ST. VINCENT (Ted Melfi, 2014)

Watching Bill Murray’s performance in ‘St. Vincent’ is not dissimilar from watching a frog hopped up on crystal meth try to jump while covered with a wet blanket: you’re amazed how strong that frog is but the whole activity seems a little sad and pointless. Occasionally there are some impressive heights hit, but mostly the whole activity is weighed down by the un-eveness and predictability of the plot and direction, both sorrows inflicted by the same person, writer/director Ted Melfi, and enabled by the Weinstein Bros and producer Don Cheadle (among others).

The most impressive thing about this movie is ol’ Bill’s acting and how, against the odds, it brings the tepid script to the next level. To be sure, Bill Murray is an actor of considerable skill and here we see some of his finest moments to date: speechless and eyes filled with tears on a hospital bed, overwhelmed with love for his prostitute girlfriend (Mary Magdalen to his Jesus)…collapsing against his fridge when hearing some crushing news on the answering machine…brightening when a loved one with dementia recognizes him for the briefest of moments…jumping around slo-mo to the Airplane’s “Somebody to Love” or singing along to a Dylan tune…all good stuff, all worth experiencing; however, to say I wasn’t disappointed with the rest of the movie would be a lie.

My disappointment is due to the most obvious of reasons: the most obvious of story arcs. To wit: new cute kid with struggles at home moves in next to crusty curmudgeon. Over the length of the movie, the two become closer, the kid’s troubles are mitigated, and the unpleasant old guy is revealed to be a great man with a storied past, discarded, out of place, and nearly forgotten. At the climax, when the gentle boy and the grouchy bear face each other and the kid says “Thank you, Vincent” and Vincent replies “Thank you, kid” I felt hugely cheated by the lameness of it all. I could’ve stabbed someone.

For the rest of the cast, muted props: Miss McCarthy shows a deeper and more purely thespian side than in any of her comedies so far, Naomi Watts manages a nearly believable Russian accent, and the kid looks a lot like another Culkin. Only Chris O’Dowd as Brother Geraghty manages to accompany Bill in his rise above the morass with his spot-on performance as a compassionate Catholic school teacher.

Ultimately, this film is no more Mr. Murray’s finest hour than the over-hyped ‘Joe’ was Nick Cage’s. Outside of a handful of striking visuals, a half-dozen clever camera moves, and above average sound design, I would have been just as entertained renting this eventually from Redbox. Recommended to Murray completists only. Your mileage may vary.

[originally published 10-25-14]