Love is strange, indeed. And tender, and kind, and knowing, and strong, and affected by external forces, while simultaneously existing in a glorious, mysterious black hole all its own. And sometimes – even in films – it can just be itself. Existing. With no operatic dramas or infidelities or farcical misunderstandings; just itself, surviving the challenges of everyday life.
Such is Ira Sachs’ gorgeous drama, the story of Ben (John Lithgow) and George (Alfred Molina), who after 40 years of love and almost-monogamy, have finally been granted the right to marry in New York. But in one of several potentially hot-topic chess pieces placed on Sachs’ board but rightly never made to make a checkmate move, music teacher George finds that his Catholic School’s board feel unable to keep him in their employ following his marriage. Suddenly finding themselves in dire financial straits, George and Ben are forced to sell their stunning apartment for next to nothing and take shelter in their friends’ homes – separately. Two beautiful, independent, dapper men find themselves transformed into helpless dependents, feeling the weight of their burden, age, and every second they’re forced to spend apart.
It’s not only an all-too believable scenario, but Lithgow and Molina radiate such a warm, lived-in but still utterly besotted glow that separately, their witty characters are genuinely heartwarming – together, they’re one of the most empathetic couples on film. As Ben deals with being the oldest man at parties full of Pretty Young Things, and Ben realises that being underfoot as an older man reads as “geriatric”, their lives are beautifully observed. The authenticity of their relationship almost compensates for Sachs’ tendencies towards sentimentality – his indulgent sunsets, his over-use of gorgeous Chopin sonatas.
A film that reveals the chasm between our expectations of friendships, romance and life – and the realities. A movie that reveals that love may be our one goddamn bridge through it all.