Anyone who might have had his or her interest in Halle Berry piqued by the Oscar win for Monsters Ball (which despite the acclaim, let's be honest, no one saw) and then went out and rented the triple-headed clunker of Gothika, Catwoman and Perfect Stranger could be forgiven for thinking that the statue win was just some sick joke. Thankfully her sublime, nuanced performance in Things We Lost in the Fire as a grieving widow clinging to her dead husband's best friend shows not only that Ball was no fluke, but also that Berry is an actress that benefits from a strong director capable of eliciting delicacy.
On the face of it Audrey (Berry) and Brian (the impossibly amiable David Duchovny) have a blissful marriage in a nice home with two wonderful children. The only source of tension is Brian's continued unconditional support of his old friend Jerry (Benicio Del Toro), a recovering drug addict whom, despite Audrey's constant nagging and vehement disapproval, Brian still drives out to check in on with a bag of groceries long after everyone else in Jerry's life has walked away. When Brian is tragically killed one night after trying to make peace in a sidewalk domestic dispute, Audrey, for reasons she can't explain, reaches out to Jerry; together they form an uneasy bond as they struggle to work through the grief, their own issues and those of the other.
In another director's hands this could easily tip over into movie-of-the-week melodrama; but Danish helmer Susanne Bier, making her English language debut here, has a knack for unearthing the real human tragedy amidst some decidedly soapy set-up. Her constantly moving camera literally takes us up close and personal in the grieving process and more importantly the aching intimacy between Brian and Audrey in flashback, seemingly lingering on each tender touch. Berry exudes great guarded vulnerability as Audrey. Rather than process the situation and articulate it, Audrey stays marooned at the moment of loss and unable to move on, choosing instead to have her brother Neil pretend to be Brian on an internet messenger to a friend who doesn't know he died .
Del Toro is also pitch perfect as the restless, jittery Jerry; a picture of detachment and enthralled with the needle for so long that simple human contact is almost alien to him, he's genuinely unnerved by neighbor Howard's simple smalltalk at the wake. Rediscovering his own lost humanity, Jerry stands by Audrey, who though desperate to hang on to a piece of Brian actively dislikes him, despite her unannounced bouts of misdirected rage because he feels an obligation to his friend. Comprised in equal measure of the present and the past, the film jumps in and out of incidents highlighting the mercurial process of memory with a distinct lack of dead air -- entering a flashback at the pivotal moment and exiting the second it's over. Bier drifts in and out of hazy recollections and half finished conversations, understanding that memory and grief operate on the same non-linear principles; coming at us in waves we're unable to predict or control. Audrey lingers on things left unresolved; a moment's loss of temper here, a to be continued passionate embrace there. Little things that are throwaway in the context of a relationship but now scream deafeningly as that which is forever unresolved.
In just one of many contrasts Jerry simply remembers Brian's kindness, only wishing he had been more appreciative of their time together. The tenuous makeshift household Audrey and Jerry are playing at seems like bliss compared to the bickering, loveless marriage of Howard and his wife down the street. The golden orange glow of Audrey's recollections give way to washed out grays and muted earth tones as we skip back to the present.
But this is not a ballad of co-dependency and Allan Loeb's debut script, despite occasional clangers given to the remarkable un-irritating children, carefully highlights both Audrey's and Jerry's precarious predicament; Audrey is both drawn to Jerry and repelled by him as a function of guilt - inviting him to participate in their lives and then punishing him for it. Jerry as a recovering addict is faced with the daunting prospect of rebuilding his life from scratch - here is the tantalizing prospect of one pre-existing habit he can step into. Even Jerry's page eighty fuck-up, a requisite staple for any recovering drug addict in film, feels wholly organic even as it arrives right on schedule.
If there is a criticism to be leveled, it's that Bier is so intent on hammering home the theme of hope, rebirth, renewed vigor and a sense of optimism that the story does perhaps wrap itself up a tad too neatly; but even then it's still not what you might think.
Blu-ray Bonus Features
Decidedly on the stingy side we do have to say. "A Discussion About Things We Lost in the Fire" is your typical background featurette. Though rather than simply sit there giving glowing testimony on how wonderful everyone was to work with the principles, Bier in particular, go into some detail about what specifically it is that makes so-and-so so wonderful, which is fascinating for fans of the craft while perhaps a little bit ‘meh' for everyone else. Sadly all that follows it are seven less than enthralling deleted scenes and a theatrical trailer.
"Things We Lost In The Fire" is on sale March 24, 2009 and is rated R. Drama. Directed by Susanne Bier. Written by Allan Loeb. Starring Benicio Del Toro, David Duchovny, Halle Berry.
