Movie review: 'The Savages'

Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney in "The Savages" (Credit: Andrew Schwartz/Fox Searchlight)

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3 1/2 stars (out of four)

How do you care for a father who has never cared for you?

This is the dilemma facing Jon and Wendy Savage (no Darlings here), the disaffected siblings whose lives are upended when their emotionally withholding, chronically absent father is diagnosed with dementia. As Jon and Wendy search for a suitable place for their dad to spend his remaining days, they’re forced to confront old rivalries, long-held grudges—and the deeply unsettling suspicion that they’re getting older  too.

Director/screenwriter Tamara Jenkins’ last effort was the darkly uproarious “The Slums of Beverly Hills,” and the first five minutes of “The Savages” makes it abundantly clear that the intervening decade has done nothing to dull her wit—or her ear for dialogue. Her script cycles seamlessly between humor and pathos; there’s an unerring, unsettling realism to her characters’ desperation, their insecurities and their meltdowns. Jenkins’ husband is Jim Taylor, the longtime writing partner of Alexander Payne (“Election,” “Sideways”); both men came on board as producers after reading the script, which, it must be said, rivals any of their efforts.

As good as the script is, the acting might be even better. As the forcibly chipper, emotionally deprived Wendy, Laura Linney triumphs here, much as she has in previous, similar roles in movies much like this one—that is to say, mordant, sharply written tragicomedies (“The Squid and the Whale,” “You Can Count on Me”) that make the most of her remarkable range and uncanny ability to deliver the most cutting remarks in an utterly sympathetic way. Linney’s performance in “The Savages” is very much in this vein; Wendy is one of the most maddening, likable movie characters in recent memory. Philip Seymour Hoffman is likewise in top form, periodically injecting his portrayal of the sullen, brittle Jon Savage with just enough warmth to keep us from giving up on him completely. 

 Meanwhile, Philip Bosco delivers a heartbreaking performance as erstwhile patriarch Lenny Savage, whose lifelong efforts to keep his kids at arm’s length are foiled by his growing dependence on them. As his illness progresses, Lenny’s dialogue tapers off, but Bosco doesn’t need words to let us know exactly what his character is feeling. An eloquently raised eyebrow is more than enough to communicate the depths of his pain and frustration. Gbenga Akinnagbe, lately of HBO’s “The Wire,” has a small but pivotal role as a nursing home employee.

The movie’s locations are almost characters unto themselves; we follow Lenny from his dreamlike retirement idyll in Sun City, Ariz.,  and into the warren-like hallways of a nursing home in Buffalo. And while the movie is set in upstate New York, it was filmed farther south, in and around Manhattan. Cinematographer Mott Hupfel has nevertheless managed to capture the bitter, blue-tinged light of a Rust Belt winter, which, as any survivor can attest, is the meteorological equivalent of a long, slow death.

Assured and sharp, “The Savages” is only Jenkins’  second feature-length film. You’d never know it. She has accomplished something remarkable here, something more experienced filmmakers would do well to emulate: a bracingly honest, funny movie about death and family that skillfully sidesteps the usual pitfalls of sentimentality and mawkishness. It’s what you might call an awards season miracle.

jreaves@tribune.com

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