One of the characters in "Lazy Eye," Dean, is a fan of NPR (National Public Radio, the movie's other protagonist, Alex, helpfully spells out for us dolts in the audience). This is used as movie shorthand to give us some insight into Dean as a character. However, writer-director Tim Kirkman doesn't flesh out the character enough to make this trait any more than an empty affectation, akin to leather bound classics being displayed on a bookcase to make someone appear cultured when you know the books have never been cracked. This point is hammered home during one of "Lazy Eye"'s unnecessary flashbacks, in which Dean (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe) realizes "Morning Edition" is about to come on and hurries to switch on the radio, a rapturous expression crossing his face as the program's theme music plays. Even Ira Glass would roll his eyes at this scene.
But there are other moments where the characters seem real. Dean is a Los Angeles-based graphic designer in his late 30s who has amblyopia—lazy eye. At the film's opening he's dismayed to learn he'll need trifocals, the new glasses highlighting that he's not getting any younger. He's enjoying a successful career, yet chafes at being bound to his clients' boring ideas. (I particularly liked his railing against "heads in the sky" movie poster designs.) But what's really eating at him is an e-mail received from Alex (Aaron Costa Ganis), an ex-boyfriend from 15 years ago, when he was a New York art student. "Of course I remember you. You broke my f------ heart," is Dean's first response, which he deletes before hitting "send." Instead, he suggests that Alex, a former Wall Street exec now living in New Orleans, come out to visit him at his vacation cabin in Joshua Tree.
The exes reunite and reconnect—literally—within seconds of greeting each other (this sex now-talk later approach mirrors their hook-up 15 years ago, we later find out). After sex the guys talk about old times, the compromises they each made as they got older, and thoughts on the movie "Harold and Maude," the cult comedy discussed as if it's some impenetrable art film. It looks like they might be on the road to rekindling what they had all those years ago in New York. That is, until one character reveals something about himself that changes how the other character—and the audience—regards him. This wouldn't be a problem if Kirkman used it as a jumping off point to further develop the character and the story, but the revelation is never dealt with to a satisfying degree, with lame excuses and justifications taking the place of any real emotional catharsis. We're asked to forgive a character's duplicity because the movie tells us to, not because the forgiveness was earned.
"Lazy Eye" can't totally be written off. Though Kirkman's writing disappoints, his directing seldom falters. The acting is first rate, with Near-Verbrugghe and Costa Ganis exhibiting an easy chemistry. It's the strength of their performances keeps us watching even when the script weakens. Also, Gabe Mayhan's cinematography is gorgeous.
What's so frustrating about "Lazy Eye" is you can see there's potential for a really good—possibly great—movie here, but it's trapped in the body of a mediocre one. It strives to be a more intelligent take on gay relationships and in many instances it is, but there are many more instances where it's clear the film makers haven't done their homework and are just cribbing from Cliff Notes.
But there are other moments where the characters seem real. Dean is a Los Angeles-based graphic designer in his late 30s who has amblyopia—lazy eye. At the film's opening he's dismayed to learn he'll need trifocals, the new glasses highlighting that he's not getting any younger. He's enjoying a successful career, yet chafes at being bound to his clients' boring ideas. (I particularly liked his railing against "heads in the sky" movie poster designs.) But what's really eating at him is an e-mail received from Alex (Aaron Costa Ganis), an ex-boyfriend from 15 years ago, when he was a New York art student. "Of course I remember you. You broke my f------ heart," is Dean's first response, which he deletes before hitting "send." Instead, he suggests that Alex, a former Wall Street exec now living in New Orleans, come out to visit him at his vacation cabin in Joshua Tree.
The exes reunite and reconnect—literally—within seconds of greeting each other (this sex now-talk later approach mirrors their hook-up 15 years ago, we later find out). After sex the guys talk about old times, the compromises they each made as they got older, and thoughts on the movie "Harold and Maude," the cult comedy discussed as if it's some impenetrable art film. It looks like they might be on the road to rekindling what they had all those years ago in New York. That is, until one character reveals something about himself that changes how the other character—and the audience—regards him. This wouldn't be a problem if Kirkman used it as a jumping off point to further develop the character and the story, but the revelation is never dealt with to a satisfying degree, with lame excuses and justifications taking the place of any real emotional catharsis. We're asked to forgive a character's duplicity because the movie tells us to, not because the forgiveness was earned.
"Lazy Eye" can't totally be written off. Though Kirkman's writing disappoints, his directing seldom falters. The acting is first rate, with Near-Verbrugghe and Costa Ganis exhibiting an easy chemistry. It's the strength of their performances keeps us watching even when the script weakens. Also, Gabe Mayhan's cinematography is gorgeous.
What's so frustrating about "Lazy Eye" is you can see there's potential for a really good—possibly great—movie here, but it's trapped in the body of a mediocre one. It strives to be a more intelligent take on gay relationships and in many instances it is, but there are many more instances where it's clear the film makers haven't done their homework and are just cribbing from Cliff Notes.