"South of Heaven" opens with Jimmy (Jason Sudeikis) at a parole hearing, imploring for a chance to make up for twelve years of lost time with his betrothed Annie (Evangeline Lilly). She's dying of cancer - reckon she has about a year left. The walls are closing in. He ½starts giving the "I Had A Speech Prepared, But" monologue, and I confess that two minutes into the film, I am resisting the urge to furrow my brow. I try to keep my heart open, but there was apprehension at what I felt was... stock sentimentality. Call me a cynic.
My reticence soon eased, and later faded into the ether. What I came to appreciate over "South of Heaven"'s two hours of violence and mischance was its thumping heart. It's there in the acting, earnestly imparted by Sudeikis, Lilly, and Mike Colter in a wonderfully layered role I won't go into. It's there in the writing, which reads a tad clunkily, but seems more genuine for it. It's also heard in the soundtrack. Scenes march to the rapping of a beating clock, whose tick-ticking reminds us, as it must remind our hero, that each passing moment is a moment bled from a rapidly dwindling reservoir.
The film premiered at Beyond Fest 2021 at the Los Feliz 3 on Vermont (festively dubbed the Shudder Theatre), after which the director Aharon Keshales stuck around for a Q&A panel. Listening to him discuss his story's inspirations, I felt the same love for the characters that I feel in a Coen Brothers movie. Indeed, the film I kept returning to during "South of Heaven" was the Coens' first feature, the quiet masterpiece "Blood Simple" (someone's hand even gets a nail driven through it here). Like in that film, the characters are mere objects of fate, subject to a logical procession of events beyond anyone's control, but which informs their actions and thoughts in ways that are perfectly sensible for who they are.
This said, I don't feel that Shea Whigham's Schmidt, a one-dimensional parole officer whose relevance is limited to indirectly setting the driving conflict in motion, really belongs. He's too cartoonish a villain for a film otherwise teeming with humor and humanity. I have no doubt that such people exist, and would naturally be drawn to positions affording such power over others, but his presence is an anomaly beside characters who are worse but afforded moments of empathy, even sorrow.
"South of Heaven" isn't perfect. But it's sincerely felt, in its compassion, in its sadness, in moments of levity found within grim situations, in embraces against a hanging sun, and in its final shot, which had my heart singing as it was overcome with longing.
In other words, it had opened.
EDIT: My girlfriend, who is smarter than I am, has helpfully suggested that Schmidt's character is meant to serve as a foil for someone. Seeing this interpretation through, I find that a specific scene has suddenly clicked for me, and I can better understand his inclusion.
I am bumping my original rating of 3 stars out of 4 up a half-star.
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