Transamerica (2005)

Brief: A week before her final surgery in the gender reassignment process, Bree (Felicity Huffman) discovers that she has a teenage son, Toby (Kevin Zegers). And that son just happens to be in lock up. Because her therapist (Elizabeth Pena) won't approve the surgery until Bree deals with her past, she heads to New York and ends up driving across the country with Toby, posing as a church member trying to help him reform.

It's been almost a week since I saw this movie, and I've been reluctant to post about it ever since. I liked it, and Huffman's tender tour-de-force is indeed Oscar-worthy, but, well, I'm going to have to say some things that, um, I don't know . . . every critic in the country will disagree with?

Actually, this will be good for us. So that you know that I, too, wonder why critical praise is lavished on some films and not on others. Sure, most of the time the critics and I are like this (if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do) but not this time.

So you know the road movie? You've seen it a thousand times before. Strangers or semi-strangers head out on the road, maybe they don't like each other at first, then things go pear shaped and grudging respect generally gives way to friendship, which is tossed up in the air when some secret or other is revealed, but the friendship survives and grows stronger. Throw in some crazy relatives/backwoods weirdos (or combine them!) for comedy/pathos. Mix well and serve hot.

You've seen it before. Don't tell me you haven't. I've seen it before as well. And writer/director Duncan Tucker, in his feature length debut, must have since he presents it to us here. Which is fine, I suppose, because he's using the form as a foundation for the fresh twists he provides. Makes sense. It works most of the time.

An instance where it doesn't work, you ask? Toby. As wonderful is Zegers is, much like the formulaic plot, his character is also a pastiche we've all seen before. As soon as you know what landed Toby in jail, you know what his big secret will be. Doesn't diminish the dramatic irony, per se, but it does give you the slightest hint of what this movie could have been.

In the film's defense, the reason we have formulas is the fact that they work. Or Adorno's right, and the culture industry perpetuates itself through self-cannibalization,* while reinforcing goals that cannot be achieved by the average movie goer. I guess my view depends on whether it's a glass half empty kind of day.

*Is there a word for self-cannibalization?

Nonetheless, formulas exist because we want them to. It's easier for us to see and respond to a theme and variations than it is to understand and accept the variations on their own. I wouldn't have gone to see this movie if it wasn't a formula I didn't respond to, and I really enjoyed what I saw. Huffman, with her voice dipping down a few octaves, makes Bree such a full, breathing delight that it's impossible to ignore her plight, whether it's her desire to conceal her son's true parentage or to see herself the same on the outside as she feels on the inside. In the kind of role that nearly demands a showy performance, Huffman manages to resist that impulse and gives a beautifully internal performance that is nothing short of legendary.

I was going to give this movie a B+ when I first started this review. Thinking back on the strength of the performers, it's fair to bump it up to an A-.