Alzheimer's: the word is becoming more and more prevalent in the United States. As the number of patients creeps steadily upward, it becomes harder and harder to ignore. It's nearly impossible to find someone who isn't affected by the disease, whether it's directly or indirectly (a friend or family member). But whether you know someone or not with the disease, you will be affected by STILL ALICE, Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland's most recent film. Not only is it a showcase for a multiple award-winning performance by Julianne Moore, but it is also simply a poignant and relatable story.
Linguistics professor Alice Howland (Moore) and her husband, John (Alec Baldwin) are what you would call a successful, happy couple. They have three children: Anna (Kate Bosworth), Tom (Hunter Parrish), and Lydia (Kristen Stewart), all of whom are already out in the real world as adults. Alice begins to notice that she is having lapses of memory loss... at first the moments are just little things that happen to everyone: she occasionally loses her place in a conversation, forgets a word, etc. But as her symptoms become more clear and consistent, Alice decides to get a diagnosis, and learns that she has Alzheimer's.
What follows is a powerful character study of one so inflicted. The film tracks Alice's progression through the stages of the disease, and, in a roundabout way, shows the different stages of grief -- though tweaked a bit, as it is not just one event but an ongoing situation that Alice must deal with. She goes through brief denial, waiting til she's already had several doctor's appointments to tell even her husband of her symptoms; she blames herself for the risk she's put her children in; she tries to make light of her situation, and she tries complete openness to remain close to her family. As her symptoms progress, Alice quickly hits the anger stage, resisting her limitations and getting angry at people who try to coddle her ("I can make my own tea!" she says angrily in one scene).
The beauty of this film is that not only did we see Alice's journey, but we saw it all through her eyes. The use of focus in the cinematography is the first indicator: when Alice begins to show symptoms, the world becomes a blur, signifying her confusion and uncertainty. Then, as her condition gets worse, whole scenes are shot out of focus, conversations that reflect just how far along she is -- she begins, of no volition of her own, to let go. But it isn't just the cinematography that gets you: the script tactfully draws you in close to the characters at the beginning of the film, only to distance you from them as the story continues. In any other story, John's struggle would be just as present and in the foreground as Alice's (this is not to say that his character is not fleshed out -- his coping strategy is so painfully realistic, and relatable for a lot of people), but in this circumstance, his story becomes very detached, his actions seen at arm's length as Alice finds it harder and harder to connect with him -- or anyone, for that matter.
It's a realistic portrayal of a family. It doesn't try to sugar-coat things, or give a miraculous example of how a family can draw closer together in hardship, but simply focuses on telling Alice's story -- and, in effect, opening the door for those with their own Alzheimer's experiences to tell their stories.
There are a few labored moments, but overall, the film flows gracefully. Moore's performance is visceral and heartbreaking; every moment she is on screen, she is Alice. The rest of the cast gives great performances as well (especially including the supporting role by Stewart), but they are nothing compared to Moore. STILL ALICE is now playing at the Midtown Cinema -- come check it out!
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