You can still count on Lonergan

Twenty-five years ago, this is what it looked like to go to the movies.

Take your pic. (Pun intended.) You’ll find a movie that you’ll still find rich and rewarding all these years later.

And the following year was even better. I want to live again in a world where communities prioritize shared experiences with art the way we did back then, and where we had a dazzling menu of new and glorious possibilities.

Look at You Can Count On Me, by Kenneth Lonergan, now streaming on The Criterion Channel. Look at what is possible with just a few cameras, a few talented actors, one piece of beautiful classical music, and less than two hours of screen time.

This film is aging like a fine wine — a wine that will rip your heart out and stamp on it like it’s getting revenge for its own grapes. It’s very funny, yes. Its narrative is full of discomforting surprises. There is a quality of joy shining through it from start to finish, a love for each of its misguided characters, and a love within each of those characters that makes some of their decisions so hard to watch and a few of them cause for hope. I’m sitting here on a Saturday morning with a bowl of oatmeal and tears running down my face for Sammy (Laura Linney), Terry (Mark Ruffalo), and Rudy (Rory Culkin). I want them to find their way, against all odds, to peace.

When the film was new, the talk was all about Ruffalo. Ruffalo the discovery. Ruffalo the “new Brando.” Understandably so. His performance is still awe-inspiring. He blew my mind and made me care. He still does. I’ve enjoyed him at the movies ever since, but this is one of those one-in-a-million performances. Every little decision he makes is working.

But here, now, I’ve really grown to appreciate Linney’s performance. Perhaps I just need to live another 25 years, become more empathetic to her experience, become more forgiving of her choices, and come to see the wounded little girl still alive in her silences and tears.

Matthew Broderick’s turn impresses me more now, as I can appreciate better just how careful he’s being not to let what is largely a comic-relief performance upset the film’s delicate tone. And Lonergan’s turn as Sammy’s patient, merciful priest still brings me so much joy.

I completely believe in this brother and sister, and the grief they bear, and all of the ways I wish they did not have to grow up.

I highly recommend that you revisit this one — or, if you need to, discover it. It’s a treasure.

“Remember when we were kids?”