Certain films are just not aimed at the general audience. Despite handling themes such as family commitment, child abuse, and disability, Auerbach's first feature film has a very select audience, which cannot be categorised on the basis of gender, social class, or age, but on the inexplicable artistic factor.
"Dear Frankie" is a story about a runaway mother, Lizzy (Emily Mortimer), who protects her son (Jack McElhone) from his father. The latter gave him a most uncomfortable 'present', by making him deaf. But Frankie is a smart child, a champion lip-reader, with a passion for geography. This passion is much fuelled by his mother, who has been writing letters for years on behalf of her husband. Frankie is led to believe that his father is a sailor, always on duty all around the world. The problem appears when his ship is expected to arrive in Glasgow, their latest hideaway. To cover up her secret, Lizzy ends up hiring a stranger to impersonate for a day that ideal paternal image, which was shaped in the child's imagination in years of 'correspondence'.
The story isn't new, nor is the situation of mothers trying to avoid sadistic husbands foreign to British society. But in her screenplay, extended from the original one written for a short film, Andrea Gibb manages to create characters that are flawed, yet still given a positive allure, though there is little complexity. The stranger, played by Gerard Butler, seems perfect: loving, understanding, hyper-masculine, and staggeringly handsome. This is fine in that he is supposed to embody a dream, but when Frankie is out of the picture, this act should surely disappear. Neither writer Gibb nor director Auerbach manage to distinguish between dreams and reality, and this is arguably the film's greatest shortcoming.
Auerbach is at heart a photographer, and her work in "Dear Frankie" on this front is laudable. Every frame has a pulsating heart hidden in it, with quiet colours playing a most fascinating dance in front of our eyes. So often are we absorbed in the beauty of these frames, however, that we get the feeling that she isn't as interested in telling her story through action, so much as in photographing it. But this is harsh assessment, as she manages to get beautiful performances from her cast as well. Mortimer, McElhone, Butler, Sharon Small and Mary Riggans, all appear at their finest, each with a simple, heart-warming presence.
It seems that Europeans have a talent at creating the ideal art-house films, defying any sense of glamour, or hyper-sentimentality. It is not an exaggeration to say that Auerbach fits quite well in this tradition, even from her first feature. It often appears quite hard to judge these films in the same terms in which we criticise American blockbusters. Watching a film such as "Dear Frankie", one occasionally yawns, will often smile with satisfaction, and will ultimately leave reassured that this was a good film. Not a perfect film, but one which touches each of us in a personal manner. Is this enough to impress the film-going public? Probably not. But a sensitive heart will hardly fail to miss the artistic input in the production.
"Dear Frankie" is a story about a runaway mother, Lizzy (Emily Mortimer), who protects her son (Jack McElhone) from his father. The latter gave him a most uncomfortable 'present', by making him deaf. But Frankie is a smart child, a champion lip-reader, with a passion for geography. This passion is much fuelled by his mother, who has been writing letters for years on behalf of her husband. Frankie is led to believe that his father is a sailor, always on duty all around the world. The problem appears when his ship is expected to arrive in Glasgow, their latest hideaway. To cover up her secret, Lizzy ends up hiring a stranger to impersonate for a day that ideal paternal image, which was shaped in the child's imagination in years of 'correspondence'.
The story isn't new, nor is the situation of mothers trying to avoid sadistic husbands foreign to British society. But in her screenplay, extended from the original one written for a short film, Andrea Gibb manages to create characters that are flawed, yet still given a positive allure, though there is little complexity. The stranger, played by Gerard Butler, seems perfect: loving, understanding, hyper-masculine, and staggeringly handsome. This is fine in that he is supposed to embody a dream, but when Frankie is out of the picture, this act should surely disappear. Neither writer Gibb nor director Auerbach manage to distinguish between dreams and reality, and this is arguably the film's greatest shortcoming.
Auerbach is at heart a photographer, and her work in "Dear Frankie" on this front is laudable. Every frame has a pulsating heart hidden in it, with quiet colours playing a most fascinating dance in front of our eyes. So often are we absorbed in the beauty of these frames, however, that we get the feeling that she isn't as interested in telling her story through action, so much as in photographing it. But this is harsh assessment, as she manages to get beautiful performances from her cast as well. Mortimer, McElhone, Butler, Sharon Small and Mary Riggans, all appear at their finest, each with a simple, heart-warming presence.
It seems that Europeans have a talent at creating the ideal art-house films, defying any sense of glamour, or hyper-sentimentality. It is not an exaggeration to say that Auerbach fits quite well in this tradition, even from her first feature. It often appears quite hard to judge these films in the same terms in which we criticise American blockbusters. Watching a film such as "Dear Frankie", one occasionally yawns, will often smile with satisfaction, and will ultimately leave reassured that this was a good film. Not a perfect film, but one which touches each of us in a personal manner. Is this enough to impress the film-going public? Probably not. But a sensitive heart will hardly fail to miss the artistic input in the production.