#28: You Can Count On Me (2000) (dir. Kenneth Lonergan)

A lot of people talk about the line in The Royal Tenenbaums, “I’ve had a rough year dad” as being a heartbreaking, tear-jerking moment and rightfully so. But I realized with this latest viewing of Kenneth Lonergan’s impeccable debut, You Can Count On Me, there’s an even more powerful example of this towards the end. A brother says to his sister at the end of their farewell, “do you remember when we were kids what we used to say?” Every time I watch this movie and that final scene on the bus stop bench commences, I am a complete wreck but it really isn’t until that final question said aloud that I start to sob uncontrollably.

As a part-time film critic, it’s hard to not think about which movies I would love to host a screening of. But what’s wild is that the ones that I have grown to consider to be favorites rarely started out that way on first viewing. My ex-girlfriend Amy and I went to go see this based on all the positive reviews it was getting. We took a trip to Chicago, endured heavy traffic and oddly enough, one of us was moved while the other shrugged it off. Something must have been wrong with my shoulders that day or maybe I wasn’t in a good mood to fully appreciate it. I even dismissed it as just “another Sundance indie dramedy” before that was really a bit of a cliche to say. (Oh The Skeleton Twins, I still love you anyway).

I keep thinking back to 23 years ago now and the fact that I was a very different person. 50 pounds lighter, a bit more intensely critical, careless, far more impulsive and just completely unsure of which direction my life was going to take. In a way, I was a lot like Mark Ruffalo’s character in this and perhaps a part of me was angry to see myself represented on screen. I didn’t think my life had a lot of importance or meaning outside of working in a library, going to Purdue and spending time with someone that I was convinced I would be married to eventually. I guess I watched this with skepticism - not really thinking about how this movie could be reflective of my own fractured relationship with my half sister. Things changed dramatically over these past two decades but back then, maybe I wasn’t ready to give this movie a hug the way I do now.

That’s the case with a lot of movies including what has eventually become my favorite movie, Mulholland Drive. I left the theater thinking it was minor Lynch. Walking out of Pipers Alley with Amy, I wrote this movie off as “nothing I hadn’t seen before.” Who is this person? It’s not the Jim I know now who pretty much loves every line of dialogue, every acting beat, every glance / gesture, poor decision made by a character and even the Bach-fueled score that dominates throughout. (If there is a small complaint it could be the inclusion of subpar country music used in the film but that is what the characters listen too.) I wonder if my avid appreciation also comes from an absolute love of writer Kenneth Lonergan and everything he’s done since. After all, I do plan to write about his second film here in the future as well so you’ll be hearing about him some more.

Once again, I can’t help but reflect on the person I was then and the person I’ve become. You Can Count On Me is not the sort of film that you sit back and evaluate in the tradition of film techniques and directorial analysis. It is straightforward, somewhat predictable and yet emotionally honest in ways that you wish people would be every day. The fact that it is brilliant is obvious. It’s the sort of film that should be used to evaluate you and what you want from the human experience. Lonergan has managed to be a true humanist writer that can make unlikable characters seem like people you’ve known all your life.

Perhaps now I cry because I feel like I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know Sammy and Terry since this is about my 7th viewing. If they were my family members, I’d welcome them with open arms. If they were library patrons, I would look forward to seeing them (how could you not, really). But most of all, I know what it’s like to carry deep dark trauma around that is brought upon by the loss of parental guidance. It’s wild to think that 20 years ago, I would be angry at Terry for being an exaggerated version of myself to a degree (which also happened many years later with Greenberg). You would’ve thought I’d relate and be understanding about why he’s often a prick. That’s me now, though I also think several times throughout, “Grow up Terry, stop fucking around and let people in!”

This is the story of an adult brother and sister whose lives are indelibly marked by the deaths of their parents, killed in a car accident when the children were young.  Set in a quaint, quiet town in upstate New York where they grew up, the film centers on a visit by Terry (Mark Ruffalo) to his older sister Sammy (Laura Linney). Portraying the vicissitudes of their relationship, the film traces the effects of loss on these two compelling individuals and how their present lives seem to be inundated by struggle and poor choices. They can’t manage or maintain relationships - it’s no wonder they’re estranged or also can’t seem to settle down or feel content even people express love towards them. They have a fear any stability will end suddenly in the same way they lost their parents.

Sammy just wants to live a calm, loving life so she can be a positive role model for her son, Rudy (Rory Culkin). Granted, she’s a little overprotective but thinks she knows what’s best. Terry has made the wrong decisions when it comes to career stability to where he’s often broke. Sammy seems to have done quite well as a lending officer at the local bank branch. There isn’t much to do in this town so Terry mainly just lounges around until he’s ready to hit the road again, but we slowly discover why they rarely talk - they both approach life very differently. However, it’s clear that Sammy has a lot of personal issues that are unresolved. She can’t seem to commit to someone who seems to genuinely love her and suddenly she decides to have an affair with her new boss (Matthew Broderick).

Without easy answers, the film helps us connect the dots between Sammy's unsatisfying relationships with men and her adaptation to loss and to becoming the caretaking elder sibling. A lot of it could be diminished to people being stuck in perpetual “arrested development,” similar to Wes Anderson characters, but this one feels far more grounded. This is another film about trauma, offering two modest, precise and unwavering portraits of parental loss. Terry still lives in a state of uncertainty; he is stuck in it, while Sammy has fled from it --and fled also, to some extent, from her own inner life. Terry is perpetually facing down the loss of meaning to where he embraces the idea that life has no purpose, while Sammy has shut down into complacence. Her only vital or sustaining relationships are with Terry and her son. Just as she has formed herself around being responsible to her little brother, she "feels sorry" for the men in her life, focusing on meeting their needs, not her own. The film doesn’t provide an easy out in the end for either character. It’s likely they will continue on their journey, reliving their familiar cycle but hopefully have come to a place of true compassion for one another.

Watching it again, of course my first instinct when the final fade-out occurs is “why can’t movies be more like this one?” It’s the same sentiment I experience with James L. Brooks’ Broadcast News - another true blue humanist story about deeply flawed adults constantly hoping to work on themselves in the midst of trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. We are needy creatures after all. There’s a desire to be fully independent (and for some, single) and yet, we are attracted to others for closeness, conversation and comfort.

There’s a key scene in You Can Count On Me that involves a priest (played by Lonergan) in which I still can’t believe wasn’t the Oscar-clip moment played for Ruffalo that year. I absolutely adore Laura Linney because I am not a monster and realize she’s one of the best to ever step in front of a camera but Ruffalo’s performance in this is so pitch-perfect and assured, I watch that living room scene with a sense of awe throughout simple due to what Ruffalo achieves as an actor. And that holds true for every scene, really. You can even sense how great he is with facial expression and comedic timing, especially when he buys fishing gear and informs the cashier with the cutest grin, “Hello, we’re going fishing.” I always laugh out loud at his delivery and the look he has in that moment. It’s right then and there, I go, “okay Terry is kind of a selfish dick, but I still like him.”

We also need to talk about Linney who I’ve long since adored from seeing her in The Truman Show a few years earlier. There’s that memorable smile for one but she is really just a welcome presence every time. She had been acting for a little while before landing in this long overdue lead role; you can spot her in Searching for Bobby Fischer as the teacher that Max’s dad calls out, but I think everybody slowly came to realize how naturalistic and Streep-like she could be. She also just has some kind of warm gentleness that can be subtly sensual and inviting at times (holds true for Ruffalo as well). However, there’s no doubting the fact that Sammy really does make a lot of mistakes especially at her job that practically takes for granted. Linney as a performer - she’s definitely my type - in terms of personality and well, just about everything else - especially when she wears glasses or walks around the house in flannel pajamas (sorry I am what I am).

This remains my favorite performance from both actors. Linney’s range in even a short car ride scene in which she realizes what she’s doing is wrong but briefly laughs out loud to herself about it, almost sums up what life is like not just for Sammy and Terry but for all of us. One minute, we’re in shock at something tragic, then we almost have to laugh about it as a defense mechanism, then we likely stay up at night thinking about the fact that random tragedies will likely continue to occur the longer we live. But she sells every single scene, whether it’s arguing with her boss, declaring to her brother, “You suck,” or any think involving her young son. There’s a reason she received so much acclaim.

Most people might say that writer/director Kenneth Lonergan improved over time as a writer/director. His next film was huge step up in terms of scale, running time, the amount of characters and an even deeper context about the impact of 9/11 in a way that only he could do. Margaret is Lonergan’s 25th Hour, really. And of course he also struck gold again with his beloved, Manchester by the Sea, which contains another moment (or two) that causes me to break down. (“I can’t”). Lonergan is truly one of the best writers to ever tackle the feelings surrounding grief whether it’s growing up parentless on a micro-level in a small family or on a macro-level like the aftermath of overwhelming shock on a city like New York City (as filtered through the experiences of a young adult or with Manchester - a man that inadvertently caused the death of his own children).

I will admit that his two follow-up films might be ‘better’ in the sense of being greater achievements but something about his debut keeps me coming back outside of just my love of Linney and Ruffalo as brother and sister in this. They don’t really look much alike but that doesn’t matter. They are incredibly convincing without capital ‘A’ acting. Once again, it’s all about vulnerability and being in the moment that really comes across as completely natural. It’s hard not to think of what Holly Hunter does in Broadcast News as well. One minute, completely confident and ready to take on the world, the next, breaking down in tears in a form of isolated therapy. Linney is on that same level here and Ruffalo matches her. I do feel like this could be my sister and me in the future. I have a feeling Amy picked up on that 23 years ago when I was in a totally different headspace.

You Can Count On Me is a subtly funny, poignant, and beautifully observed character piece on sibling rivalry and small-town conformity even if it looks a little dated and doesn’t have a lot of call-out moments in terms of what he does with a rather static camera. (Lonergan does come from a theater background of course). But the attention to detail is there throughout, right down to the choice of smoking cigarettes or getting pissed about minor things like computer screen color schemes. In the end, it really is about the fully-formed characters here and I feel like I understand them more and more with age. Come to see a young Ruffalo tear through scenes and Linney match him moment-for-moment… stay for that remarkable final scene that will forever live in your heart. Also, I wish more movies could be like this one.