Thursday, July 25, 2013

The End of Love

I finally got to watch Mark Webber's The End of Love, which is one of the more beautiful, brutally painful things I've seen in a while.

It's such a delicate, raw film, and I don't want to give anything away. Think of it as a documentary-style, slice-of-life fictional vignette.

Here's the modified logline (since the full version I think gives too much away):
A struggling actor is forced to grapple with his inability to grow up as he tries to raise his two-year-old son alone.
It's a dramatic film -- But not full of drama. It's that real kind of living drama, where each of us are just surviving day in and day out, desperately trying to do a good job with the important stuff we're supposed to do a good job with and not mess up, but messing it up. And dealing with that.

It's a relational film between Mark and his in-movie (and real-life) toddler son, Isaac, and showcases single fatherhood in Los Angeles as Mark (as a working actor) tries to get gigs, pay the bills, and all the while spend time with Isaac.

To be fair, it may not resonate with people like it did with me. I'm an actor. I'm a dad of a toddler son. I desperately love my family (and love being with them). I don't want anything to happen to them. And I worked in an aquarium shop. (But that last one is a real minor thing. But it did ground it for me a bit.)

And, for a few moments in time, I lived through a horrible loss that was -- in those few moments -- permanent.

It's a really good movie. More indie than mainstream, though you might recognize talent like Michael CeraAmanda Seyfried, and Shannyn Sossamon, who I think make generous, authentic appearances as themselves in the film.

Personally, I'd count myself lucky to be a part of a quiet, emotionally important, sleeper film like this.

(As of this writing, it's also streaming for free if you're an Amazon Prime subscriber.)

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