St. Vincent is a film with a big heart and one that will be considered by most to be nothing more than a sentimental crowd-pleaser and therefore somehow beneath them as a result. It’s a shame, really, because while writer/director Theodore Melfi‘s movie may have the trappings of a stereotypical “young boy meets grouchy old man” plotline, the character development is strong and the performances from Bill Murray and newcomer Jaeden Lieberher don’t deserve to be so easily dismissed merely because previous efforts of this sort were so saccharine in their execution. Melfi’s screenplay does have a few miscues and the direction the plot takes is rather obvious, but the execution and restraint most everywhere else makes for a very satisfying comedic drama.
I’ll begin with Vincent (Murray), a drunk that spends his days at the horse races and his nights in the company of Daka, a pregnant, Russian stripper/prostitute ridiculously played by Naomi Watts and one of the film’s only major missteps. Vincent wants nothing to do with anyone, least of which his new neighbor, Maggie (Melissa McCarthy), and her son Oliver (Lieberher), but his lack of income and Maggie’s work schedule as she has just left her cheating husband, will bring Oliver and Vincent together as a most unlikely duo.
Vincent becomes Oliver’s, for lack of a better description, after school babysitter and their activities include Vincent teaching the scrawny little 12-year-old how to break a bully’s nose, how to play the odds at the race track and how to place an order at a local dive bar. You know, all the things cutesy little dramas like this do to make us smile and if the film was nothing but scenes like this it most likely would be overly sentimental tripe, but this is about more than just a curmudgeon making bad decisions when caring for a young boy. It’s also about more than Vincent being a misunderstood man, even though that’s exactly what he is.
Vincent is misunderstood and Melfi slowly keys the audience in on what kind of guy he is and not by beating us over the head with details. Instead he reveals them as part of Vincent’s daily routine, something Oliver becomes privy to, but doesn’t entirely understand what’s going on, at least not at first.
Oliver, of course, is a bit beyond his years in intelligence, which aids Melfi in telling the story and not having to dumb things down to the point a child can understand adult problems. But things such as death and hardship aren’t so difficult to understand for someone of Oliver’s age and in his current predicament with his mother. Couple that with how the film begins to piece things together through the eyes of a child, no matter how obvious it all may be, and you have something I found tremendously affecting and, based on the sniffles all around me at my screening, I know I wasn’t the only one.
Murray is wonderful as Vincent, playing the character as exposed for all the world to see. It’s not as if Vincent is hiding anything, but we only choose to see what is right in front of our face and we judge away. Best part about Vincent is he’s no better, as much as he so obviously hates being judged he’s quick to judge others and he’s walking proof that perhaps saying what you think isn’t always the best course of action.
I’ll admit to walking out wondering just how good I thought Lieberher’s performance was, primarily because it’s tough to tell just how good a child actor is, especially one that isn’t entirely “realistic”, given what I said about Oliver being intelligent well beyond his years. However, the emotional fate of the film hinges on a monologue in the film’s final moments and Lieberher nails it, and the movie never suffers as a result of his time on screen, which tells me, if anything, it’s a very fine performance.
It was also nice to see McCarthy given a chance to play a role that doesn’t involve punchlines having to do with her weight or her screaming obscenities at every turn in the name of comedy. She’s got some obvious dramatic talent and perhaps this is the first step toward her getting more roles taking advantage of that.
I also have to reiterate how poorly conceived the Daka character is. Watts has no choice but to use a cringe-worthy, fake Russian accent, playing a character better suited for a slapstick comedy rather than this film. There are a few times you can’t help but chuckle at her character, but she would have been best cut from the film entirely, or at least been cut way back.
St. Vincent is largely an acting showcase for Murray, but at the same time it’s a comedic and dramatic gem. As much as it bothered me when Melfi would bring Daka into the picture, I can see where he was trying to keep the mood light-hearted while also realizing there was an emotional undercurrent surrounding Vincent, swelling through the film that didn’t need to be hit so heavily. Yes, the film is sentimental and perhaps overly so, but I appreciate the way it treats Vincent, cluing in to the fact we sometimes too quickly judge a book by its cover, never stopping to wonder just why someone may be behaving the way they do.
