As I wait for The Darjeeling Express and Michael Clayton to open in the bumpkin town of Baltimore, a review of something that has slowly made its way to the top of my Netflix queue: a lovely little Scottish film from 2004 called Dear Frankie. A film of sentiment that is able to do what so many larger (and American) films seem incapable of: restrain itself.
Synopsis: Frankie is a 9-year old deaf boy in Scotland. His mother, Lizzie (the ever-cute Emily Mortimer) and his granny are his family, which we discover is moving on a regular basis. Although they never really explain it to Frankie in the movie, they move to stay in hiding from Frankie's abusive father, who they left in the middle of the night over 8 years prior. As the movie starts, we hear Frankie's "voice," heard in letters to his father, or who he thinks is his father. Lizzie, wishing to not hurt him, told Frankie he had left them, as he is a petty officer aboard the HMS Accra, a shipping vessel. Frankie is informing his dad of their move, of his interests (stamps, which his "dad" sends him, geography, and marine life), of his otherwise normal life.
As they settle into a quaint, unnamed seaside town, Frankie makes friends (Marie, the owner of the chip shop downstairs; Catriona, a girl in his class) and a rival, Ricky, the loudmouth boy in class. Lizzie slowly tries to open herself, to let down her guard, mainly to Marie. Things are settling in, until Ricky informs Frankie that his dad's ship will be docking in a couple days. Frankie, confused as to why his dad didn't tell him, takes no affront, assuming his dad wanted it to be a surprise. Lizzie discovers that the ship will be docking (which, until now, had been her entirely fictional creation) and has to decide to tell her child the truth or find a substitute. Of course, she does the latter, and, with the help of Marie, gets a man with "no past, no present, no future," who happens to be a sailor who will be in port for a couple days himself. This stranger (Gerard Butler, in a pre-Leonidas role) reads Frankie's letters, which Lizzie has been keeping, and plays into the role.
In the middle of all this, Frankie's real father's sister, we learn, has been trying to find Lizzie and Frankie. Davey is dying, and he wants to see them. Lizzie has to decide to confront her past, her personal boogeyman, and if she should shatter Frankie's trust in his kind, giving "father."
After all that, why should this be any better than your standard Lifetime movie of the week? The art of subtlety. There are no dramatic reaches past the suspension of disbelief. The characters are played perfectly, with reality and drama, but without melodrama. Mortimer is always pleasing in her kind roles, and this one is no exception; the Stranger, in particular, plays his role with balance, clearly not a natural at the dad role but able to remember what it was like to be a 9-year old. Frankie is allowed to be a boy, who happens to be deaf. There are no magical heroics by the deaf child, no crushing waves of symphony, nor any massive tragedies a la a Haley Joel Osment flick (whatever happened to him?). The story is able to be believed, without any significant strain on reason. Why can't more films do this?
This isn't a film that does anything astonishingly new or unique. It will not change your life, or your outlook on life (except, perhaps, to give 9-year-old deaf children more credit than you might otherwise). But it will linger for a bit, and hopefully it might lighten your mood for a day or two. It's a pleasant little bonbon, so enjoy it.
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