Love's labours laid bare by duo
February 21, 2003
PETER HOWELL MOVIE CRITIC
In the movies, cute romantic encounters are supposed to lead to happy endings.
We assume the lovers on screen will sort out whatever silly differences have troubled them for two hours, and they will forever enjoy the bliss of warm beds.
But life isn't like the movies, sad to say. People fall out of love and split up, often without really knowing why.
Past Perfect eloquently examines the divide between movie love and real life. The debut feature by writer/actor/director Daniel MacIvor begins like Cary Grant and Kate Hepburn and ends like Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner.
If other movies seek to cut to the chase, in other words, this one wants to cut to the crash.
MacIvor splits time to tell concurrent stories about a single thirtysomething couple: He shows them over two days, two years apart, with a world of difference between then and now.
Cecil (MacIvor) and Charlotte (Rebecca Jenkins) meet on an overnight flight from Halifax to Vancouver.
He's a pompous linguistics professor, heading west to check out job possibilities after the failure of a long-term relationship.
She's a brittle and unemployed sales clerk who has tearfully just kissed off another unsuitable beau. The two naturally despise each other at first, but as the night draws on they get to know and like one another.
Cut to a Halifax apartment, two years later.
Cecil and Charlotte really connected on the plane, but now they seem in the process of disconnecting. They argue over silly things, like the colour of a cheap bookcase.
Their sullen expressions and body language speak to long-harboured resentments.
A recent personal crisis has further strained the couple.
MacIvor continues to cut back and forth between the two situations.
As Cecil and Charlotte gradually warm to each other in year one, so they gradually cool to each other in year two.
A pall of sadness descends over the movie, even during the moments of happiness. We know all too well what is about to happen.
The device is an effective one, but it doesn't always work. MacIvor's lean screenplay gives us little idea of who Cecil and Charlotte are, or what really happened to make them drift apart.
Did he finally decide he couldn't stand her sarcasm?
Did she finally tire of his windbag oratory?
The emotional effect, however, is devastating. MacIvor and Jenkins convey much with their expressive acting.
In crossing the void between what could have been and what is, they come closer to defining love's labours than a thousand Valentines ever could.
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February 21, 2003
PETER HOWELL MOVIE CRITIC
In the movies, cute romantic encounters are supposed to lead to happy endings.
We assume the lovers on screen will sort out whatever silly differences have troubled them for two hours, and they will forever enjoy the bliss of warm beds.
But life isn't like the movies, sad to say. People fall out of love and split up, often without really knowing why.
Past Perfect eloquently examines the divide between movie love and real life. The debut feature by writer/actor/director Daniel MacIvor begins like Cary Grant and Kate Hepburn and ends like Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner.
If other movies seek to cut to the chase, in other words, this one wants to cut to the crash.
MacIvor splits time to tell concurrent stories about a single thirtysomething couple: He shows them over two days, two years apart, with a world of difference between then and now.
Cecil (MacIvor) and Charlotte (Rebecca Jenkins) meet on an overnight flight from Halifax to Vancouver.
He's a pompous linguistics professor, heading west to check out job possibilities after the failure of a long-term relationship.
She's a brittle and unemployed sales clerk who has tearfully just kissed off another unsuitable beau. The two naturally despise each other at first, but as the night draws on they get to know and like one another.
Cut to a Halifax apartment, two years later.
Cecil and Charlotte really connected on the plane, but now they seem in the process of disconnecting. They argue over silly things, like the colour of a cheap bookcase.
Their sullen expressions and body language speak to long-harboured resentments.
A recent personal crisis has further strained the couple.
MacIvor continues to cut back and forth between the two situations.
As Cecil and Charlotte gradually warm to each other in year one, so they gradually cool to each other in year two.
A pall of sadness descends over the movie, even during the moments of happiness. We know all too well what is about to happen.
The device is an effective one, but it doesn't always work. MacIvor's lean screenplay gives us little idea of who Cecil and Charlotte are, or what really happened to make them drift apart.
Did he finally decide he couldn't stand her sarcasm?
Did she finally tire of his windbag oratory?
The emotional effect, however, is devastating. MacIvor and Jenkins convey much with their expressive acting.
In crossing the void between what could have been and what is, they come closer to defining love's labours than a thousand Valentines ever could.
Back to articles