Happy Birthday to Thora Birch, my favorite actress of all time!
Yes, I know…I know.
A film critic whose favorite actress is a young 35-year-old whipper snapper???
Laugh at me.
If the question was, “Who was your favorite classic Hollywood actress?,” then I would answer, “Lauren Bacall”.
But I said favorite actress of all time.
You can search my “Thora” category here on my site for why exactly this actress is my favorite.
Because otherwise, we’re going to be here all day.
And I have a movie to review!
One of my favorites: Homeless to Harvard.
It is, indeed …The Liz Murray Story, but I will be using the shortened title hereafter for brevity’s sake.
It is my contention (and I have made the point elsewhere…probably on this very site of mine) that Thora Birch produced a trilogy of acting performances which are more-or-less analogous to Bob Dylan’s classic trilogy.
Let’s start with Dylan.
The three (at unity from a similarity of intense expression):
–Bringing It All Back Home
–Highway 61 Revisited
–Blonde on Blonde
And now the Thora films which correspond in my mind:
–Homeless to Harvard
Sure…Birch didn’t direct these films.
But her acting is so strong, she might as well have.
By this point she was no longer a prodigy.
She was a mature actress. A master of her craft.
And the story here is one to really sink teeth in.
We recently touched on homelessness here in the review of Alicia Vikander’s stellar turn as Katarina from Till det som är vackert.
But the esthetics of Homeless to Harvard are different.
This isn’t European arthouse. It’s a Lifetime made-for-TV film.
But don’t go running anywhere!!!
This is as gritty as any Lou Reed tale.
And it’s all real.
Heroin addict parents.
Mother with HIV.
Father with AIDS.
Vice versa ice Ursa.
Father in homeless shelter.
Mother wielding knife. Vomiting.
Really appealing, eh?
But you gotta stick with it.
This isn’t Darren Aronofsky mise-en-scène.
It’t not, “Let’s win an award at Sundance.” Or, “Let’s sweep at Cannes.”
It’s more like one of Aesop’s fables.
It’s the message, man!
And so first, let’s honor the director.
Who knew a television film could be so artful?
Well, when you combine the history of Histoire(s) du cinéma with the precedent of Twin Peaks, you should know by now that television can produce good stuff.
Your TV can even WATCH YOU! (as per WikiLeaks Vault7).
But I digress…
The weeper (no masonry) sob story…had me crying in my Junior Mints…we must attribute to the excellent writing of Ronni Kern.
Who the hell is Ronni Kern?!?
I’ve had less trouble finding the gender of completely unknown foreign movie people.
But Kern is pretty invisible on the Internet.
And maybe there’s a point here.
- It doesn’t fucking matter.
- You should judge someone on their work, not their gender.
Hopefully Ms. Birch will appreciate this flash of liberalism should she read this review.
[I’m not holding my breath]
But we have just celebrated International Women’s Day.
And the fact that Birch’s character here is a “feminist” is a running pseudo-joke.
Which brings us to the performances.
Michael Riley is stellar, stellar (I know…) as Liz’s father Peter.
Kudos to the styling department.
That beard. And that hair!
Crazy, man, crazy!!
But Riley’s performance is really special.
It touched my heart.
When I first saw this film.
And dare I say, this movie made me appreciate my own family.
It made me miss my folks.
And so I salute Peter Riley and Lifetime and all involved for that effect on my heart.
Jennifer Pisana is really fabulous as the young Liz Murray here.
It’s an unenviable task.
To precede Thora Birch’s entrance.
But Pisana is indispensable to this little masterpiece.
And the full pronunciations…”Mommy”…”Daddy”…
Ms. Pisana affects the necessary naïveté to be juxtaposed against the sad schizophrenia of Kelly Lynch (who plays Liz’s mom).
And Lynch is great.
Think Cries and Whispers.
[cris et chuchotements…(( (( ((…et chuchotements]
Robert Bockstael does a fine job as Liz’s teacher David.
Very convincing. Excellent craftsmanship.
Makyla Smith is piquant in her depiction of Liz’s best friend Chris.
[God…the Magic Marker…and the pine box…fuuuuuuck]
Yes, friends…this is Lifetime Television.
So the brisure (bonjour, monsieur Derrida) is “crap”.
Whoa…watch thy mouth, Kelly Lynch!
So again…Peter Levin does a fantastic job shoehorning a true X-file into PG territory.
We see a syringe here and there. A tourniquet.
Riley cleaning a spoon.
But the real heartbreak is Wheat Chex with tap water.
Ellen Page has a small role here.
And she’s good.
But we’ve been waiting to roll out the big gun.
On this, her birthday, I am only just now getting towards a handful of reviews honoring her unique thespian gift.
What to say?
That every look is magic?
That every glance is gold?
That she has crafted her microexpressions in solitude…and wielded them like an Arthurian sword for the duration of this flick?
Yes, yes, and yes.
[and an Oxford comma]
Because kids take it for granted.
But even more so the lesser ivied walls.
I won’t name names.
But the spoiled kids.
Not turning in homework.
Bragging about shortcuts.
Those, ultimately, will be life’s losers.
But Liz Murray worked her butt off to get into Harvard.
From sleeping on the B Train.
Four years of high school in two.
And Thora Birch has worked her butt off too.
She hasn’t gotten the roles her talent deserves.
But the roles she has gotten, she has largely smashed out of the park.
Like the Babe Ruth of leading ladies.
And so there are other actresses I admire.
But Thora Birch was the first.
The first to give me that magical feeling which only Neil Young has adequately described:
“I fell in love with the actress/She was playin’ a part that I could understand”.
Happy Birthday, Thora Birch!
And may all your days and films be filled with the joy which you have put into the world through your cinematic brilliance.