Every time Wikipedia reminds me that the 28 Days (2000), starring Sandra Bullock as a struggling alcoholic and addict forced into rehab, received “generally negative reviews” from critics upon release, my eyebrow twitches. Directed by Betty Thomas and with a screenplay by Susannah Grant, who brought Erin Brockovich to life that same year, it’s troubling that the film didn’t receive the same warm reception. Given the large breadth of Bullock’s filmography, it’s one of her strongest and most forgotten performances, and one that certainly brings the conversation surrounding mental illness to the forefront.
After Gwen (Bullock) more than ruins her sister Lily’s (Elizabeth Perkins) wedding reception with her drunken antics and crashes a limousine into a home, the court sentences her to 28 days in a rehabilitation facility. On the surface, Gwen is just a messy alcoholic who doesn’t know when to stop. But as she resists help and treatment over the first few days in rehab, we begin to learn that her dependence goes beyond alcohol when her Vicodin (for “back pain”) is confiscated and she writes to her equally messy drunk of a boyfriend Jasper (Dominic West) to sneak her some more when he visits—as that whole “here but not here” feeling will surely go away with a bit of chemical help. It’s only when her counsellor Cornell, played by Steve Buscemi in an equally underrated performance, challenges her claim that she drinks and medicates for fun and could stop if she wants to that Gwen tosses her pills out the window. Regretting it later, she promptly falls out of a tree trying to retrieve them. Thus, rock bottom.
Faced with a severely sprained ankle and no pain meds, Gwen laments that she can’t sit still and effectively can’t breathe on her own. Since she purposely broke the rules of the facility by previously sneaking away to get drunk in an attempt to get thrown out, the fellow patients in her support group—including the familiar faces of Mike O’Malley and Marianne Jean-Baptiste—challenge her claims that she’s sorry and is trying to get better. But it’s only when Gwen really reaches her breaking point that we believe she’s there to stay: “I am having a bad day! I’m having the worst damn day of my whole damn life! So, if it is not too much to ask of you people, would you just back the fuck off?” It’s a sentiment that ultimately defines why the film continues to resonate beyond the boundaries of alcoholism and substance abuse, easily relatable to anyone confronting mental health struggles.
To a large part, the negative reception to 28 Days may have been a response to it being marketed as a comedy; apart from some dramedy undertones of comic relief, it falls squarely into the drama category. The Los Angeles Times called it shallow and Roger Ebert found that Bullock’s performance upstaged the script, a similar issue he took with Erin Brockovich. But the film remains a special kind of mid-budget production that seems to have gone extinct in the streaming age, one that provides a relatable storyline to a beloved actress who has the range and star power to make an otherwise forgettable script memorable. 28 Days’ script is far from uninteresting, but it’s obvious that it wouldn’t work without the performances of Bullock, Perkins and Azura Skye as Gwen’s teenage roommate who tragically overdoses on heroin.
What makes 28 Days the most memorable, however, is its ability to transcend its fictional characters and speak directly to the viewer’s own well-being. It’s a skill that few other films possess, save perhaps Girl, Interrupted. When Gwen and Lily finally forgive each other, for instance, it’s the realization that they both could’ve done more to be better for one another. Earlier, Cornell had forced Gwen to wear a sign around her neck reading, “Confront me if I don’t ask for help,” which she begins to equate for the reason her sister never helped her. But the emotions so vividly expressed as they make up signify that we often say a lot of things we don’t mean, especially to our family. 28 Days is not a film about rehab or drugs. It’s about the people we suppress beneath the surface who deserve a chance to breathe, and a reminder that life is too short to not make our outsides match our insides.
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