‘Eric LaRue’ struggles to mine comedy from tragedy
Not content with being one of the finest actors of his generation, Michael Shannon seeks to broaden his skill set with his directing debut, “Eric LaRue.” He could not have found a more volatile or complicated subject than the aftermath of a school shooting in a small Midwestern town where everyone knows everyone else. To further complicate the endeavor, it’s based on a play by his old mate from Chicago’s Red Orchid Theatre, Brett Neveu, whose adaptation for the screen can best be called uneven and, at worst, flippant.
The focus is on the killer’s mother, Janice LaRue, who is played brilliantly by Judy Greer in a constant state of disbelief, anguish and humiliation. She can’t even find the wherewithal to visit her son, Eric, in prison, let alone tend to her faltering marriage to the boy’s father, Ron (Alexander Skarsgård), who behaves as if the horrific event never happened.
Greer’s mournful eyes draw you in immediately, and your empathy swells with each step on her journey back to “normal,” a destination we sense she’ll never reach. Not when she’s the town’s pariah. She seeks refuge in her Presbyterian congregation and its ineffectual pastor, Rev. Steve Calhan (Paul Sparks), oddly determined to unite Janice and the mothers of her son’s three victims for a “healing session.”
We know from the onset that his plan is folly, and Neveu and Shannon treat it as such by mining the excruciating situation for deeply uncomfortable laughs. Yes, it is indeed absurd at times, but it’s sure to prove offensive to the many who believe religion inviolable from mockery. The scene is way off tonally, as is most of the picture, as it ham-handedly attempts to lighten the story’s heaviest subject matter with humor. It’s not a wrong idea, it’s more that neither Neveu nor Shannon know how to pull it off tastefully.
The duo also belabor the notion that worshipping God leads to hypocrisy, as promises of unconditional absolution grant free rein to commit immoral acts from adultery to murder. Where’s the deterrent in a system, they contend, where you’re told “all is forgiven?” The film inches even closer to blasphemy when it introduces a sick sort of tug-of-war between Rev. Calhan and his chief “competitor,” the Rev. Bill Verne (Tracy Letts), to determine who succeeds at getting the aggrieved moms and Janice together.
Then there’s Ron, clueless to the core. He’s so naive he’s blind to how egregiously he’s being manipulated by Verne and one of the Fundamentalists’ most devout followers, Lisa (Alison Pill), a coworker who uses Jesus to try and jump Ron’s bones, not save him. She, too, is played for satire, and Pill plays along to perfection. But like most of “Eric LaRue,” you’re left feeling like you’re not in on the joke. I’m not even sure Shannon and Neveu have a grasp of the message they’re trying to convey, if any. This lack of meaning and perspective results in an ending sure to satisfy no one.
Yet, Greer consistently rises above the material with a performance that transfixes. Her Janice is hurting and the people and the social institutions she was always told she could depend on – husband, coworkers, friends, church – are failing her miserably. That includes Eric (Nation Sage Henrikson), who in the film’s harrowing final scene leaves Janice even more confused and alone. If nothing else, Greer puts a human face on a school shooter’s least sympathetic victim – his mother. In some cases, they are just as culpable as their spawn. But what about the moms like Janice, who thought they were doing everything right as a parent? Where do they turn? How do they grieve without looking selfish and callous? That’s the story Janice – and Greer’s portrayal – deserves. But what we get is closer to a smug sort of skepticism that does nothing but exploit Janice’s pain for our amusement.
Movie review
Eric LaRue
Rated: Not rated
Cast: Judy Greer, Alexander Skarsgård, Alison Pill, Paul Sparks and Tracy Letts
Director: Michael Shannon
Writer: Brett Neveu
Runtime: 119 minutes
Where: In theaters on April 4 (limited)
Grade: B-
