A loving farewell to the late Harry Dean Stanton, "Lucky" isn't extraordinary, but faces the eminence of Death right in the face, featuring a leading character/actor with whom you quickly sympathise... plus a city, people and a feeling of existencial dread we've seen many times pictured in films about rural America. The monologue at the bar near the end was superb.
Digital. The "Americana" after "Paris,Texas" found a different time, a more distensive and contemplative one, based on some memories, of the characters' diegetics and of cinema's history. Here there's an important element of it, its protagonist - in fact, the same of the mentioned film, "et par cause", of both memories -, but not a look that could move from this pleasant subservience.
[Porto/Post/Doc'17] More than a wonderful story, a wonderful homage to Harry. I don't think I ever felt so much empathy for a character so quickly. And to know he was just being himself for most of it just breaks my heart. He's so fragile but with every single "I-don't-give-a-fuck" still left in him. He makes you laugh & cry at the same time. I hope you're still smoking your cigarette & kickin ass, wherever you are.
This will stand as Harry Dean Stanton's swan song cementing a long standing reputation as one of the great character actors with this rare leading man role. This lived-in yet deep performance eclipses the issues with the movie surrounding him. John Carroll Lynch, a character actor himself, in his debut directorial effort struggles with editing and scripting choices making it a film of theatrical scenes.
Harry Dean was always too plain-spoken and benevolent to be a true outlaw. He remained outside even the outside and still kinda humbly inside, so you can't really categorize him as a counterculture figure. What is indisputable is that though he remained very much on the wider public's periphery, the man was, is, and shall remain a screen legend. This is a small slightly heroic film, testament above all to a man.
"Harry Dean Stanton is...", the opening credits say right before the title, thus conferring upon one of our humblest players a level of star identity usually reserved for a Schwarzenneger or a Stallone. A lovely farewell, amazingly light considering its philosophical pretensions, and amazingly grave considering its whimsy. The final eye contact broke my heart. Bonus: David Lynch as a man obsessed with a tortoise.
A bloody sweet film made with clear and well-deserved affection for its leading man. I had a lot of time for Stanton's heartfelt renunciation of his earlier homophobia-tinged dismissal of Liberace upon first seeing him on television in the 1950s. Akin to all those feel-good misanthropic old man Jack Nicholson films but made with infinitely more integrity, good faith and hard-earned wisdom. RIP.