Review of Sleepwalking (2008) by Nick A — 26 Apr 2010

Sleepwalking, which should have been titled Sleepwatching, is an endless mirage of schemed mechanics, whose sole intent is to depress viewers, though is misled in its attempt, hitting themes one would expect to find in a noontime soap rather than those of sincerity and passion, which are required to make well with its material.

When what some may interpret as a "hopeful" outlook finally comes in Bill Maher's rather dire melodrama, it does so in the derivative, borderline discourteous form of this terribly underwhelming quote: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." To make the scene, which concludes the film, a measure more incongruous, the aforementioned line is said by a 12-year-old girl to her mother, who had previously abandoned her daughter for a month-long blacktop jaunt. What's a shame about Sleepwalking is that, with a little doctoring of the script, and a fair alteration of some of the characters (Dennis Hopper's role as an abusive father nearly suffocated me with its stale odor), it could have made for a riveting film, if exclusively for its performances -- everyone involved is above-average, though the echo of their acts rings with a grueling pitch, the culprit of which is obnoxious, sour writing.

The two main characters are Tara (AnnaSophia Robb, of Bridge to Terabithia), a snarling pre-teen, and James Reedy (Nick Stahl), her docile, hapless, tardy uncle. But it's difficult to decipher who the movie's about -- Tara, James, or Tara's mother (played by Charlize Theron, who also produced the project), who, after being evicted and moving into her brother James' ramshackle apartment with her daughter, leaves both the two with whom she'd been living and the film until the scratch finale. Woody Harrelson, as a friend and former co-worker of James named Randall, does his best to lift the tale's piteous mood with some humor, but is unable because of the supposed comedic content of screenwriter Zac Stanford's script -- Randall's a fortysomething doofus who passes his time by hounding his female colleague about her "uncanny fanny" and playing beer-drinking games with equally foolish adults, which may have been funnier if it were the first, even tenth time I'd seen this type of character. But it's more likely the hundredth.

The movie itself is bogged down by many poor traits, yet it seems that each of them could have at least been modest with a more focused story (and, of course, an equipped inker to pen it) and a modicum of creativity. But, like many of its characters (particularly Hopper's and Theron's, the second being a mimicry of Maggie Gyllenhaal's Sherry in 2006's SherryBaby), this picture is a discombobulated mess of other movies' conceptions -- there's even a pool scene that gives off a Lolita vibe, but in a less artistic way. And the lethargic rate at which Sleepwalking drags is the result of this, the filmmakers' lack of ideas -- much of the movie plays like stationary filler rather than significant story progression -- an evident, quite saddening attribute.

Still, maybe Sleepwalking's most prominent gaffe, the dismal substance in its final shape is textured like leather, terribly missing the soft layering I assume it had aimed for (why would a movie try for a rough, plastic consistency over an ultimately embracing one, even if the latter were initially itchy?). If ever it manages its course toward emotional legitimacy, it, immediately and almost purposely, steers off in a different direction before getting there, prohibiting its observers to latch onto any of the movie's troubled characters for an extended amount of time, small or large. Even the players we wish we could care for are hard to see with tolerance -- instead of coming across as the victim of parental negligence, Tara is perceived as a nasty-hearted brat (to the discredit of the screenplay, not Robb's resourceful performance); and James' culminating outburst (think There Will be Blood) near the movie's end virtually disqualifies his prior rank as the most applicable part in Sleepwalking.

On a positive note, Sleepwalking features an effective soundtrack and first-time director Maher, who had previously worked with writer Zac Stanford in '05's The Chumscrubber as the visual effects designer, achieves a few beautiful road shots and certainly shows promise as a pupil of imagery -- cinematographer Juan Ruiz Anchia (Focus, September Dawn) does a great job capturing the subzero temperatures of Canada, where the movie was filmed -- but, regrettably, this show chooses content as its precedence, allowing minimal time spent on attractive scenery. To call Maher's rookie endeavor an utter failure would be unmerited, though it's definitely no success; it's closer to a disappointment, a movie I'd recommend only to those more interested in acting than anything else.