this movie--an intelligent and beautiful film that deals with real, grown-up (and growing-up) issues faced by real characters in thoughtful and believable settings. The young girl's character was excellently drawn and acted--as was the mother's, played by the wonderful Joan Allen--but Sam Elliot stole the movie for me. What a great piece of understated acting. The screen writing is wonderful, too, but the acting is truly phenomenal. The best American film since "American Beauty"...If you liked "Lost in Translation" or "Spring Forward" you will love this movie. Cameron Scott should be nominated for an Oscar for best director--his hand is so delicate yet knowing--thank you Cameron, for making sure this film got made, and for all you clearly must have done and been through to get it distributed. It is an amazing film.

"Off the Map" is like a 1970's take on "Little House on the Prairie" with a dose of the realism of "Wisconsin Death Trip." We see these New Age pioneers in the beautiful high desert of New Mexico through the eyes of a precocious early teen girl, much like Anna Paquin's character in "The Piano" in another primitive, isolated environment. (The voice over of her as a grown-up tries to compensate for this limitation but is more annoying than additionally insightful.)

So we don't get much factual information on her family's lives, back story or explanations of their behavior deeper than what she sees and overhears, let alone how they came to live mostly off the grid. We get only hints of how Joan Allen became the supremely confident and capable Earth Mother that she is, something about her grandmother being a Native American healer, to dominate the screen as well as her daughter's life and everyone else's she touches.

As effectively though still talkily adapted by screenwriter Joan Ackermann from her play, the story hones in on one summer when the father, as played by Sam Elliott, is so depressed as to be literally catatonic-- we only get a glimmer near the end in one long, silent, resonant exchange of how the strength of the husband-wife bond got them through this emotional crisis. It is unusual to see the impact of a family member's depression on the rest of the family, as well as friends, though it's not clear if his buddy J. K. Simmons is still Korean War shell-shocked or just plain brain damaged.

The story, however, is not about the usual romantic triangles as it careers in an unexpected direction when Jim True-Frost (of "The Wire", where he also plays an unhappy naif who discovers his calling) wanders in and is even more blindsided by the scenery than we are. Until I saw the Sundance Channel's explanatory "Anatomy of a Scene" documentary, however, I was just confused by the selection of the pop song "Me and Mrs. Jones" as the ironic background to his epiphany, even while I was admiring the song selections throughout the movie.

Usually the point of bringing characters together in such an isolated, let alone Western, setting, a la Sam Shephard plays, is to force them to bounce off each other for uncovering secrets and making brutal realizations. Here, it seems the gentle theme is more how people can help give nature a little nudge to save our souls. Not a big revelation, and while it a bit mysteriously trails off at the end due to unnecessary foreshadowing and some of the plot incidentals just don't make a lot of sense, is still satisfying.

The make-up is unusually realistic and believable looking, from sun-burnt bodies to un-wigged-looking long hair.

"Off the Map" is an "old-fashioned" film that made me feel, in the immortal words of Frank Zappa, that it's f*cking great to be alive. This film took me to a place in my heart I haven't been since the wonderful Bill Forsyth ("Local Hero") faded from the movie-making scene. It is high time for humane, gentle, wholly original stories of people and places off the map (or in our technological dystopia, perhaps `off the radar screen' would be more appropriate) to fill our movie dreamscape again. New Mexico is the only place in the United States this could have been filmed because, indeed, only the Land of Enchantment could have fit this gorgeous, lyrical story so well.

There wasn't a single relationship in this film that wasn't unique and fully realized. We've seen these set-ups before: the school-girl crush of Bo for William Gibbs, the awe-inspired worship of William for Arlene, the friendship between Charley and George. But don't we always get the caricatures, the popcorn images that point out the woeful arrested development of our country and its mythmakers? We think we want to be young forever. But it takes a film like "Off the Map" to show us all the richness we're missing out on by not growing up. (And the casting and direction of this ensemble of actors was nothing short of genius, especially Joan Allen. It's nice someone can see her as something more than middle-class white bread and pull this very individualistic performance out of her.)

I'm feeling kind of emotional just thinking about some to the great scenes in this film: when Charley runs 20 miles to George's house and goads him into wrestling; when Charley and William talk about what it feels like to be depressed; when William watches Arlene standing naked in her garden watching the totemic coyote; when Bo extracts from George the information she needs to apply for a MasterCharge card; Arlene reading Bo's letter in the newspaper advice column; Bo thanking the squirrel for giving up its life to feed her and her family; George's presence, like an old pair of sneakers, in the Groden home.

Like I said before, I didn't think people made films like this anymore. Thank you, Campbell Scott, for proving me wrong.

When a married Arlene Groden (Joan Allen) tells her house guest, William Gibbs (Jim True-Frost), that although it's nice he's expressed his love for her, it can be accounted for by the power of New Mexico, I knew I would express my love for this understated, eccentric, and satisfying film. While the two male heroes, Gibbs and Arlene's husband, Charley (Sam Neill), are both depressed in the clinical sense, the film is not about depression but rather the forces of devotion and simplicity that keep these retro-hippies functioning in a remote world somewhere around Santa Fe, Taos, and El Paso.

Narrator Bo Groden (as adult, Amy Brenneman and as 12 year old, Valentina de Angelis) reminisces as an adult in voice-over about that 6 months of her father's immobilizing depression in the seventies and her own freedom in that pristine land where she could hunt, plink, and create without restriction. Bo is not a wild child but rather a home-schooled, precociously sensitive pre-teen who plans to leave here as soon as possible while she regularly receives gift packages from manufacturers whom she has threatened to sue over allegedly contaminated products. Her nonchalant but effective treatment of her father in his funks is one of the many acts that assure us she is quite capable of surviving anywhere. Director Campbell Scott's determination not to fill us with back stories on all the characters makes for an energetic exploration of the way they are at this time.

Gibbs, who came from the IRS to audit the family, stays 8 years, long enough to paint New Mexican landscapes of note. His friendship with Charley is true and good, despite that fact that Charley probably knows Gibbs loves Arlene. Charley asks him, "Ever been depressed?" William replies, "I've never not been." Out of his passion for the landscape comes his sanity and a renewed interest in life that he seemed to have lost with the suicide of his mother, for which he feels responsible.

"I am a damn crying machine," Charley says. You may end up crying as well, but only because not enough movies like this are made where insights into humanity are as abundant as the Groden's garden and their four years' supply of homemade canned goods. Lafcadio Hearn could have been describing the Grodens when he said, "It is only in the home-relations that people are true enough to each other, --and show what human nature is, the beauty of it, the divinity of it."

Winsome tale of a little family that chose in 1974 to unplug themselves from the "grid" of middle class life and go live off the land in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico. A windmill pumps their well water. They read by kerosene lamps. They grow vegetables. They've gradually stored away four years of food and three years of firewood.

Cash comes in the form of a small VA pension to the head of the household, Charley Groden (basso voiced Sam Elliott), plus some modest crop sales. All told, they take in about $5,000 a year. Which makes it curious indeed when they receive notice that the IRS is dispatching an agent to visit. But wait a minute, I'm getting ahead of things.

The other family members are Arlene Groden (the immensely versatile Joan Allen) and Bo (Valentina de Angelis), Charley and Arlene's precocious 12 year old daughter. A good friend, lonely bachelor George (J. K. Simmons), hangs around so much he seems like family too. The time in question here, when Bo was 12, actually was maybe a decade ago, for we are learning this story as a narrative reminiscence told to us by a now adult Bo.

The summer when she was 12 was marked not only by the advent of William Gibbs (Jim True-Frost), the IRS man, but by the occurrence of Charley's first ever episode of deep depression. It went on for months. He sits mute most of the time. Eats little. Sleeps little. Cries softly a lot. Refuses to seek professional aid from the VA.

Arlene manages to keep things going, but her generally serene style is eroding as the weeks go by. It doesn't help that Bo is restless, tired of her isolation, chafing to go to regular school, get a credit card, move out into the larger world. Not one to hide her light, Bo complains eloquently about her boring life, even as she maintains a loving, respectful attitude toward her parents.

The arrival of William Gibbs destabilizes the precarious symmetry of these people's lives. Turns out Gibbs is depressed too: maybe not as severely as Charley, but it's gone on for many years. He just became an IRS agent lately, grasping at some possible change for the better. In thrall to Arlene's mystical ways and beauty, Gibbs drops out of the IRS, moves into an old schoolbus on the property, and takes up watercolor painting.

Arlene and Bo are both grateful for attention from a new face. And, perhaps in a house too small for two depressed males, Charley begins to come out of his shell, with some help from a borrowed bottle of antidepressant pills that fire up a manicky conclusion to his near catatonic state. Even George comes to life and goes hunting for a woman to marry.

This is a small film about unconventional people, folks who don't fit the molds of middle class, rich, arty or neurotic urbanity that typify the subjects of so much traditional fiction – print and film. Adapted from a stage script by the playwright, Joan Ackermann, this work reminds me of the novels about quirky, offbeat people that have become so popular in the past few years.

I'm thinking of the work of authors like Louise Erdrich ("The Beet Queen"), E. Annie Proulx ("The Shipping News" – which, incidentally, was adapted into a fine film that did not receive the recognition it deserved), or Anne Tyler ("Clockwinder," " Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant," "A Slipping Down Life").

The movie is not without its hitches. Why is a coyote - to which Arlene had developed an intense spiritual connection - killed? How did Bo actually acquire that credit card and get approval to use it for such a grand and costly gift? The film starts somewhat bumpily. For a while it seems like Ms. de Angelis will overwhelm both her family and us viewers with her domineering intelligence. But with time, she, like the film itself, wins you over.

Indeed, "Off the Map" ends by charming you, making this film a pleasant surprise. It's of interest to compare "Off the Map" to another recent release about 1970s dropouts, Rebecca Miller's "The Ballad of Jack and Rose." That film more or less trashes the whole ideal of living a life according to values that run against the stereotypical middle class norms of acquiring material possessions and working to pay off the resultant debts.

The fact that Jack and his merry band failed to sustain their alternative way of life is implicitly presented as evidence that their aims were unsound, invalid. "Off the Map," on the other hand, conveys a better sense of what motivated people to drop out back then and shows that at least some dropouts achieved a measure of success.

I don't know why, but it took two years to bring this decent film to the screen (made in 2003, it is only receiving commercial distribution now). My rating: 7/10 (B). (Seen on 04/13/05). If you'd like to read more of my reviews, send me a message for directions to my websites.