Paddleton (2019) - Movie Review

There’s no real way to prepare for someone’s death. Oh sure, there’s a lot of planning that goes into the memorialisation of those we care about, but even if we have the foresight to know the precise where, when and how of a person’s death, that still isn’t enough to truly ready one’s self for the reality of it. To go from alive to just… not, from one instance to the other, is a transition that forms a lot of the human condition and its fear of what it cannot possibly know, and more so than the fear of loss, it’s the fear of things left unsaid that can strike even harder.

It’s this unwillingness to accept the inevitable that serves as the core of this feature, a remarkably understated dramedy about two best friends/neighbours, played by Ray Romano and Mark Duplass as Andy and Michael respectively, who discover that Michael has terminal cancer. Not wanting to deal with the prolonged agony of his own decay, they take a road trip to a pharmacy where they get the medical means to euthanise Michael.

For a story this ultimately downplayed, being able to convey high-level emotions at low-level volumes is a must to make it work and the lead actors here are mesmerising in how well they accomplish just that. Even taking Duplass’ prior history as a cornerstone of modern American indie cinema, his performance is genuinely surprising in just how much pain and existential lethargy he is able to convey. To say nothing of Romano, whose bubbling-under-the-surface dread about the whole situation results in some of the quietest, most fucking devastating moments of any film I’ve covered this year.

It’s not the kind of devastating that hits you at full force, though. It’s the kind that builds up gradually over time, between scenes of Andy and Michael bonding over their mutual love for kung-fu movies (the scene where they re-enact their favourite movie at a pub open-mic night is so adorkable, it’s impossible for me not to love it) and figuring out what the hangman puzzle on Michael’s shirt means. Their chemistry is so tight, yet so utterly devoid of melodrama, that it makes for one of the strongest showings of platonic love I’ve seen yet, and it anchors the film even during its too-low-key moments.

It does the expected ruminations on death and if there’s anything on the other side, but in a way that is surprisingly removed from deeper metaphysics. The closest this gets to that kind of navel-gazing is with the introduction of a hotel owner who claims that, even though her husband is dead, he is "all around [her]". And even then, it serves as an example of how the idea of an afterlife and loved ones still looking out for those left behind is comforting, but it’s a poor substitute for contact on this plane of existence. And as we see Andy and Michael edge closer and closer to the inevitable, it slowly sinks in just how crushed they both are that this is how their friendship is going to end.

This isn’t so much a slow burn as much as it’s a film where, long after the credits have rolled, you can still feel the wave of this film’s emotions cresting in your mind. It’s a look at aging ennui and dealing with the inevitability of death that might not feel like much in the moment, but after watching it, don’t be surprised if you find yourself in need of a cathartic and particularly ugly crying fit.