Love and Other Drugs

It'll make you laugh! It'll make you cry! It'll educate you on the evils of the pharmaceutical industry and the tragedy of Parkinson's Disease!

These are grandiose aims for a film. They can only be made by a director as fervently earnest as Edward Zwick. Responsible for such socially conscious but frequently cliched films as "Glory" and "Blood Diamond," Zwick here aims to add heavy doses of sex and romance to his usual formula. It would be nice if he were aiming to expand his range, but he really just seems desperate to get butts in the seats.

"Love and Other Drugs" is not as bad as all this sounds. Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Jamie Randall, a pharmaceutical salesman who pushes Zoloft using his womanizing abilities--along with many ethically dubious gifts to medical staff which are common in his industry. The film functions as a vervy satire along the lines of "Thank You for Smoking". But then Jamie meets Maggie Murdock (Anne Hathaway), an early onset Parkinson's patient. Her condition isn't curable through medication. Can you guess what happens next?

Jamie and Maggie's relationship is more credible than it should be, thanks to Gyllenhaal and Hathaway. They've got charisma to burn, and they both know how to show one emotion while hiding another. But just when the film seems to be finding a new balance as a romantic comedy, we get more jarring tonal shifts. There are a couple of scenes with bawdy sex gags, including one in which Jamie gets an erection lasting...well, you know how long. Meanwhile, Maggie helps seniors go to Canada for medications and sees inspiring testimonials from Parkinson's patients. The film gets so emotionally confused that at one point, Jamie's brother has an epiphany about the emptiness of no-strings-attached sex in between boner jokes.

"Love and Other Drugs" veers so wildly between sex and sentiment that it feels like a very rough first draft of a Judd Apatow film. There are too many themes, too many character arcs and most of all, too many desperate attempts to both educate and entertain the audience. I never thought I'd say this, but the workmanlike Zwick is better off sticking to his old, stoic style. Sometimes a prosaic film is preferable to a manic one.

Frozen River

Independent filmmaking offers many advantages. Free from the demands of Hollywood producers, indie flicks frequently feature realistic storytelling, unconventional techniques and oft-neglected subject matter. But a shoestring budget comes with tradeoffs; all that Tinseltown cash can provide a lot more than pointless CGI.

"Frozen River" is a classic example of the pluses and perils of indie filmmaking. It should be a taut suspense film, but the production values leave it limp.

"Frozen River" stars Melissa Leo as Ray, a mother of two with a part-time job, a husband who just left with all her money, and a bill coming due for a double-wide mobile home. Nearing the end of her rope, she unwittingly befriends a Native American woman who shows her how to smuggle illegal immigrants from Canada to New York via a frozen river. The trade is quite lucrative--and dangerous.

"Frozen River" has plenty of elements that ought to be riveting. A mother struggling desperately to feed and shelter her children. Scenes in which the characters could at any moment drown or die of hypothermia. A climax that forces a gut-wrenching decision on the protagonist.

Yet it frequently feels underwhelming, thanks to a couple of flaws that could have easily been fixed for a few million clams: amateurish acting and a paltry score. The acting issue is a common one in indie films; amateurs frequently can't carry the emotional weight needed for a drama. Leo gives a good performance, but the other players just have no presence. The climax in particular is lacking: we have a hard time seeing the gravity of the situation with such flat line readings.

A strong score is also needed for a film like this. When a car is trapped on the ice, the situation cries out for a rumbling orchestra. Sure it's manipulative, but it also works.

As strong as the plot of "Frozen River" is, there's no way to love a movie this flawed. On the other hand, would a Hollywood studio bankroll a film with no love interest and a middle-aged woman and a Native American as its stars? Not on your life. This movie could only exist as an independent.

So, do we blame this film for its flaws or praise it because it can't help them? Neither. Instead, we celebrate it. Cinema is much richer for smart, original indie films like "Frozen River," money be damned.