There's a certain magic to films that champion acting, storytelling, complex characters and even subtlety — the unlikeliest of Hollywood virtues. Hunkering down in the comfort of a warm theater to watch these kinds of movies presents a world far from the big, loud and brash summer box office. Tent poles are replaced by prestige pictures, in which the only aspects that might be considered "big" are the reputations of the starring cast and the hands behind the camera.
These kinds of films offer a rare flicker of prioritizing artistry over a financial bottom line — or at least equalizing the two. This tipping of the balance is reflected in "Barney's Version," a character study of an amusingly cantankerous older man. The film's focus on the titular Barney Panofsky presents the opportunity for a strong showcase performance not only by Paul Giamatti, but also for impressive supporting roles, particularly those of Minnie Driver as his perhaps too−perfect second wife and Dustin Hoffman as his offbeat father.
The backbone of the narrative traces Barney's loves and losses over a period of three decades. We see his marriages to and subsequent divorces from three very different women, with emotional clutter and wry humor folded in along the way. It's a gallery of personalities that are as sly, sarcastic and stubborn as they are believable.
This is a picture that carefully walks the ever−present tightrope that comes with the comedic drama: How can the characters remain both humorous and authentic? The answer is a balance that comes with quality writing. There's enough honesty in the characterization and portrayals to keep even the occasional sliding of the supporting characters into "types" from ringing false.
That line is a challenging one not to overstep, particularly in the case of stereotypical−to−a−fault transient writer and champion of "la vie bohème" Boogie (Scott Speedman), whose strange demise forms the foundation of a lingering mystery in which Barney may or may not be culpable. It's an interesting inclusion in an otherwise straightforward film, at least in terms of genre, that works as long as it's kept on the fringe of the story. When details and revelations come pouring in right at the conclusion, it comes off as an odd, unbelievable ending point and one that isn't quite necessary.
Vital to the story, however, is the comedic energy brought to its early stages by Minnie Driver, who takes gamely to the task of portraying a woman as difficult for Barney to love as she is easy for audiences to loathe. As his second wife, she holds the comedic center of a brilliant, hilarious "I'm at my wedding and only just realized I'm not in love" moment. The scene comes full circle when all her seemingly perfect qualities — including a running gag relating to her master's degree — turn sour in an instant.
And though this second wedding, arguably the film's greatest set−piece, may come a bit too soon in the proceedings, it spills over with such fantastic comic moments, one rolling in after another, that it's difficult to find fault. The weaving and interweaving of Barney's relationships with his father, soon−to−be ex−wife and a woman he's just hopelessly fallen in love with (Rosamund Pike) — at his own wedding no less — are mined for seriocomic gold.
But, for all the talk of the supporting cast, let's not mince words — Giamatti acts up a storm. Alternating between a stubborn old crank and a man dealing with profound jealousy, a man who mistakes sex for love and vice versa, Barney gifts Giamatti with the opportunity to explore poignancy and comedy in equal measure. The thoughtful laughter of Barney's many jibes is underlaid by a core of emotional truth, and Giamatti's portrayal turns him into an honest character with life beyond the screen.
As the film's parallel timelines merge and divide and places and names become pregnant with meaning, the audience is taken on a journey with a man reflecting on the whole of his life.
Through the flashbacks and reminiscenes that abound through the movie, some kernel of truth seems to lurk under the surface about the tenuous strings that hold relationships together, varied as they may be.
But, then, as "Barney's Version" makes clear, even that needn't be spared from gentle humor.
