How to sum up this movie? It has a good helping of Coen-brothers-like black humor (minus the great music), a dash of Tarantino-esque surprising violence, and at the center of it all a sad Philip Seymour Hoffman just trying to make everything alright and an ethereal Christina Hendricks floating through it all.
The story: in an insular Philadelphia neighborhood called God's Pocket (which was actually filmed in Yonkers, NY), a despicable 20ish kid gets himself killed and his survivors have to deal with the fallout. His stepfather Mickey (Hoffman) doesn't have the money for a funeral. His mother Jeanie (Hendricks) suspects foul play but can't begin to figure out what happened.
Richard Jenkins is excellent as the boozy reporter working the story. The only problem is that his character is not believable. Supposedly the people in this gritty working-class neighborhood adore this reporter because he "gets" them. Yet in the voice-overs of him reading his poetically crafted articles, that just doesn't ring true. Devotees of The New York Times Sunday Magazine might appreciate his prose, but not likely this crowd of barflies.
Very believable, on the other hand, is Peter Gerety as the tough neighborhood bartender who helps raise money for the funeral and tries to shield Mickey from some further bad news.
The talents of John Turturro are wasted in his role as Mickey's gambling buddy.
The most disappointing part is that it didn't all hang together with a strong, consistent flow for me. It's an uneven ride that works out okay in the end, kind of.
The story: in an insular Philadelphia neighborhood called God's Pocket (which was actually filmed in Yonkers, NY), a despicable 20ish kid gets himself killed and his survivors have to deal with the fallout. His stepfather Mickey (Hoffman) doesn't have the money for a funeral. His mother Jeanie (Hendricks) suspects foul play but can't begin to figure out what happened.
Richard Jenkins is excellent as the boozy reporter working the story. The only problem is that his character is not believable. Supposedly the people in this gritty working-class neighborhood adore this reporter because he "gets" them. Yet in the voice-overs of him reading his poetically crafted articles, that just doesn't ring true. Devotees of The New York Times Sunday Magazine might appreciate his prose, but not likely this crowd of barflies.
Very believable, on the other hand, is Peter Gerety as the tough neighborhood bartender who helps raise money for the funeral and tries to shield Mickey from some further bad news.
The talents of John Turturro are wasted in his role as Mickey's gambling buddy.
The most disappointing part is that it didn't all hang together with a strong, consistent flow for me. It's an uneven ride that works out okay in the end, kind of.