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Even though by the climax I was crying profusely, the movie actually won me over long before that with comedy -- one of my favorite moments being an extremely unexpected line involving nipples that is so hilarious I suspect it makes even the late theater games creator Viola Spolin laugh!

The comedy actually begins from the very opening shots of the movie, which depict an extremely morose father (Dan) departing his house to go to work -- as we hear Curly singing the opening number from "Oklahoma"! I actually laughed out loud at the juxtaposition since it is so clear that Dan (even though we don't yet know why) considers this (or any future) morning to be anything but beautiful.

The boldness of this opening helped me "settle in," reassured that I was indeed about to experience another great movie (like "Saint Frances"). Especially because the contrast between what we see and what we hear is not a cheap gag. For (as anyone who has studied musical theater writing knows), Curly is singing about the beauty of the morning because of the kind of person he is inside and his attitude toward life. (That is, the song would not work nearly as well -- in fact, it would be rather off-putting -- if Curly were to sing more on-the-nose lyrics such as "oh I'm such a easy-going fellow, who loves life and all good people".)

Similarly (in an odd way), the juxtaposition between Dan's appearance and the song lets us know from the very opening moments of the movie just how far gone he is. In fact, we can't help wondering if he's going to try to commit suicide by "accidentally" stepping in front of a a car at the work site.

Thus, even before the reasons for the depth of his despair are (gradually) revealed throughout the movie, we understand at a gut level from the beginning why he's willing to take a "hail Mary" pass at redemption by accepting fate's offer to be in a play... and it makes his ultimate salvation all the more powerful (and cathartic).

From what I hear (I'm mostly avoiding reviews until I finish and post this), some have complained that it isn't realistic that Dan wouldn't know how "Romeo and Juliet" ends. But I think this is tunnel-vision as so many of the kind of people who are first to see this movie either are or were (say in high school) theater people. I became one (to a certain extent at least) as an adult, but I would have no trouble believing that most of the people I went to high school with (in a modest semi-rural area a bit beyond the southern-most boundaries of Cook), and most of the many co-workers I've had over the years, do not know how R&J ends.

Thus, I think the only significant critique one could make regarding the movie is (as with "Saint Frances") how short the third act is. In "Frances" the third act -- while innovative and efficient -- was only about two minutes long (the phone messages to the once and perhaps-future boyfriend). The abrupt ending left me essentially paralyzed, still to emotional after the previous huge crying scene (as Brittany and the kid she has so bonded with go their own way at the end of the summer) to even move. Fortunately my system was set on repeat, so I watched the entire first act again -- which, as it turns out, kind of functions as a third act as well (with the boyfriend scenes in particular having a far different context).

Here ("Ghostlight") the third act begins (in my opinion) with the final missing pieces of the tragic puzzle being revealed by Dan during the long-awaited-for deposition.

(NOTE: The rest of this review is by necessity slightly spoilery (though I am as vague as possible). Skip it for now if you haven't seen the movie yet.)

Dan reveals for the first time (while yelling and pounding his fist as he can no longer -- after having spent so much time with the theater -- hide his feelings) how he includes himself in the blame for what happened... and then how that admission (to himself as well as everyone else at the deposition) causes him to say something equally profound to Christine.

The problem is the movie, from a dramaturgical point of view, is basically over at this point (as Dan seems pretty much healed) -- but we as audience want a third act (goes back to Aristotle or whatever). And we also want to see highlights of the R&J play, so the movie goes on for another 20 minutes. Which is wonderful. That is, I can't imagine a single person in the audience who didn't enjoy those last 20 minutes (and, in fact, would have been pissed if we didn't get to see them)!

And yet... I don't think those 20 R&J minutes, as great as they are, quite satisfy our needs for a complete three-act movie. It's more like a two-act movie followed by a short. But what can be done? How about this:

First, end the big deposition scene a moment early; that is, after Dan's yelling, first-pounding revelations, but BEFORE Dan says what he says to Christine. So the scene ends with Dan at maximum anger as he storms out, everyone too afraid to stop him.

Second, omit the following brief scene where Dan's wife Sharon yells at him before exiting the building (where the deposition took place).

Things then progress as-is (with the final preparations and performance of R&J). Then afterwards, as everyone is heading to the party, Dan suddenly runs to his car, seemingly out of control, yelling to the others that he will meet them at the party in a little while. (After all, there's no rush to get to the party as it apparently went all night as they don't get home until daylight.)

Without Dan's knowledge, Susan and Daisy manage to get to another car in time to follow Dan (from a discrete distance). Dan pulls up to a house, knocks on the front door, and begs her parents to speak to Christine (despite the lateness of the hour). Eventually (seeing Dan is in tears and sincere, not angry) the parents agree, and Dan tells Christine here (not at the deposition) what he tells her. We then see that Susan and Daisy had crept up to within earshot and heard everything, and now they sprint up and hug Dan and Christine. After the foursome of tears subsides we cut back to the existing party shots and ending (the now indeed beautiful morning at the house) as is.

To me, this modified ending would (probably) work better, in part because it would create a true third act or "final battle" as it is sometimes called, as Dan (while playing Romeo opening night) battles within himself to see if what he has gained in the first two acts of the movie is enough for him to overcome the dark forces (here, mostly within himself over his guilt). His immediate departure to see Christine as soon as the play is over, and what he says to her, shows that he has.

Now this is essentially the same story as the way it is currently, just a bit more dramatic. Or so I think -- but as the late great Russ Tutterow (long-time artistic director of Chicago Dramatists) used to remind the writer of the play being discussed in the weekly post-staged-reading discussions -- fellow writers always want to change things to the way they would do them! Which may or may not be compatible with what the actual writer wants. So, as Russ used to say, pay attention to whatever feedback you wish to (if any) and feel free to disregard the rest.

The cameos by Fran Guinan and Deanna Dunnegan reminded me of one of the first plays I ever saw, "Stepping Out" at the old Steppenwolf Theater circa 1988. They played two of the dance students students (with Fran forever trying to get the dance studio heater to work properly) that Shannon Cochran was trying to teach. (I still remember how amazed I was at how Cochran expertly looked at the fourth wall at just the right angle to see each of her students, wherever they were at the time, in the huge imaginary mirror.

Finally, watching (on video) the panel discussion from when "Ghostlight" was shown at Sundance a few months ago, I remembered that I had not only seen (writer/co-director) Kelly O'Sullivan but Keith Kupferer and Hanna Dworkin in the final blizzard-ridden performance of "The Humans" circa 2014. As anyone who was "riding the rails" (in my case the brown line) and walking that evening to and from theater can tell you, there were times one really didn't know if he or she was going to make it. Maybe that's when I realized I was indeed (despite only a little on-stage experience with suburban community theater) a theater person.

In any case listening (on that Sundance panel) to O'Sullivan, who looked (if possible) even more cuddly than ever (having just had her first baby), made me think that if there was some kind of cosmic singularity in the space-time continuum that would allow each of the billions of humans on this planet to spend a couple of hours hugging and talking with her (including laughing and, of course, crying after confessing one's innermost wounds), that we could achieve world peace -- for everyone would be healed and thus, at peace.

Perhaps such a space-time singularity is simulated by her various movies (and many of her performances, such as in "Columbinus!"), whereby those who experience them are (at least partially) healed. Of course, a movie (or a play) doesn't necessarily have to be tragic in order to be healing. In fact, I was kind of hoping that the director of R&J telling Dan "don't worry, we're going to do a comedy next" was O'Sullivan's way of letting us know that her next film was going to lean more toward comedy than "St. Frances" or "Ghostlight" (though both certainly incorporate a fair amount of humor). But I'll take what comes. The important thing is that (to emphasize what others have already said):

"KEEP WRITING KELLY O'SULLIVAN!!"

"You can't win. The point is to have fun." So says a young college student in a bar to fellow student (and Pinball-curious) Roger Sharpe. I suddenly thought about how over the course of my life I'd heard similarly simple (and yet arguably equally profound) sayings by Joseph Campbell and Wayne Dyer (and others)... but I'd never heard anyone use Pinball as a metaphor for how to live life to its fullest.

Now I know what you're probably thinking: How hokey! Especially if there are more such thinly-disguised metaphors in the movie (and there are). But somehow they don't come across as hokey or off-putting, but rather -- as I indicated -- almost profound. I guess this is due to the skill of the actors and the scene writing, including how the sayings seem gently sprinkled onto (while also organically arising from) the (often humorous) scenes. (By contrast, grandma's roller-coaster metaphor near the end of "Parenthood" was so in-your-face that (to me at least) only Steve Martin's extreme reaction, followed by making a following scene almost seem like it was taking place on a roller coaster, made it work.)

The movie mostly takes place in the 1970's, when Roger was in this twenties, but it starts with a present-day (70-ish) Roger Sharpe answering an interviewers questions, a la old Rose in "Titanic". And occasionally he does voice-overs, or we momentarily come back to the present day for him to answer a question from the interviewer. But more often he suddenly appears (a la "Annie Hall") in a 1970's scene with his younger self and others (generally unnoticed by his younger self and the other characters) to talk to us about the scene, sometimes adding additional information (usually humorous) or commentary -- including at times correcting the way "Hollywood" has embellished the moment!

My favorite example is at a critical point in the movie -- I won't say exactly what to avoid being too spoilery. Suffice to say that when the moment goes well there is (as Monty Python used to say) much rejoicing. To the point where I almost expected to see (a la "The Natural") a light fixture explode, raining pseudo-fireworks down on everybody as a grinning cherubic kid looks like he too is about to literally explode with delight. Fortunately before things could get that nauseating the present-day Roger Sharpe cuts in and makes them re-do the scene reaction like it actually happened: still very exuberant, but much more realistic and true to life and ultimately thus far more meaningful. For, as Sharpe indicates, there are few things in life more meaningful than a getting a person to change a long-held belief... and few things more satisfying and beautiful than beholding the subtle look in his or her eye at that exact moment.

There is an occasional running bit throughout the movie whereby the present-day interviewer asks present-day Sharpe to get back to the Pinball story (when he starts to "digress" to much about his girlfriend Ellen and her kid). But then at the end, when the Pinball story is over and present-day Sharpe is about to get up from the chair, the interviewer stops him and asks him about what happened with the girl. Which is exactly what we in the audience wanted, as the movie is so well done that by we've now become as invested in their relationship (or even more so) as in the original Pinball story.

(Speaking of how well done this movie is, every actor is superb, as are the writing, direction, cinematography, sound and so forth. I have omitted the traditional parenthetical mention of everyone because I figure by the time someone reads this user review they are probably already familiar from the IMDB listing itself and other reviews who everyone is.)

Anyway, I'm ashamed to admit that when the present-day Roger Sharpe told the interviewer how well things worked out (slight spoiler below), the cynic in me said "oh, come on" and started to wonder if the whole girlfriend story had been seriously embellished -- or perhaps even been made up out of whole cloth.

After all, I'm less than a generation younger than Sharpe, and every single one of my friends from high school is either divorced (and generally with tremendous hatred toward their ex spouse!) or, like me, never found anyone to begin with and now live fairly barren lives. Now granted this is probably in part due to my friends and I being raised in the decade of stagflation, with endless talk of the energy crisis and the alleged dire population explosion and so forth. We were encouraged to postpone marriage and kids and focus on survival (ideally through good grades, a college degree and good-paying job). It was radically different than, say, for the generation before mine, when apparently (from what I understand the 50's were like) people tended to get married and have kids right after high school. But for me and my friends, we assumed that by waiting we'd be far better off in the long run. After all, it was hard to think of marriage and kids when (as in my family) the gas or electricity was occasionally shut off, along with the occasional eviction. (Not to mention the family car being only used by my dad to get to work... NOT for us teens to "waste gas" by going on dates.) Of course we all assumed that someday we'd get married and have kids... but for many of us someday never came.

So seeing Sharpe fall into (seemingly without much effort on his part) such a strong love story -- complete with an 11-year-old pinball-loving kid -- with somebody who was so helpful in his efforts to achieve his (as well as her own) dreams (via everything from her touch typing skills to her inspirational know-what-you-want-and-go-for-it attitude) seemed to me like Hollywood schmaltz. And thus as the lights went up and the credits rolled part of me was wondering why the filmmakers had apparently given into schmaltz despite the entire movie before that overtly (via present-day Sharpe) reigning in any such attempts to "go Hollywood".

Thankfully I had the tremendous good fortune to be at a screening that was followed by a Q&A session with the real Roger Sharpe. And when a few minutes into it he suddenly introduced his wife (and mentioned the two kids that they had indeed had together) the entire audience spontaneously and vigorously applauded. And while I can't say for certain as my vision had become obscured, through the tears in my eyes I got the sense that there wasn't a dry eye in the house.