50/50

Directed by Jonathan Levine

Starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Seth Rogen, Bryce Dallas Howard, Anna Kendrick, Philip Baker Hall, Matt Frewer, and Anjelica Huston

Although I’m not in the habit of writing reviews about movies I’ve seen sober, this slow-burner has been in my thoughts since I saw it last night. As Martyn is out of town this week, precluding any possibility of a boozy review, I thought it both an appropriate substitute and a way for me to alleviate my preoccupation with it.

Adam Lerner (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is the poster boy for healthy, responsible lifestyle. He is a late-twentysomething, outdoorsy Seattle-dweller who works as a public radio producer, recycles, and abstains from even the most banal of vices, like jaywalking, caffeine, and alcohol. He is tolerant of his buffoonish best friend Kyle (Seth Rogen) and tidies up after his airheaded, pretentious artist girlfriend Rachel (Bryce Dallas Howard). He is, in so many words, the nicest guy on the planet and the last person who deserves to have anything bad happen to him.

So, naturally, he gets cancer. And not just any cancer; he gets Schwannoma neurofibrosarcoma, or as Kyle humorously simplifies to ingratiate himself with sympathetic SWFs: “he’s got stage four back cancer.” The kind you don’t want to have. The kind that has a 50% survival rate.

50/50 is branded as a comedy, but with such dark subject matter and an actor of Gordon-Levitt’s clout in the lead there’s an understanding you won’t be giggling the whole way through. In effect, that dichotomy ends up being the movie’s winning style.

With clever dialogue and actors capable of rising to the challenge the subject presents, the film has plenty of funny moments. None of the laughs are cheap or even implausible; they rely upon the actors’ sensitivity, timing, and Will Reiser’s incisive script – a blueprint drawn from his own cancer experiences. 50/50 also has a way of turning from comic to heart-rending on a dime, something that is rarely seen in mainstream fare and lifts this one above its ilk.

Sweetness, not melancholy, holds it all together

Because of the film’s lighter moments, usually involving Kyle’s ham-fisted attempts to console his friend (e.g. suggesting “I have cancer” as a pickup line) or Adam’s sweet-as-pie relationship with his trainee therapist Katherine (Anna Kendrick), the moments of bitter poignancy (of which there end up being quite a few) have infinitely more impact. Other cancer films like One True Thing, Love Story, or Autumn in New York are tedious and saturated with melodramatic sentimentality or, worse yet, use the disease as a plot device. They give themselves and the audience no breathing room.

Reiser and sophomore director Jonathan Levine (responsible for the similarly funny and touching The Wackness) are spot-on in their treatment of cancer and its impact on families. Many critics have argued that they don’t show you the worst of it, but do they really have to for the film to resonate? Gordon-Levitt is pitch-perfect in his passing through the stages of grief, subtly hinting that he may have resigned to his fate long before his family and friends abandon hope. Typically known for playing bolder, more direct women, Angelica Huston gives the small part of Adam’s mother a big impact with appropriate touches of anxiety, trepidation, frustration, and love. Kendrick plays to her strengths as cutely apprehensive, but the real show-stopper here is Seth Rogen.

By his own admission, Rogen is not a particularly strong or versatile actor. What he is, however, is absolutely effective. Not only in this movie but all of his movies. His charming, frequently goofy performances register well with audiences, he always leaves other actors the space they need and, as Kyle in this instance, so smartly uses his well-established humour as a defence mechanism, shielding himself against the ever-present fear of losing a loved one, a feeling that permeates the film with clever subtlety.

This is one of the most light-hearted cinematic endeavours about life-threatening illness and easily the best. It’s a rare, moving film never overplays its hand but also never pulls any punches. It rejects clichéd narrative ploys, embraces nuanced, organic performances, and involves viewers without cheap tricks. Most importantly, it is genuinely, adroitly redeeming. 50/50 should serve not only as a benchmark for cancer films, but for all films.