SHERRYBABY: GYLLENHALL SHINES AGAINST A MATTE BACKGROUND

Not long into watching Laurie Collyer’s film Sherrybaby, I began to experience a brief moment of deja vu. Why, it was only two years ago that another film about a woman who struggles with drug addiction and taking care of her children premiered and made a splash at Sundance just as Sherrybaby did this past January. And it was only last year that this other film received a brief release showcasing a tremendous award-winning performance by its lead actress. That other film was Down to the Bone and the actress Vera Farmiga.

I wasn’t as a huge a fan of Down to the Bone as many others, although I did love Farmiga’s performance. And to be fair, it only takes spending a bit more time with Sherrybaby to discover how the latter film is in fact quite different and overall superior. But what the two movies do share, in addition to the most basic thematic plot elements, is a dynamic actress providing a central performance and thus carrying the whole film on her shoulders. As true as this was for Farmiga, it’s even truer with Maggie Gyllenhaal. She’s proved her acting chops numerous times before, but never have I seen Gyllenhaal appeared on screen in a role that truly allows her to delve into so many different aspects of character, personality, sexuality, mood, emotion, maturity … you name it.

Unfortunately, beyond Gyllenhaal’s Sherry, the rest of the film is filled with archetype and cliche. You’ve got the super-tough parole officer; the judgmental sister-in-law; the understanding and supportive fellow recovering addict; the mysterious father-daughter relationship; and so on. The only character that escapes complete predictability is Sherry’s loving brother Bobby (Brad William Henke), a big guy with a soft heart and demeanor who really loves Sherry and does his best to help her but is also caught between the demands of his sister and his wife.

The story opens as Sherry Swanson returns home after a three-year stint in jail for robbery. When she left home, she was a 19 year old heroin junkie with a young daughter she couldn’t care for. Now that Sherry is home, she wants nothing more than to get her life back in order and to regain custody of her daughter, Alexis, who has been living with Bobby and his wife, Lynn. Sherry will do whatever it takes to stay out of jail, get a good job, and prove that she can be a good mother. Or at least that’s what she says. Lynn doesn’t trust Sherry, and after caring for Alexis during these prime three years of the young girl’s life, she feels like she’s the little girl’s real mother, but she also worries that Sherry isn’t dependable enough to stick around.

Collyer’s choice of title is especially illuminating as we discover that Sherry’s primary character flaw is an unwillingness to grow-up and truly embrace responsibility. This is shown easy enough through the requisite drug relapse at the end of the film’s second act, one triggered by the understandable, predictable and disgusting event that immediately precedes it which (as obvious as it is) perfectly explains every element of Sherry’s character and psychology. But the true revelation of Sherry’s immaturity is exposed through smaller scenes and Gyllenhaal’s gutsy performance to show us the inside of this smart and beautiful but tortured young woman.

Sherry calls her daughter “baby” as much as she tries to steal attention from the young child when her father is around. The film is both about her relationship with this young girl as it is with her inability to become an adult. She repeatedly uses her sexuality to get things she wants — whether that thing is a job or even simply an orgasm — since she knows virtually no other way. She has a desperate need not so much to love as to be loved, so much so that she asks her six year old to tell her she loves her. She wants to work with children because she thinks it will help her be a better mother, but she doesn’t really comprehend that a game where pre-schoolers line-up to punch her in the hand may not be the best form of play.

While Collyer’s plotting is fairly straightforward, she does deserve credit for some wonderful dialogue and little touches that do depart from the otherwise formulaic story and its telling. While Bobby is fairly one-dimensional, his continued support of Sherry is truly touching, and the final scene between the two of them is one of the most emotionally fulfilling moments you’ll see this year even though it is very simple and brief. Additionally, the man she befriends in recovery is a tough-looking, tattooed, long-haired native american named Dean (playing quite well by Danny Trejo). The relationship between the two evolves somewhere on the border of one’s expectations, and Dean becomes the one support system who not only proves trustworthy but she believes she can trust. Yet again, even as the character created plays against type, the full body of Dean’s personality remains somewhat thing.

The film ends in a manner that is most fulfilling to me. Every now and then, a film will reach a point where I will think to myself, “OK, fade out. Please don’t go on; I don’t need to know anymore; I don’t want to anymore. This is perfect.” And if Collyer deserves credit for anything (in addition to casting Gyllenhaal), it’s knowing the exact perfect place to end her film. This had me leaving the screening room and finding my overall feelings about Sherrybaby fluctuating consistently for several days. Ultimately, there’s a lot in Sherrybaby that is wonderful, and I will sincerely be shocked if I see many (if any) better performances than Gyllenhaal’s the rest of the year. It’s just a shame that the rest of the characters and story couldn’t have been as perfect as Collyer’s final shot and fade out.