You Can Count on Me
Director: Ken Lonergan
Cast: Laura Linney, Mark Ruffalo, Rory Culkin, Matthew Broderick, Jon Tenney, Gaby Hoffmann
(Shooting Gallery, 2000) Rated: R
by Dale Leech
PopMatters Associate Film and TV Editor
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No Rhyme nor Reason
A wife to her husband while driving home one night:
"Why is it they put braces on teenage girls at the
exact moment they're most self-conscious?" Before he
can respond, their car collides with an oncoming
truck, killing the couple and leaving their two kids,
Sammy and Terry, orphans. At the funeral, the children
sit apart, crying and holding hands. Already, Sammy is
positioned as the responsible sibling, her shirt
buttoned up, her hair neatly combed, and her younger
brother is the black sheep, marked by his unbuttoned
shirt and flyaway dark, curly hair.
Cut to present day: Sammy (Laura Linney) is now the
single mother of 8-year-old Rudy (Rory Culkin) and
hasn't seen Terry in over two years. In You Can Count on Me, writer-director Ken Lonergan explores their
strained relationship as adults. But other than the
tragic loss of their parents, the movie offers no
explanation for Sammy and Terry's failing
interpersonal relationships -- with each other and
with others -- or for their life choices.
Sammy still lives in the old family house in
Scottsville, a small pastoral town in New York state
where the local cinema features Sweetheart's Moon
and the local police officer greets you in the street.
She works as a lending officer at the local bank and
maintains an ordered life, down to the 15 minute break
from work required to pick up Rudy after school and
drop him off at the babysitter's house. After Sammy
receives a letter from Terry (Mark Ruffalo), she
explains to Rudy that it would be good if he got to
know his uncle. Perhaps Sammy believes this, but as
the reunion unfolds, she does little to convince us
that she really wants to get to know him better. On
the morning of Terry's arrival, Sammy is deep into
preparations -- cooking lasagna, arranging flowers,
and baking cookies -- because, as she tells him later,
she thinks he'll "like" such traditional signs of
welcome. But once Terry shows up, it's clear that the
last things he cares about are flowers and a
home-cooked meal.
Terry appears to have grown up into a bona fide loser,
complete with a run-down one-bedroom apartment and
girlfriend Sheila (Gaby Hoffmann), who doesn't appear
any better off than him. Surprise, surprise! They have
communication problems (he tells her that he loves
her, but then, as he inches his way to the door,
announces that it might be best if they end their
relationship when he returns from visiting Sammy). In
Scottsville, Terry meets his sister in a restaurant,
where he looks as though he's ready to crawl out of
his own skin: again Sammy is the good sibling and he's
the bad one, dressed in an old t-shirt he describes as
the "haute cuisine of garments." During their awkward
conversation, Sammy learns that Terry has been in
Alaska and in a Florida jail for three months for a
fight he didn't start, and is now in the midst of a
slight predicament for which he needs money. He
promises, "I'll pay you back, man." Sammy is
understandably annoyed to learn that he came to visit
with the sole purpose of borrowing money.
Sammy's relationship with her brother sheds light on
her awkward relationship with Rudy. They also have
trouble communicating. When Rudy tells her about a
school assignment to write a story "about anything,"
Sammy tells him it's creative; Rudy rebuts, "I think
it's unstructured." Knowing so little about her, we're
left a bit in a lurch about her inability to connect
with her son. Perhaps their relationship has nothing
to do with the past, but rather with the fact that
Sammy is a single mother struggling to maintain a
household, a job, and raise a child. She won't talk
about her son's father, Rudy Sr. (Josh Lucas), but
Terry recalls that he a "prick" for leaving Sammy.
When we finally meet Rudy Sr., we learn that he lives
in a trailer park with his white-trash girlfriend (Kim
Parker), but he acts more civilized than Terry, who
ultimately provokes him and throws the first punch
when the two do have an occasion to meet again. Any of
these reasons are possible, but without more guidance,
in the form of explication or flashbacks, it's
difficult for us to understand fully what's going on.
Meanwhile, Sammy is unable to maintain any healthy
relationship. Bob (Jon Tenney) is basically her
fallback boyfriend, the guy she calls when she needs
something. Her relationship with her new boss, Brian
(Matthew Broderick) develops into something of a
torrid affair. This functions on two levels: comic
relief and the means by which Sammy is able to act out
in ways we can only assume she was unable to as a
young girl growing into adulthood. The jokes are
obvious: Brian and Sammy engage in brief moments of
passion in his office while coworkers overhear
suggestive noises from behind closed doors; or, Sammy
drives to meet Brian one night -- after he calls from
a payphone while out buying milk for his pregnant wife
-- while Loretta Lynn's "The Other Woman" plays in the
background.
While the affair enables Sammy to break free of her
caretaker role, it's only momentary -- Rudy still
needs a mother and Terry still needs rescuing (after
landing himself in jail following his fight with Rudy
Sr.). Sammy suggests that Terry stay in Scottsville,
but he can't. In a final act of rebellion, Terry tells
Rudy that his mom is "a bigger fuck-up than I ever
was," and "It's okay to lose your temper." With those
words, followed by a tearful goodbye and a brief
conversation the next day, the film ends. There's no
"happily ever after," only more strain, unhappiness,
and lack of communication. While You Can Count on Me
features talented actors, their skills are no match
for Lonergan's less-than-stimulating dialogue. Terry's
hemming and hawing and Sammy's non-responses do little
to rouse viewer sympathy. In fact, when Terry
describes Scottsville as a town full of "dull, narrow
people... with no perspective, no scope," he might
have been describing the film's characters.
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