The Sessions | B+
“I have to believe in God, it would be
unbearable not to have someone to blame.”
—Poet and journalist Mark O’Brien
Autumn is often viewed as a season of smart and
adult cinema. Or, as it is known by insiders, “Oscar bait.” Hollywood prestige
films (Lincoln, Les Miserables), handsome middle-brow dramas (Argo,
Flight, The Impossible), indie-spirited flicks with A-list casts
(Silver Linings Playbook, Hyde Park on the Hudson) and top-tier
franchises (The Hobbit, James Bond) wrestle for word-of-mouth award
considerations and holiday box office. This year’s crop is particularly
promising. But amid all the pomp and circumstance it would be a big mistake to
overlook Ben Lewin’s blunt, refreshingly nuanced and ultimately poignant The
Sessions. It also helps that John Hawkes (Winter’s Bone) delivers
one of the year’s best performances.
Mark O’Brien (Hawkes) suffered from childhood
polio and ended up immobilized from the neck down and unable to breathe for
long without artificial respiration. But where his body was enfeebled, his mind
and sense of humor were sharpened. (You can watch Jessica Yu’s Oscar-winning
documentary short about his life, Breathing Lessons: The Life and Work of
Mark O’Brien online). Earning a degree at Berkeley and eventually becoming
a journalist and poet, he decided at the age of 38 that it was time to lose his
virginity. His initial attempts at romance, particularly with a young caretaker
(Annika Marks), fail so he enlists the help of a sex surrogate and therapist
named Cheryl (Helen Hunt), who gradually opens herself up to this unique and
sensitive man. But along with the emotional and physical challenges of
intercourse, Mark also struggles to reconcile the morality of his choices with
his Roman Catholic upbringing. To help him along his path, Mark confides in
Father Brendan (William H. Macy), a hip and understanding priest.
A modest and delicate film, this is no mawkish
disease-of-the-week tale of triumphalism. It is instead a tender, human-sized
portrait of a smart, funny and religiously devout man who is keenly aware of
his longing, physical limitations and, most importantly, emotional inexperience
with sexual intimacy. The 66-year-old director Lewin, who overcame a bout of
polio as a child himself, adopts O’Brien’s rueful sense of curiosity for the
overall tone of the film, engaging with the sexualized subject matter in
surprisingly blunt and adult terms (Hunt’s frequent nudity is handled with both
respect and clinically believable). Instances of humor, faith and human decency
dominate, as Mark’s disabilities and desires are dealt with in a restrained and
straightforward manner. But for all the nudity on display, you could even
describe The Sessions as chaste.
And part of that comes from Hawkes’
matter-of-fact charm. Lying on his back and delivering his lines in a thin,
reedy voice, he conveys the fierce intelligence of a man who is simultaneously
innocent, acerbic and astute. It is a remarkably expressive and soulful
performance that conveys O’Brien’s ever-watchful approach to life. The rest of
the cast is nearly as good. Hunt, whose character is far less richly written,
provides a gentle yet insightful portrait of a woman who must balance her
professionalism with the inevitable intimacy of her job. Macy, of course,
provides much of the film’s more comically buoyant moments, as the man of God
who ends up encouraging Mark’s sins of the flesh. Even smaller supporting
roles, like that of Moon Bloodgood’s student aide, are winning.
Unfortunately, the direction is, at best,
workmanlike, no doubt reflective of Lewin’s career in television. His script,
however, makes the savvy choice to use O’Brien’s own journalism and poetry in
voice-overs and dialogue. This approach sidesteps the mawkishness that often
accompanies tales of the disabled, and instead goes a long way to establishing
Mark as a flesh and blood person rather than a plastic saint of suffering. The
story only drifts toward melodrama in its final moments as the need for an
emotionally uplifting finale is delivered to those uncomfortable with ambiguity
and emotionally frayed endings. But until then, this small film surprises with
its lack of solemnity by capturing the essence of a man who lived far beyond
the confines of the iron lung that kept him alive.
This article appears in Oct 31 – Nov 6, 2012.