The Soloist

Now that my beloved Olney 9 Cinema is no more, J and I are forced to go to Rockville or Rio to catch a pic. What's worse, we have to drive the teenagers and then wait for their movie to be over because going home and then coming back takes almost as long as watching the film.

But the recent trip to Rio to see "The Soloist" was well worth the trek and possibly worth the $10.50 ticket. It's melodic, jarring, virtuosic, and soft--not unlike a symphony.

I find irony in the title of the film, though, because the story is really a complicated duet--never a duel--between Robert Downey, Jr, as LA Times columnist Steve Lopez and Jamie Foxx as the homeless and schizophrenic Nathaniel Ayers. I've often felt puzzled at the fuss over Foxx, but he earned his hype as Ayers through a deft performance that always hit the right notes and never scooped a note to please the audience. As for Downey, he's one of the greatest actors of my generation, and it's breathtaking to see him back in action in a film of depth and importance, with his edge completely intact (and the drugs and firearms, I hope, behind him).

As Lopez, Downey avoids the stereotype of the Great White Hope, and Foxx, thankfully, takes a detour from what another actor might see as his inevitable destination of Magic Negro. Downey's Lopez is a cynical "savior" of Nathaniel Ayers, a kindly but delusional Julliard dropout living on the streets and off his meds. Lopez can't resist Ayers' childlike charm and soaring musical talent, and the two become unlikely friends.

Watching Lopez's attempt to control Ayers--arguably while exploiting him in print--can be painful to watch, but I've been there, and I know how true to life the filmed portrayal of the relationship is. When it comes to forging relationships with people that ill, well, you can do it, but you have to throw out your preconceived notions about what's best and sit back and accept what is. The dramatic tension in "The Soloist" centers around Lopez's struggle to do just that and Ayers' resistance to any attempts to "cure" him.

And of course, there's the music. If you've read my previous posts, you know I love the cello. "The Soloist" did not disappoint. Ayers' love of Beethoven adds a resonant bass line to the story and exposed me to cello music with which I was less familar--I've been missing out. And according to J, Foxx does a decent job of miming the playing. (I know from my one cello lesson with J that just holding the bow properly is a tremendous challenge to the uninitiated.)

I could have lived without the flashbacks to Ayers' childhood and young adulthood and felt they were edited into the narrative somewhat awkwardly. (Although I was intrigued by young Ayers' ingenious technique for practicing his cello in bed.)

I suppose one could look at "The Soloist" as yet another story in which the so-called redeemer becomes the one redeemed, but I think it narrowly misses taking that street. You're left wondering if Lopez has really learned anything and if Ayers will ever turn the dischordant voices in his head into a choir, but that's a good thing.

An interesting comment I've heard from more than one reviewer is that the film revels in the gory details of life on Skid Row and that those details are alarming and frightening. Revel it may, but no one who's ever read Victorian literature should be surprised by the Dickensian intensity of Ayers' life on the streets of LA. Like Victorian England, ours is not a pretty age, and "The Soloist" reminds the viewer of that every chance it gets.

I'm still trying to figure out the thematic need for the urine jokes, though.