Reign Over Me

(Got to see the film this evening after work when they were testing the print, and really felt as though I needed to write a review about it. It comes out this Friday.)

Grief can be a strange thing. Tragedy happens to all of us, in one form or another. How we react to that tragedy is a big part of what defines us - both to ourselves in our own minds, and in the minds of others. Mike Binder’s “Reign Over Me” turns out to be a film about a man who, on the surface, is not dealing at all with the events that have shaped his life - or maybe he is, but just not to the satisfaction of those around him.

The movie stars Adam Sandler as Charlie Fineman, a former dentist who has lost his whole family (the nature of this tragedy was kept fairly obtuse by the trailers, and I will not spoil its emotional impact by revealing it here). He tools around the city on his motor scooter, headphones blaring music in his ears, seemingly oblivious to the outside world. One day, he runs into his old college roommate, Alan Johnson (Don Cheadle) and barely seems to recognize him.

Johnson’s life isn’t a bed of roses, either. He’s happily married with kids, has a very successful practice, but he gives the increasing impression of being a man who is still unsatisfied with where he is and where he’s going. We see him trying solicit advice from the psychiatrist (Liv Tyler) who has an office in the same building, and it’s clear he’s tried to do so many times before.

He really doesn’t have any friends. Neither does Charlie. They begin to rekindle theirs, tentatively at first, finding common ground in their lack of commonality. Charlie just wants to hang out at his apartment and play video games (or, rather, video game, singular - Shadows of the Colossus), maybe catch a Mel Brooks film every now and again. The whole of the friendship is in the here and now - whenever Johnson even tries to ask a question about the past, Charlie snaps, sometimes thrashing at the furniture. “Do you know why he likes you?”, Johnson is asked. “Because he knows you know nothing about his family. So you won’t ask questions.”

Johnson feels bad for Charlie, and tries to help him. He tries to set Charlie up with therapists, to little success. Charlie refuses to open up, to delve into his past - and when he does, the consequences are nearly tragic. The movie’s main question is not whether or not Charlie will find the help he needs, but rather, if he really needs that help in the first place. He is clearly in pain, in some advanced stage of mourning, trying to find a way to function in a world that got yanked out from under him. Maybe he just needs to be who he is right now, until he’s ready to be someone else.

This is easily Adam Sandler’s best work ever. He’s shown that he has acting chops before, in films like “Punch-Drunk Love” and “Spanglish,” but never with the depth and emotion he demonstrates here. There is never a moment of Adam Sandler peeking out from around his character, what you see is a wounded and complex man who you cannot help but sympathize with and care about. There is a moment where Charlie, finally, decides to open up to Johnson about what happened, and the camera stays centered on Sandler the whole time, as he tells his story and breaks our hearts. As “The Truman Show” was to Jim Carrey and “Stranger Than Fiction” was to Will Ferrell, so too is “Reign Over Me” in general, and this scene in particular, to Adam Sandler.

Don Cheadle is one of our very finest actors, and crafts a co-lead who is every bit as complete and fascinating as Charlie. We can understand his latching onto Charlie just as much as we understand Charlie latching onto him - Johnson has reached a stage in his life where he has achieved a certain definition of success, and yet he feels increasingly trapped by circumstances beyond his control. The two characters are mirror images of one another, and by helping Charlie, maybe, Johnson is trying more definitively to help himself.

None of the characters in the film behave as you expect them to. There is no villain, no easily discernible antagonist, no actions taken solely for the sake of the plot. If some people make choices we wouldn’t agree with, well, maybe they’re just doing what they think is best for Charlie. When one character contemptuously mentions “Sugarman,” Charlie’s attorney (Binder), we assume that he is the typical evil lawyer manipulating Charlie for his own ends. But maybe he’s not. When Charlie’s in-laws (Robert Klein and Melinda Dillon) take actions against him in the film’s latter half, we assume that they will fill the villainous role. But maybe they’re just trying to help him, too. Johnson’s wife, Jeneane (Jada Pinkett-Smith), is naturally angered and frustrated by his increasing focus on his friendship with Charlie, especially when it impedes their own relationship - but maybe, at some level, she understands, too.

The film is not perfect. The details and resolution of a subplot involving a female patient of Johnson’s (Saffron Burrows) are scarcely believable. A judge (Donald Sutherland) who gets involved toward the film’s end is another truly interesting character who brings his own take on the proceedings to the table, but it is hard to really rationalize the decision he makes. But balanced against that is a movie with an incredible amount of truth at its core, a film about the joy and pain of life, in all its disorganized, jumbled beauty. This is one of the year's best films.