By Trent Lakey
Tom Noonan’s 1994 directorial debut begins in the lonely, though spacious, Manhattan apartment of Jackie (Karen Sillas), an executive assistant at a seemingly large law firm. She works with Michael (Noonan), a tall, lanky, bald man, who is a paralegal at the firm. They decide to meet for dinner one night after work, over a meal of microwaved scallops and a copious amount of wine.
What follows is an awkward series of conversational missteps, anxious plunges for common ground, and a dreadful yearning for the slightest of affections. Noonan plays his cards close to the chest at the beginning of the film, as things gradually unfurl out of the recognizably simple premise. Dinner is served, white wine is poured and eagerly drunk, complimentary comments are made and foundational personal questions are asked. Jackie exudes a nervous energy, as she plays host to a man she only knows in the office – it is stated by her that he “seems important”, as he often wears a mocking, supercilious smile in the presence of the firm’s lawyers. Michael shrugs this off obliviously, even though he’s shown the same smile already this evening. He speaks of intellectual subjects: science, literature, birds and nature, etc. She does not, but pretends to understand everything he speaks of. Soon, they discover they both harbor literary interests – Jackie writes children’s stories, and has even been published, while Michael is working on a novel revolving around the law practices of their workplace, with the altruistic intent to display victims of an unfeeling legal system.
The night opens up from there, as the date begins to move like one, even if it never exactly resembles a traditional date. As they sit across from each other in Jackie’s modest, though tastefully furnished, living room, and then as they move next to each other upon the couch, the normal questions and tensions arise. But, nothing ever occurs as it is expected to, as stories are told, intimate relations divulged, and expectations are never met in exactly the same place.
What becomes of the film is an exceedingly strange and moving exploration of who we present ourselves to be in intimate company. Only movies are filled with clichés, yet this is not one of them. After a million stories have been told, the only place further to go is the naked truth. Noonan’s film is not one of making the heart infinitely happy, nor to swoon over the triumph of romance against the cold maneuverings of the world. It is about two lonely people who have grown to have no expectations beyond being lonely. Sure, they try to go against their resigned fates, but only half-heartedly, without the desperation that came so easily in their twenties. Some people don a mask and a smile, tell tall tales about their disappointing circumstances, so as to explain unnecessarily why they are as they are. Others don’t need to invent to disappoint themselves. Enough of it is there already.
The good thing is that when life and love inevitably disappoint, what remains is always, always funny.