July 13, 2001 | With an unassuming casualness
that likely is more apparent than real, first-time filmmaker Thomas
Bezucha sustains
an air of low-key, warm-hearted whimsy throughout Big Eden, an
engaging and generous-spirited romantic comedy that playfully upends
movie clichés about lovelorn introverts and intolerant small-towners.
It's harder than it looks to keep a soufflé this light and sweet
from collapsing into a treacly puddle. But Bezucha, who smoothly directed
from his own witty screenplay, never lets the effort show, and only
occasionally allows the pace to flag.
Ayre
Gross strikes the right balance of wistful longing and whiny neurosis
in his amusing portrayal of Henry Hart, a Manhattan-based artist on
the verge of a critical and commercial breakthrough. On the eve of a
major gallery exhibition, Henry flies back to Big Eden, his rustic hometown
in northwestern Montana, to care for Sam (George Coe), the ailing grandfather
who raised him.
Henry
is gay, a fact he dearly - if not guiltily - wishes to hide from Sam.
The thing is, Sam almost certainly isn't as oblivious as Henry hopes.
And just about everyone else in town accepts the not-entirely-surprising
news with a nonchalance that is rendered as a sly running gag. At first,
Widow Thayer (Nan Martin), Big Eden's resident busybody, tries to interest
Henry in some unattached local women at a gathering in her home. When
she realizes the pointlessness of her enterprise, she scarcely pauses
for breath before organizing another mixer, to attach Henry to some
local eligible bachelor.
Even
so, despite the widow's best efforts, Henry only has eyes for Dean (Tim
DeKay), his best friend from high school, who has long been the object
of his unrequited love. Henry's hopes are raised when he learns the
newly divorced Dean is available and, perhaps, responsive. But even
as he dares to dream that Dean's flirtations will lead to something,
Henry remains almost willfully blind to the timid, tentative overtures
of another former classmate.
Pike
Dexter (Eric Schweig), a tall and taciturn Native American, operates
a general store where folks can enjoy espresso and cappuccino, and the
local good ol' boys congregate to gossip all day long. The boys have
much to talk about when Pike begins to thumb through The Joy of Cooking
in search of recipes for gourmet dishes he can prepare for the convalescing
Sam - and, of course, for Sam's grandson. But don't be too quick to
assume that Pike's customers disapprove of this cuisine-based courtship.
In the world according to Big Eden, a place where never is heard
a homophobic word, a good ol' boy might be just as eager as a widowed
busybody to play matchmaker for a lonely fellow in search of Mr. Right.
It's
easy to dismiss Big Eden, a best-case scenario of unconditional
love and acceptance, as gay-skewing fantasy fulfillment. But, then again,
you could similarly dismiss most mainstream romantic comedies as equally
unreal, straight-skewing fluff. Bezucha and his fine cast - including
Louise Fletcher as a matronly schoolteacher, Veanne Cox as a very pregnant
art-gallery owner and O'Neal Compton as the best-intentioned of the
good ol' boys - do a first-rate job of defusing your cynicism, and make
you want to believe that things everywhere could be (because they should
be) more or less like they are in this little corner of Montana.
The
place is not exactly unfamiliar territory: With its tangy flavor of
pixilated drollery and its bemused embrace of eccentricity, Big Eden
often recalls Bill Forsythe's Local Hero and TV's Northern
Exposure. But that is an observation, not a criticism. Whether you're
gay, straight, flexible or undecided, Big Eden is the best date
movie around right now.