Junebug - Austin American-Statesman movie review

'Junebug' is open to interpretation

By JOHN DEFORE
Austin American-Statesman

The debut feature from North Carolina native Phil Morrison (who moved to New York after high school and got his start making indie-rock videos) is not named for one of its main characters, or even one with any dialogue. But Junebug — the unborn child of a very troubled small-town couple — is a blank slate for his/her mother's hopes and dreams, and therefore is a fine mascot for a movie so wide-open to conflicting interpretations.

Sony Pictures Classics

'Junebug'

4 out of 5 stars

Director: Phil Morrison
Starring: Amy Adams, Embeth Davidtz, Benjamin McKenzie, Alessandro Nivola, Frank Hoyt Taylor
Run time: 102 minutes
Release date: August 5, 2005
Rating: R for sexual content and language.
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Is the film, in which a Chicago man brings a sophisticated new wife to meet his small-town family, a mockery of Southern customs? A skewering of the shallow understanding city folk have of the rest of the country? Or simply a brilliant picture of that near-universal experience: the polite terror of being thrust into another person's family?

Completely unwilling to push viewers in one direction or another, "Junebug" offers many flawed characters and is unusually ambiguous about which we should identify with. There's George (Alessandro Nivola), the gentle-faced man navigating two very different worlds; his wife Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz), a Chicago art dealer who specializes in "outsider" artists but has never had to spend time in their neck of the woods; and the pregnant Ashley, who is married to George's impossibly sullen brother (Benjamin McKenzie) and practically explodes with delight at the prospect of meeting her glamorous sister-in-law.

Played with scene-stealing enthusiasm by Amy Adams ("Catch Me If You Can"), Ashley is too exaggerated to be true. But her insatiable desire to welcome Madeleine into the family — she quizzes her on everything from favorite colors to reproductive plans — is a hilariously spot-on evocation of what Southern hospitality must feel like to the newcomer.

As Madeleine, Davidtz walks a very fine line; she is clearly bewildered by Ashley's attention, and by the way these people break into prayer at the drop of a hat, but it's difficult to tell whether her polite attempts to fit in mask condescension or are heartfelt. Her character also represents a broader intellectual dilemma: In trying to woo a new artist to her gallery, she's a living embodiment of the art world's sticky relationship with self-taught visionaries. She is both friend and exploiter, embracing what is strange about the man's paintings while trying to ignore their itchy racist undertones.

Running through all these questions about viewer identification is a story that is funny and tender, full of sharp observations and told from a filmmaking point of view that (like George) straddles the fence between rural and urban.

From time to time, a scene will trail off into silent shots that frame an empty dining room or the view from a moving car. They're bits of punctuation that let the mind wander, digesting relationships and situations that are too rich to be seen from only one point of view.