Love LizaThere isn't a rulebook when it comes to grief. People respond with sudden transformations in their behavior, and like dominoes, the loss of one can topple others around them. Love Liza is a drama about a widower named Wilson Joel (Philip Seymour Hoffman), whose late wife committed suicide. Wilson slowly deteriorates, distancing himself from his surviving family--which is exclusively his mother-in-law, Mary Ann Bankhead (Kathy Bates)--and all but gives up on his work at a software development company. When Wilson finds a letter addressed to him (from his wife) in a sealed envelope, rather than find closure, he avoids the letter and spirals down into a quagmire of self-destruction and sorrow.
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Love Liza is a film that is all about grief, exemplified primarily through Wilson, but also with Mary Ann. Both of them appear to have loved Wilson's wife, Liza (Annie Morgan), although there is nothing resembling a true flashback to offer up any kind of evidence of this. The reason for Liza's suicide hangs in the air for the entire film, and is meant to be ambiguous, sympathetic to the feelings of those who survive the suicides of their loved ones. "Why?" becomes the question that can never be answered. We are people who find comfort in answers, so when Wilson is denied this, he starts to come apart. Since we don't truly know who Wilson was before the death, we can only surmise things from how others treat him. He appears to be admired at his workplace and displays in a moment technical acuity that emphasizes that he had an important role there. His supervisor is a young woman named Maura (Sarah Koskoff), who balances between supporting him and trying to drive him back into being a productive member of the team. Their client (or boss, it's a little unclear) is a businessman named Tom Bailey (Stephen Tobolowsky), who offers similarly awkward support, telling him that he can give him "as long as it takes" to get back to work. But when his life feels like it's falling apart, what does any of this matter? The most distinctive aspect of Love Liza is in how it explores the inability of others to adequately cope with grief, from Wilson directly to those around him by degrees. For example, in a surprise moment at an aquarium, Maura tells Wilson that she's attracted to him; he is visibly shocked as we would be given the circumstances. She may have "prefaced" this by describing that what she "wants" to say is "inappropriate", but what's interesting to me is that--despite it being inappropriate for many reasons--it comes out of left field. Why does it matter here? Is she trying to just make him feel better? She invited him there ostensibly to discuss his work, but springs this on him instead. She doesn't really come across as even being attracted to Wilson, either, so why do it at all? I believe that because Wilson's changed in the wake of his wife's death, so has everyone around him to some extent. Perhaps it sparks nothing but a proximity attraction (common in workplaces where people work closely together over a long period), but I think it speaks more to just how difficult coming to terms with change really is for people.
People often wonder just why people adopt unorthodox (even dangerous) idiosyncrasies when they are dealing with a crisis, such as the loss of a loved one. I think that it has much to do with how we feel--every one of us--that we're insecure about life. After all, life is scary, and sudden change disrupts the balance we seek to maintain for the sake of our comfort. But it's more than that. Compound this with the devastating heartache that follows the death of a dearly beloved spouse and it's not hard to see how tumultuous everything becomes. This, I believe, is at the root of why Wilson does something so batty and dangerous as huffing gasoline. It's somehow stranger than doing illegal drugs, and Wilson goes out of his way to cover up his newfound addiction. There is also a subtle component of guilt to it, as an ever-so-brief shot of a clogged tailpipe in the car in his garage is about the only indication of how Liza died, presumably by carbon monoxide inhalation. So the fact that Wilson stumbles into huffing fumes (almost literally, after he catches his first seductive whiff from a taxi at the airport) speaks to how automobiles are, strangely, responsible for destroying both of their lives, albeit in different ways. His attempt to cover this up results in a comical misunderstanding, where Maura asks an enthusiast of RC-controlled models named Denny (Jack Kehler)--the relationship between him, Maura, and Tom Bailey is also a little unclear to me--to check out Wilson's "model plane", which he told Maura about to explain away the gas smell in his house. Nearly caught in a lie, Wilson starts visiting a hobby store and procures a pre-made display plane and its corresponding fuel as a prop to his newfound addiction. What follows might have become the beginning of a beautiful friendship, since Wilson and Denny go off and drink beer while playing with their toys, distracting themselves from the rigors of adulthood, grief, and so on (as we all do in various ways). But the proverbial Sword of Damocles yet remains with Wilson: the letter from Liza he is afraid to open. This leaves the audience to speculate for virtually all of Love Liza just why Wilson is avoiding this revelation. Is he afraid that she will blame him for killing herself? Does he come to realize that a suicide note is an anachronism, a cry for help after the fact? Or is it that it means facing his grief, once and for all? All valid questions that lurk in the thoughts of the viewer as the story unfolds and Wilson falls farther and farther down a spiral of despair.
Recommended for: Fans of a touching and (at times) awkwardly comical story of grief and loss, and how each of us faces these very human, very real sorrows. Love Liza may be a bit passive with some of its incidental themes--like its touch-and-go acknowledgement of corporate superficiality--but this is a showcase for Hoffman, who delivers a passionate and desperate performance that feels both larger-than-life and wholly identifiable all at once.
People often wonder just why people adopt unorthodox (even dangerous) idiosyncrasies when they are dealing with a crisis, such as the loss of a loved one. I think that it has much to do with how we feel--every one of us--that we're insecure about life. After all, life is scary, and sudden change disrupts the balance we seek to maintain for the sake of our comfort. But it's more than that. Compound this with the devastating heartache that follows the death of a dearly beloved spouse and it's not hard to see how tumultuous everything becomes. This, I believe, is at the root of why Wilson does something so batty and dangerous as huffing gasoline. It's somehow stranger than doing illegal drugs, and Wilson goes out of his way to cover up his newfound addiction. There is also a subtle component of guilt to it, as an ever-so-brief shot of a clogged tailpipe in the car in his garage is about the only indication of how Liza died, presumably by carbon monoxide inhalation. So the fact that Wilson stumbles into huffing fumes (almost literally, after he catches his first seductive whiff from a taxi at the airport) speaks to how automobiles are, strangely, responsible for destroying both of their lives, albeit in different ways. His attempt to cover this up results in a comical misunderstanding, where Maura asks an enthusiast of RC-controlled models named Denny (Jack Kehler)--the relationship between him, Maura, and Tom Bailey is also a little unclear to me--to check out Wilson's "model plane", which he told Maura about to explain away the gas smell in his house. Nearly caught in a lie, Wilson starts visiting a hobby store and procures a pre-made display plane and its corresponding fuel as a prop to his newfound addiction. What follows might have become the beginning of a beautiful friendship, since Wilson and Denny go off and drink beer while playing with their toys, distracting themselves from the rigors of adulthood, grief, and so on (as we all do in various ways). But the proverbial Sword of Damocles yet remains with Wilson: the letter from Liza he is afraid to open. This leaves the audience to speculate for virtually all of Love Liza just why Wilson is avoiding this revelation. Is he afraid that she will blame him for killing herself? Does he come to realize that a suicide note is an anachronism, a cry for help after the fact? Or is it that it means facing his grief, once and for all? All valid questions that lurk in the thoughts of the viewer as the story unfolds and Wilson falls farther and farther down a spiral of despair.
Recommended for: Fans of a touching and (at times) awkwardly comical story of grief and loss, and how each of us faces these very human, very real sorrows. Love Liza may be a bit passive with some of its incidental themes--like its touch-and-go acknowledgement of corporate superficiality--but this is a showcase for Hoffman, who delivers a passionate and desperate performance that feels both larger-than-life and wholly identifiable all at once.