Most cinematic two-handers are built around unusual circumstances. Think of Before Sunrise or The Lighthouse, films where the two leads bond over an extraordinary setting. Causeway, the new film directed by stage veteran Lila Neugebauer, eschews all that in favor of characters who are – above all else – deeply ordinary. That is not to say, however, that these two are boring and speak in platitudes. On the contrary, the script co-written by Elizabeth Sanders, Luke Goebel and the novelist Ottessa Moshfegh (My Year of Rest and Relaxation) brims with quiet observations that are hard-earned and true. Perhaps there is no higher compliment than to say this is the rare two-hander where the viewer would like to be friends with the leads, or at least know them.
Neugebauer opens with Lynsey (Jennifer Lawrence), an army veteran who starts recovering from a traumatic brain injury, feeling deeply alone. Before Lynsey returns to her home in New Orleans, she spends some time in a halfway house where her caretaker (Jayne Houdyshell) is something between a nurse and confidant. In the case of this particular injury, the brain is remarkably resilient: at first Lynsey cannot speak, but she starts to relearn all the patterns and behaviors she took for granted. Causeway’s opening act slows down the pace, so we can see the mix of patience and anger in Lynsey. (In one scene, she accidentally says aloud what she is thinking, to her total embarrassment.) Also, the details of recovery are a canny way to develop sympathy: by the time she returns to her mother (Linda Emond), we worry the injury will get the better of her.
After landing a job as a pool cleaner, Lynsey’s truck has a breakdown. At a nearby body shop, she meets James (Brian Tyree Henry), a mechanic with a kind demeanor and a prosthetic leg. They start talking, and discover they have more common ground than their injuries (as a high school student, Lynsey played James’ sister in basketball). Lonely and disappointed with her mother, Lynsey starts to call on James. They chill at a bar, they smoke weed at his house, but mostly they talk. There is a camaraderie and trust because they started as perfect strangers, insofar that they have nothing to lose by sharing details of their life (Lynsey is gay, which mostly evaporates the physical chemistry). But there is tension when pity enters their relationship, a feeling complicated by Lynsey’s insistence that her time in New Orleans is temporary before she returns to active duty.
Lawrence and Henry have different acting sensibilities that complement each other well. While she downplays her eccentricities, Lawrence still has a cutting intelligence that veers toward impatience. By playing against type, we better sense the frustration that pervades over many scenes. Henry, on the other hand, is a master of understatement and nonverbal acting. In scene after scene, we can see the wheels turning in James’ mind, whether it’s trying to determine Lynsey’s ulterior motive or how much he can tell her about his past. Both characters nurse their secrets and guilt, revealing them in monologues of quiet power. Neugebauer does not go for the easy close-up, and instead frames the actors so they have more opportunities to use their instrument. Her theater background is invaluable to the film’s success because, like many past theater directors who switched to film, her trust in her actors is what gives this film a chance to breathe.
Not much happens in Causeway. James and Lynsey have enough experience so that when their relationship reaches a difficult spot, they realize it is easier to pull back than get all dramatic about it. But in another sense, it is this quality that makes their final, more vulnerable steps to outreach all the more rewarding. Happy endings have always been kind of cheap. In these final scenes, when it seems like their happiness just might become ours, Neugebauer shows how a deliberate approach is a sneaky way to build toward something with genuine power, even joy.
Photo courtesy of A24
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