Jack Goes Boating (2010)

Yesterday was the UK release date for Philip Seymour Hoffman's first directorial effort Jack Goes Boating.  So I popped into my local independent cinema to give it a watch (£4 a ticket on a Friday afternoon, why not?).  It got me thinking and that got me writing.  Here's what I thought.

Right from the start the world is beautified by that simplistic aesthetic so typical of independent cinema.  The framing is mostly quite tight and the visual palette is consistently minimalist, leaving room for the audience to concentrate on the complex characters and themes of the film.  Perhaps the visual aspect of the film was necessarily rendered minimalist due to budget constraints, or maybe as an effort to unashamedly embrace the indie ‘look’ – either way it looks great and, more importantly, allows for a sense of clarity which is a perfect atmosphere in which to propagate some of the big ideas that the film explores.  And the film discusses one of the biggest issues: love.  It does so modestly, almost unintentionally, though, concentrating more on character development than making any grand philosophical statements.

The film achieves so much through the undeniable human charm of its four central characters.  Philip Seymour Hoffman is the incredibly enigmatic protagonist, Jack.  He’s quiet, socially-awkward and lacks common sense but is occasionally profound and deeply emotional.  Clyde (John Oritz) is his friend, work mate and mentor.  Clyde and his long term girlfriend Lucy (Daphne Rubin-Vega) are trying to set Jack up with Lucy’s colleague Connie (Amy Ryan).

Clyde’s own relationship is falling apart, however.  The cracks are beginning to show under the strains of previous affairs and Clyde soldiers on, insisting that it’s just one of the natural burdens of being in a long-term relationship.  Clyde tries to teach Jack about love as he struggles with his own jealousy and insecurity and Lucy struggles with her lust and infidelity.  Ironically, it turns out Jack is the one with the best approach to love and life: untainted simplicity and an enduring optimism (or “good vibe” as Jack would say quietly growing his dreadlocks as he listens to reggae on his Walkman).  The last shot of the film effectively sums up Clyde’s realisation of this irony as he stands jaded and alone, watching Jack and Connie walk off in the simple happiness of each other’s company.  There are several of these poignant moments in the film that are loaded with dramatic meaning and subtext even though the scene is almost void of any dialogue – reminding the audience that the story was originally conceived for the stage by writer Robert Glaudini.

One of the most interesting and prevalent themes in the film is perception.  It discusses the way we see things and the way things actually are.  Again, the choice of characters is absolutely astounding as it allows for a well-illustrated exploration of this theme.  The film makes a stark contrast between Jack and Connie’s simple optimism (not naïve ignorance) and Clyde and Lucy’s defeatist, cynical realism/pessimism.  The film favours Jack’s integrity in his slow and wary but ultimately positive outlook compared to Clyde’s self-deprecating acceptance of a sub-standard relationship.  This theme of perception is manifested as a visual metaphor throughout the film: Clyde tells Jack to picture success in his head in order to achieve it when he’s teaching him to swim.  Jack starts to use this visualization technique in other enterprises (learning to cook for Connie, for example), but Clyde fails to heed his own advice, constantly swimming against the current of his own denial.  The use of this visual metaphor is a nice touch by first time director Hoffman: it isn’t overstated and nicely concretes the idea of perception within the viewer’s mind.

In criticism, the film verges on the side of cliché fairly often.  There are some overly contrived lines, most notably when Jack’s evening with Connie doesn’t go to plan, he smashes up the apartment, locks himself in the bathroom and Clyde reassures him: “we can get by this…everything is ruined but we can get by this.”  This one line pretty much sums up the whole point of the film: coming to terms with the tension between enduring dysfunctional relationships and fruitlessly chasing an unobtainable ideal.  I’d imagine that kind of melodramatic, on-the-nose dialogue would work perfectly in the theatre, but it doesn’t translate well onto film.  Some things are better left unsaid.

When Fleet Foxes’ White Winter Hymnal started playing it occurred to me that the producers were trying very hard to stick to textbook indie style (which isn’t really surprising considering it’s the same guys who made Little Miss Sunshine and The Savages).  The soundtrack seemed to be doing little more than borrowing a sense of style rather than adding significant meaning and, at times, the music was either redundant or jarring.

Amy Ryan’s is one of the weaker performances in the film, in my opinion, making Connie no more than a female counterpart of the lead at times and cartoonish at others.  I think the character is good though - perhaps Ryan would’ve done her justice if the producers had focussed more of the film’s attention on Connie.

The film takes a look at the nature of love in modern relationships by comparing its starkly contrasted characters and their perception of love.  There are a couple of moments in the film that verge uncomfortably close to the cliché and contrived, but not enough to detract from the overall value of the film.  The film contains some truth and insights that will resonate amongst many of the audience members.

Overall, a well-crafted and relatable film that allows audiences to invest in its superb characters and reflect on its meanings.  At 89 minutes it’s easy to digest and easy to enjoy.  It’s a visually pleasing piece of textbook independent cinema that Philip Seymour Hoffman should be proud to call his directorial debut.

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