From the minute the movie starts, Life Itself comes rushing out the gate doing too gotdamn much.
The opening minutes of the Dan Fogelman-directed drama feature Samuel L. Jackson profanely narrating the story of an on-screen guy we assume has something to do with the movie. But then, both the movie and Jackson shift their attention to the guy’s therapist (Annette Bening). We know a few things about her before she’s unfortunately plowed into by a bus. Once again, all this happens in the first five minutes.
What the hell does any of this mean? Well, it’s basically to tell the viewer that the focus will shift from one character to another very frequently and randomly in this movie. Over the next two hours, we bounce from that bit of nonsense to the hell that Oscar Isaac’s recently institutionalized Will is going through — he’s been in a funk ever since he parted ways with his beloved pregnant wife (Olivia Wilde). After we’re done with him, the movie quantum-leaps in time to find their daughter (Olivia Cooke) sulking around New York as a brawling, pissed-off punk rocker. After that, we go all the way to Spain to follow a proud, stubborn olive-farm worker (Sergio Peris-Mencheta) as he builds a family with his wife (Laia Costa) while working for a boss (Antonio Banderas) who longs to have a relationship like theirs. Then, of course, we jet to a lot of years later, when that olive-farm worker’s son (Alex Monner) moves to America and goes to college in — surprise! — New York. (If you already don’t know how this is gonna turn out, then you really don’t know how movies work.)
And what the fuck does this all mean? This movie skips through time periods and time zones to give us a needlessly convoluted, emotionally manipulative ensemble piece whose main goal is to show how when it comes to unreliable narrators, nothing beats — wait for it — life itself. Life is merely an ever-evolving story, filled with people who are heroes one minute and supporting players the next, and if a bunch of horrible, depressing stuff has to go down before some joy and beauty starts popping off, then that’s just how the story goes. (I feel that’s how many people are dealing with the Trump administration.)
Fogelman is the creator of popular TV drama This Is Us — and if that show is like this movie, I’m glad I’m not watching that shit. Fogelman tries to tug on the heartstrings by giving us a story full of people who go through some harrowing, emotional ordeals, but it constantly rings hollow. And despite having a cast of players attempting to give it their all (I was especially impressed with Banderas and Mandy Patinkin as Cooke’s caring grandfather), these characters are more like boilerplate archetypes than fully realized individuals.
If you truly want to see a beautiful, touching movie called Life Itself, may I suggest the Roger Ebert documentary that came out a few years ago.Â
