The art of losing
2015; Elsevier BV; Volume: 2; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1016/s2215-0366(15)00104-2
ISSN2215-0374
Autores Tópico(s)Empathy and Medical Education
Resumo“I wish I had cancer”, Alice tells her husband John (played by Alec Baldwin). “You don't mean that”, he says; but at that moment, you know that she really does. Without being inflammatory—a slur on the devastation faced by patients with cancer—this moment is a desolate one for Alice. As a respected and passionate linguistics professor, the enormity of what and whom she will start to lose is absolute.Soon after her 50th birthday, Alice, who understands herself through her intellect and the world through language and communication, begins to recognise that her cognitive abilities are failing her. Still Alice is a psychological and moving narrative about the art of losing. It starts when Alice receives her diagnosis of early-onset dementia, a rare familial disease that is rapidly degenerative, and ends with a women who is still Alice, but different.Julianne Moore is a perfect Alice. In love with her work, surrounded by a successful and loving family, she is balanced, grounded, and content. Alice has few gripes. In fact, the only slight hiccup is her concern for her youngest daughter, Lydia (Kristen Stewart), who has broken away from the family fold to search for her identity in Los Angeles as an actor. Moore has a mesmerising quality of calm self-assurance, but it is not nauseating, and it rarely leaves her, even at breaking point. Her feelings are not suppressed but admirably contained.The theme of loss is overt but also finds subtle ways to draw you in. Close-up cinematic shots bring us closer to Alice's world, and details often missed by the eye are documented like memories throughout the film. Simultaneously, control and independence seem to drain from Moore's face as she becomes increasingly disorientated and frightened.Lydia can and does talk about her mother's illness, while her siblings seem to fade away. “What's it like?” she asks her mother, and Alice tells her, in a few words: it's like she is losing herself, and she can't find herself. The cruelty of this disease is explored, with varnished Hollywood restraint, both in the disintegration of Alice, and for those who love her. It also enters the minds of those observing, fueling a palpable fear and imaginings about how it could and might affect you. Alice fights hard to hold on, with an inspiring resilience, but her deterioration is inevitable and time is running out. The directors, Wash Westmoreland and Richard Glatzer absolutely capture that tension; with each passing moment, the future with less and less becomes ever closer, and the journey is almost unbearable.Baldwin plays a loving husband who has to let go of his wife, and does so by investing in self-survival—it is left to the viewer to empathise or admonish him. Still Alice is not overly sentimental, but poignant. When she speaks at a conference about her dementia, she says: “I am not suffering, I am struggling.”As Alice becomes the child, Lydia steps up and adopts a caregiving role, a touching relationship made credible by Stewart. However, the painful and frustrating reality of caring for relatives with dementia is not delved into, and some viewers may feel cheated by this rather glossy portrait. The reason for this directorial choice, I believe, is that this film is about Alice, and is made by Alice. Moore really brings it to life. As she says, live for the moment.Still Alice Directed by Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland, 2014 Running time: 101 min “I wish I had cancer”, Alice tells her husband John (played by Alec Baldwin). “You don't mean that”, he says; but at that moment, you know that she really does. Without being inflammatory—a slur on the devastation faced by patients with cancer—this moment is a desolate one for Alice. As a respected and passionate linguistics professor, the enormity of what and whom she will start to lose is absolute. Soon after her 50th birthday, Alice, who understands herself through her intellect and the world through language and communication, begins to recognise that her cognitive abilities are failing her. Still Alice is a psychological and moving narrative about the art of losing. It starts when Alice receives her diagnosis of early-onset dementia, a rare familial disease that is rapidly degenerative, and ends with a women who is still Alice, but different. Julianne Moore is a perfect Alice. In love with her work, surrounded by a successful and loving family, she is balanced, grounded, and content. Alice has few gripes. In fact, the only slight hiccup is her concern for her youngest daughter, Lydia (Kristen Stewart), who has broken away from the family fold to search for her identity in Los Angeles as an actor. Moore has a mesmerising quality of calm self-assurance, but it is not nauseating, and it rarely leaves her, even at breaking point. Her feelings are not suppressed but admirably contained. The theme of loss is overt but also finds subtle ways to draw you in. Close-up cinematic shots bring us closer to Alice's world, and details often missed by the eye are documented like memories throughout the film. Simultaneously, control and independence seem to drain from Moore's face as she becomes increasingly disorientated and frightened. Lydia can and does talk about her mother's illness, while her siblings seem to fade away. “What's it like?” she asks her mother, and Alice tells her, in a few words: it's like she is losing herself, and she can't find herself. The cruelty of this disease is explored, with varnished Hollywood restraint, both in the disintegration of Alice, and for those who love her. It also enters the minds of those observing, fueling a palpable fear and imaginings about how it could and might affect you. Alice fights hard to hold on, with an inspiring resilience, but her deterioration is inevitable and time is running out. The directors, Wash Westmoreland and Richard Glatzer absolutely capture that tension; with each passing moment, the future with less and less becomes ever closer, and the journey is almost unbearable. Baldwin plays a loving husband who has to let go of his wife, and does so by investing in self-survival—it is left to the viewer to empathise or admonish him. Still Alice is not overly sentimental, but poignant. When she speaks at a conference about her dementia, she says: “I am not suffering, I am struggling.” As Alice becomes the child, Lydia steps up and adopts a caregiving role, a touching relationship made credible by Stewart. However, the painful and frustrating reality of caring for relatives with dementia is not delved into, and some viewers may feel cheated by this rather glossy portrait. The reason for this directorial choice, I believe, is that this film is about Alice, and is made by Alice. Moore really brings it to life. As she says, live for the moment. Still Alice Directed by Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland, 2014 Running time: 101 min Still Alice Directed by Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland, 2014 Running time: 101 min Still Alice Directed by Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland, 2014 Running time: 101 min
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