I once thought I saw the face of Phil Rizzuto in a bowl of vegetable soup, but then realized it was merely a singularly unfortunate arrangement of okra—something quickly solved by stirring—and I immediately felt better. With this in mind, I was pretty sure I was going to be resistant to a movie predicated on seeing the face of God on a stained stucco wall—and I wasn’t wrong. I went into the movie as someone who finds religion a 50-50 mix of the fascinating and the indigestible. I came out the same way and have no expectations of encountering a stucco savior any time soon.
What I was wrong about was my preconceived notion that Henry Poole Is Here would be in the nature of the usual run of pushy, preachy hot-gospel filmmaking that shows up every so often finding a ready audience with the already converted, but with almost no one else. There’s little doubt about where the sentiments of Henry Poole lie, but this is a different sort of movie. In fact, it’s almost a throwback to the realm of those inspirational, quasi-mystical Lloyd C. Douglas novels from the 1930s that were adapted for the movies—like Magnificent Obsession, Green Light and Disputed Passage. The Christian message is there, but it’s repackaged in rather vague terms, making it more palatable for the less devout.
None of this is to say that Henry Poole Is Here is either particularly subtle, or even very good. It’s simply that it’s less obnoxious about converting us miserable sinners—and I give it points for that. I’ll also give it credit for being reasonably entertaining in the process. What I can’t say is that it works all that well in terms of emotional resonance—a major problem with a movie aimed more at the heart than the head. There’s naught wrong with soap as long as it touches you, and Henry Poole is too mechanical an exercise for that.
The film centers around Henry Poole (the typically rather bland Luke Wilson), a man who is dying of one of those unnamed Hollywood ailments that allow the sufferer to evidence no external signs of illness. Poor Henry isn’t even afforded a decorous cough—merely an apparent aversion to shaving more than every few days (we appear to miss his shaving days) and a tendency to subsist on a diet of alcohol, frozen pizza and Krispy Kreme doughnuts. (Perhaps he’s dying of Krispy Kreme poisoning.) Also, in Hollywood fashion, he drinks constantly, but is never drunk or hungover. He’s merely in a perpetual state of anger and sadness and wants nothing more than to mope and die in the neighborhood he grew up in. And of course, he’s sufficiently affluent to do this. But then, apart from the nearly blind supermarket cashier Patience (Rachel Seiferth) and real-estate agent Meg (Cheryl Hines, Waitress), everyone in the film seems to be able to sit at home and focus on personal issues. That’s why this is a movie and not life, I guess.
Henry’s problem is that his neighbors won’t leave him alone—especially after super friendly Esperanza (Adriana Barraza, Babel) sees the face of Jesus in a stain on his newly stuccoed backyard wall. Soon others are involved in this “miracle,” and other miracles occur (some more explicable than others). But Henry—though thawing toward his neighbors—steadfastly refuses to accept the idea that the stain is anything but a stain. Presumably, this is because he’s so afraid that it won’t cure him that he won’t let himself entertain the possibility, but since this is never even briefly verbalized, Henry comes off as a bit of a jackass. How it works out is pretty predictable, though a couple of the specifics are admirably quirky.
The film is nearly suffocated in an overbearing score by John Frizzell (The Reaping), when it isn’t awash in soft pop songs (including ones by Bob Dylan and Badly Drawn Boy). Mark Pellington’s direction is strictly functional, but maybe a decoratively bleeding face of God is ho-hum stuff to the guy who had spooky voices emanating from drains in The Mothman Prophecies (2002). This is the kind of material that needs a Frank Borzage or a John M. Stahl to pull it off—and they have the drawback of having been dead for some time now. The performances are more sincere than persuasive, but nothing embarrassing is going on, and that’s something. That may be the best thing to say about the whole film, come to think of it. Rated PG for thematic elements and some language.
That’s why this is a movie and not life, I guess.
Why do inspirational movies always neglect practical details? I’m not saying the genre is inherently shoddy, but it seems to attract filmmakers who think that they can propel a film on spirituality alone. That’s sort of like inviting little Billy to play violin for offertory on the basis of his sincerity and despite the fact that he makes the instrument squawk like an alley cat undergoing a Cesarean section.
nothing embarrassing is going on, and that’s something. That may be the best thing to say about the whole film, come to think of it.
Well, it is something, but I’m not entirely persuaded. Religious films need raw power of a sort that “family-friendly” directors somehow conflate with sinfulness. It’s worth noting that the major religious epics of the last century (The Lord of the Rings, Ender’s Game, The Book of the Long Sun) are very grim indeed — and more uplifting as a result.
Why do inspirational movies always neglect practical details?
Well, this is hardly the specific province of inspirational movies. It runs riot in a romantic comedies and romances of all sorts. Off the top of my head, there are the marathon sulks in such fare as Must Love Dogs and P.S. I Love You where financial concerns over such matters as feeling sorry for yourself for months on end are never at issue.
Well, it is something, but I’m not entirely persuaded.
Trust me, if Kirk Cameron starring in Fireproof — from the church that gave us Facing the Giants — was staring you in the face, you’d be very appreciative of the low-wattage approach taken here.
Not sure I think all “religious” films (a tricky thing to define actually — or at least to define on a personal level) need to be grim. But again, this may be definitional. I don’t know that I really consider Lord of the Rings to be a religious film. At least, I never had the sense that it was presenting me with a belief system it was suggesting I take up. At the same time, I think you may be talking about literature here. In any case, Henry Poole would never qualify as an epic, nor does it aim to.
Well, this is hardly the specific province of inspirational movies. It runs riot in a romantic comedies and romances of all sorts.
True. Maybe it’s a problem across the entire supergenre of movies-that-try-too-hard-to-tug-the-viewers’-heartstrings.
Not sure I think all “religious” films (a tricky thing to define actually—or at least to define on a personal level) need to be grim.
Oh, no, of course not. My point is that even inspirational stories need some kind of dramatic drive. Book of the New Sun‘s exploration of mercy is all the more profound because the protagonist is an amoral torturer.
I don’t know that I really consider Lord of the Rings to be a religious film.
Jackson’s films certainly aren’t, but the original epic is intensely Catholic. It was actually Tolkien who converted C.S. Lewis to Christianity.
Of course, those were the days when Christian scholasticism was still closely associated with Classical philosophy, so Christian fantasists were free to incorporate pagan themes into their epics — hence Tolkien’s pseudo-Nordic mythology. Half of the names in The Lord of the Rings, including that of “Middle Earth”, are taken directly from the genealogies of The Edda of Saemund the Wise.
Maybe it’s a problem across the entire supergenre of movies-that-try-too-hard-to-tug-the-viewers’-heartstrings
I’m not sure what causes it. I know I have no real problem with the Philip Barry concept put forth in his play The Philadelphia Story that “one of the finest sights in this world is the privileged classes enjoying their privileges.” That’s okay onscreen or onstage fantasy stuff, but when they go into major mope mode, I find it hard to be as sympathetic as I might. This, however, is almost a separate issue, since in a movie like this — or the ones I cited — the characters aren’t supposed to be rich (or at least aren’t depicted that way), but finance is never a concern. For instance, what does (or did) Henry Poole do? Beats me, but he’s able to write a check for $325,000 to buy a house, move in and drink and doughnut himself into a state of numbness without batting an eye.
Jackson’s films certainly aren’t, but the original epic is intensely Catholic.
I suspected that might be where you were coming from. Alas, two attempts at reading the books ended in non-events for me. Mr. Tolkien’s writing style just ain’t my dish of tea.
This, however, is almost a separate issue, since in a movie like this the characters aren’t supposed to be rich, but finance is never a concern.
Right. They enjoy petit bourgeois lifestyles without petit bourgeois money. That complacency would seem more realistic if the characters were all idle rich.
I’m still trying to figure out how Will Smith continued to thrive after the apocalypse in I am Legend.
Mr. Tolkien’s writing style just ain’t my dish of tea.
Nor mine. To be fair, the man was a philologist, not a writer. But all the same, I have little interest in plodding through unbroken chapters of epic poetry in fictitious languages.
But what really kills me every time I try to reread those books is the Council at Rivendell. It’s like a session of the U.N.!
I’m still trying to figure out how Will Smith continued to thrive after the apocalypse in I am Legend.
I think the dog was the brains behind that. I also think the dog faked its own death and high-tailed it to Vermont to run the only remaining business in the world, Ben and Jerry’s.
Henry Poole is (a)Clint Eastwood’s character in ‘Gran Torino’, (b)Jess(Milo Ventimiglia) from ‘Gilmore Girls’ and (c)the Hamster (Guinea Pig?) in ‘Bedtime Stories’.