'The Roses' Review:<em> </em>Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman Are Sublimely Acerbic Even if the Marital Comedy Pales Next to the Original
Bing Liu's Oscar-nominated 2018 feature doc Minding the Gap is an intensely personal chronicle of three friends in an Illinois town united by their love of skateboarding and their traumatic childhoods. Clear-eyed and forthright about the fallout of fractured families, the film also weaves a dreamscape of sorts out of meditative interludes of skate footage that provide fluidity in a shape-shifting narrative. A similar free-flowing spontaneity, intimacy and compassion grace Liu's first dramatic feature, Preparation for the Next Life, along with a deep affinity for troubled young people seeking refuge in one another while they attempt to establish a foothold as independent adults.
Adapted from Atticus Lish's 2014 novel by gifted playwright Martyna Majok, who won a Pulitzer for Cost of Living, the film is largely a two-hander, a fractured love story between an undocumented Central Asian immigrant and an American soldier returning from three tours in the Middle East with untreated PTSD and benefits about to expire. Those characters, each of them survivors of different deserts, are played with wrenching feeling by remarkable discovery Sebiye Behtiyar and Fred Hechinger, who continues to impress.
Other attributes carried over from Liu's nonfiction work are his restraint and avoidance of sentimentality in a slow-burn, heavily observational drama whose unhurried pacing requires patience. But there's a haunting quality to the melancholy story that stays with you, and despite what often seems like a bleak outlook, it finds resonant notes of hope in a bittersweet conclusion that involves a shift out West. Produced by Brad Pitt's Plan B and Barry Jenkins' Pastel, this is a small-scale picture that should find a commensurate but appreciative audience.
Behtiyar plays Aishe, an orphaned young Uyghur woman whose childhood memories of fitness training with her military father provide a symbolic motif of always running toward mountains. She migrates to New York City with a group of Chinese refugees, who look at her like she's from another planet even though she speaks Mandarin. Being Muslim alone makes her an outsider.
Majok's script and Behtiyar's performance give a nuanced depiction of Aishe's aloneness in the strange new country but also her resilience and resourcefulness as she starts working off-the-books jobs in Chinatown's busy kitchens, unloading deliveries with no less strength or speed than any male worker. In voiceovers she talks of running as "preparing for the next life." A roommate in the flophouse where she lives scoffs when Aishe says, "I will have money. I will have houses." But her quiet confidence and determination make the predictions plausible.
She meets Skinner (Eichinger) as the Army vet wanders around Times Square with his backpack, looking like he belongs in a cornfield. At 23, he's a few years younger than Aishe, and when he mentions he's heard New York is a great place to party, she makes it clear she has no time for that. With seemingly little encouragement, he attaches himself to Aishe and they end up in Chinatown, where he starts waiting outside the food court where she busses tables to meet her at the end of her shift.
Working with DP Ante Cheng (Pachinko), Liu -- who comes from a cinematography background -- is attentive to every flicker of expression or shy glance in their gentle courtship. Skinner seems besotted, and while Aishe has never bothered with boys, being raised by her dad like a soldier, she's intrigued.
In a lovely scene early in the relationship, they go to a Latino cowboy bar where they chug Coronas and dance, as any last trace of tentativeness between them melts away. There are moments that almost have a Linklater walking-and-talking vibe as an easy rapport develops between them, and while he's chivalrous, reluctant to let her pay for anything, she makes it clear in her minimal English that she is not some girly waif who needs him to take care of her.
Skinner rents a bare-bones apartment in what used to be an Irish neighborhood ("Now it's take your pick," says the landlady) and appears in no hurry to return to his hometown. His only ambition seems to be wanting to bulk up, like the bodybuilders in fitness magazines. Working out together is part of their bonding process but Aishe has bigger plans, hoping to operate her own food stand and be her own boss. She starts asking around about pathways to citizenship and a lawyer offers her free advice: "Be careful who you marry and what you tell them."
It's around this point that Skinner's mental health issues become apparent. He has a bag full of anti-anxiety meds but doubts their efficacy, always feeling like something's coming for him. He disappears on drinking binges for days at a time, unaware even when Aishe is grabbed by immigration for a brief stint in a detention center, before being released with a court date for her appeal. (Being made prior to the current administration's more aggressive pursuit of undocumented immigrants inevitably costs the movie some topicality.)
There are any number of predictable ways this scenario might have developed but the film is rigorous in its rejection of clichés or simple fixes. Even what seem like clear signals, such as the gun in Skinner's bag, turn out to be clever misdirection.
At times, the pared-down narrative almost risks becoming repetitive. But the poetic, exquisitely lit visuals and the poignant modulations of a relationship in which moments of closeness give way to sudden distance and friction -- echoed in Emile Mosseri's elegant score -- keep you involved. Hechinger (Thelma, Nickel Boys) conveys that volatility with a vulnerability, even a sweetness, that Skinner's moments of coldness or anger can't hide. One minute he's "I got you," the next minute, "I don't owe you shit." The character's cluelessness about love is its own kind of heartache.
In one of the strongest scenes, Aishe goes to confront him at his dive bar of choice and when she declines to have a drink with him, Skinner refuses to listen to what she has to say.
Behtiyar is a natural in front of the camera, communicating a lot with very little. There's an affecting depth of feeling in this romance between two discards living on the fringes of a world that chooses not to see them; the idea that they might find happiness together is a revelation to them both. But perhaps even more moving is Aishe's frustration when Skinner refuses to do anything to help himself and the painful decisions she needs to make if she's to build a meaningful life for herself.