Raymond Carver did not write happy stories. Typically, his characters, usually middle-aged men, are beaten men and locked in a desperate melancholy as they wrestle with the existential questions: Where did I come from, how did I get here, and where am I going. The answer they find is that there is no answer. Bleak stuff. But that's not to say it is without humor—Carver will make you laugh out loud with the maudlin accuracy and randomness of his character's observations, and observe is mostly what they do, as they passively watch their world and relationships slowly and inevitably whither. It's a slow death—not much happens outside the interior worlds of the characters—and not the sort of thing that lends itself to cinema.
"Everything Must Go" is a retelling of the Carver story "Why Don't You Dance?" It's a small movie that takes a big risk—the risk that it will be able to tell such a quiet story without being dull and inconsequential. It's the story of Nicholas Halsey (Will Ferre, after receiving the bad news at work, to find the locks on the house changed and all "his" stuff tossed into the front yard of his upper middle-class suburban home. Apparently, Nick did his job well enough, but wasn't so good at staying sober. And that's how he ended up living in his front yard—with plenty of time on his hands to drink beer and confront the thing his life has become. But it's not legal to live on your front lawn, at least not in Acadia, Arizona, and, naturally, a nosy neighbor rats him out. Nick gets somewhat of a reprieve from a friend at the police department in the form of a five-day permit for a yard sale. He's not at all enthused about getting rid of all his stuff, but he really has no choice and is faced with a forced self-inventory of his life.
Adapted for the screen and directed by newcomer Dan Rush, "Everything Must Go" finds the thin line between situational absurdity and realism (an essential element in almost all of Carver's work.), and treads it well. Seriously, living in your front yard? Borrowing a neighbor kid's bike to get around because you don't have a car? Blackmailing your neighbor into allowing you to run an extension cord to your front yard to power a cooler full of beer and a toaster oven? This stuff is absurd. This sounds a lot like a Will Ferrell movie. To say that Ferrell has more depth and is more capable of serious acting than he has been given credit for would be too easy. Yes, it's true, but it's so obviously true here that it would be little more than observing that it's raining hard when it's raining hard. What impresses most about Ferrell's performance is that, in spite of the fact the story is tailor made for the Will Ferrell that we know too well, he manages to find the line between comedy and pathos and maintains it consistently throughout. He plays Halsey as having an ironically wry wit and only half serious in much that he says—and knowing it. We aren't laughing at this Will Ferrell, we are quietly, and sympathetically, chuckling along with him. Until Ferrell does more roles like this it will be hard to watch him without waiting for him, at any moment, to wax Ron Burgundy. That is a bit of a distraction throughout the movie, but it's not Ferrell's fault—he's just so good at his other self that it's hard to take him at face value in this type of roll. Hmm, Will Ferrell playing a Raymond Carver character— who'd have thought it?
Rush keeps his camera passive throughout with a lot of long takes and not many close-ups. It holds the audience away from the characters and allows them to exist in their own context—we don't identify with Nick so much as we empathize with him. In one particularly poignant scene Nick sets up a projector in the yard and watches home movies, drinking beer and staring at his father, who gestures rudely and waves the camera away while himself drinking beer—incidentally, the same brand Nick drinks. He does not stare passively. To Ferrell's credit, all but the shadow of an internal self-flagellation drains from Nick's face as he realizes that his father is in him. It, and the scene immediately following, are perhaps the essential scenes in the film and played so subtly as to be almost unnoticeable.
Rebecca Hall puts in a nice turn as Samantha, Nick's just-moved-in across the street neighbor, whose life and marriage are in an uncertain transitional period, as well, and becomes a sympathetic shoulder for Nick. And it's always a treat to see Laura Dern, here playing a high school class mate of Nick's, pop up in the small and unassuming roles that she does so well. But the real stand-out supporting actor is Christopher Jordan Wallace. Most child actors, no matter how "good" they are hailed to be, aren't really very good. Wallace is an exception and we can expect to see a lot more of him. This is only his second role (His first was as an adolescent The Notorious B.I.G., his real life father.) and he is as comfortable and unhurried in front of the camera as if he had been doing this his whole life, easing into his lines so as to come off as an observant and thoughtful kid, without the precociousness that it seems all child roles must be imbued with.
"Everything Must Go" is a good and film and speaks the truth, but it's not a happy movie. It doesn't even promise much chance of redemption. The best you can get out of Carver is a hint at the possibility of rebirth, the possibility that casting out everything is actually the first step toward something new.
"Everything Must Go" is a retelling of the Carver story "Why Don't You Dance?" It's a small movie that takes a big risk—the risk that it will be able to tell such a quiet story without being dull and inconsequential. It's the story of Nicholas Halsey (Will Ferre, after receiving the bad news at work, to find the locks on the house changed and all "his" stuff tossed into the front yard of his upper middle-class suburban home. Apparently, Nick did his job well enough, but wasn't so good at staying sober. And that's how he ended up living in his front yard—with plenty of time on his hands to drink beer and confront the thing his life has become. But it's not legal to live on your front lawn, at least not in Acadia, Arizona, and, naturally, a nosy neighbor rats him out. Nick gets somewhat of a reprieve from a friend at the police department in the form of a five-day permit for a yard sale. He's not at all enthused about getting rid of all his stuff, but he really has no choice and is faced with a forced self-inventory of his life.
Adapted for the screen and directed by newcomer Dan Rush, "Everything Must Go" finds the thin line between situational absurdity and realism (an essential element in almost all of Carver's work.), and treads it well. Seriously, living in your front yard? Borrowing a neighbor kid's bike to get around because you don't have a car? Blackmailing your neighbor into allowing you to run an extension cord to your front yard to power a cooler full of beer and a toaster oven? This stuff is absurd. This sounds a lot like a Will Ferrell movie. To say that Ferrell has more depth and is more capable of serious acting than he has been given credit for would be too easy. Yes, it's true, but it's so obviously true here that it would be little more than observing that it's raining hard when it's raining hard. What impresses most about Ferrell's performance is that, in spite of the fact the story is tailor made for the Will Ferrell that we know too well, he manages to find the line between comedy and pathos and maintains it consistently throughout. He plays Halsey as having an ironically wry wit and only half serious in much that he says—and knowing it. We aren't laughing at this Will Ferrell, we are quietly, and sympathetically, chuckling along with him. Until Ferrell does more roles like this it will be hard to watch him without waiting for him, at any moment, to wax Ron Burgundy. That is a bit of a distraction throughout the movie, but it's not Ferrell's fault—he's just so good at his other self that it's hard to take him at face value in this type of roll. Hmm, Will Ferrell playing a Raymond Carver character— who'd have thought it?
Rush keeps his camera passive throughout with a lot of long takes and not many close-ups. It holds the audience away from the characters and allows them to exist in their own context—we don't identify with Nick so much as we empathize with him. In one particularly poignant scene Nick sets up a projector in the yard and watches home movies, drinking beer and staring at his father, who gestures rudely and waves the camera away while himself drinking beer—incidentally, the same brand Nick drinks. He does not stare passively. To Ferrell's credit, all but the shadow of an internal self-flagellation drains from Nick's face as he realizes that his father is in him. It, and the scene immediately following, are perhaps the essential scenes in the film and played so subtly as to be almost unnoticeable.
Rebecca Hall puts in a nice turn as Samantha, Nick's just-moved-in across the street neighbor, whose life and marriage are in an uncertain transitional period, as well, and becomes a sympathetic shoulder for Nick. And it's always a treat to see Laura Dern, here playing a high school class mate of Nick's, pop up in the small and unassuming roles that she does so well. But the real stand-out supporting actor is Christopher Jordan Wallace. Most child actors, no matter how "good" they are hailed to be, aren't really very good. Wallace is an exception and we can expect to see a lot more of him. This is only his second role (His first was as an adolescent The Notorious B.I.G., his real life father.) and he is as comfortable and unhurried in front of the camera as if he had been doing this his whole life, easing into his lines so as to come off as an observant and thoughtful kid, without the precociousness that it seems all child roles must be imbued with.
"Everything Must Go" is a good and film and speaks the truth, but it's not a happy movie. It doesn't even promise much chance of redemption. The best you can get out of Carver is a hint at the possibility of rebirth, the possibility that casting out everything is actually the first step toward something new.