“Everyone here has stolen something from someone else, or when they were kids, they set someone’s house on fire. They know who cheats at cards and who slaps their kids around. The one thing they can’t forgive is not being from God’s Pocket.” This is the centerpiece speech written by the local celeb Richard Shellburn (Richard Jenkins), who for my money sets a new benchmark for slimiest Richard Jenkins character. I’ll get back to that.
The quote sets up the feel of quaint Northeastern Hell-Hole God’s Pocket, a town where, apparently, all the citizens are thieving assholes, but that’s OK, because they’ll forgive each other for it … except when they don’t. Which is often. The more I read the showpiece description, the less I like God’s Pocket, so I’m just gonna leave it alone in paragraph #1.
Mickey (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Jeanie (Christina Hendricks) are parents to Leon (Caleb Landry Jones), the greatest cinematic prick I’ve seen in a few months now. I couldn’t wait for this kid to buy it, and he does, thankfully very early. Leon’s a day worker on a construction crew and constantly acts the way I always imagined Bad Bad LeRoy Brown would – He pulls out his switch blade, waves it around and trash talks to nobody in particular. After regaling a rapt audience of frowns, he takes exception to the one bit of lip he gets from “Old Lucy” (Arthur French) and brings his switchblade to grandpa’s throat while offering a racial slur or two. (Say, good ol’ folks Mickey and Jeanie, where do you suppose Leon picked up his pencha
nt for bigotry?) When Leon turns his back, Lucy clocks him with a pipe, thus mercifully ending our viewing pain.
The rest of the film is essentially Mickey’s – he has to put together enough dough to get Leon a decent burial and appease Jeanie’s instincts. You see, while she was completely blind to the fact that her son was a humungous asshole, she knows that the town is covering up Leon’s “accidental” death. This “tragedy” leads to such charming moments as Mickey gambling the coffin fund at the track, Leon’s corpse being excised from the funeral home and into the street, and my personal favorite (yes, there’s something worse than tossing a corpse into the street for lack of funeral funds), Richard Shellburn aggressively hitting on a grieving mother. I have not done the latter justice; it’s even more disgusting than I’ve described. Among other things, I’m pretty sure Shellburn consumes more alcohol in God’s Pocket (an alcoholic writer? How is that possible?!) than Nicolas Cage did in Leaving Las Vegas.
Before you get the idea I HATED this film, I didn’t. I wasn’t good, but had a few moments, mostly involving Phillip Seymour Hoffman trying to deal with Leon’s corpse. If you’re not into dark humor, this film really doesn’t have much to offer … and yet you might still enjoy PSH sprinting in daylight after a moving van. I’ve never seen the man move that fast.
It’s hard to tell what year this movie is set in. I’m guessing 70s, but it’s one of those things where the town itself is so distinct that any era would prove anachronistic. That’s supposed to be part of the charm here – this could be your little anachronistic crime-sodden corner of the planet. It left me less reminiscent and more nonplussed. There are dozens of lousy films about mediocre small-town locals with questionable values (Out of the Furnace, Killing Them Softly, Stand Up Guys among recent) and every.single.one of them seems to think the tale is unique and the values are acceptable, ‘cuz they’re just good folk lookin’ out for their own. Except when they aren’t.
And I love films like these … except when I don’t.
A smallish story of locals
Who are mostly into crime
If perhaps you don’t take to the yokels
It’s just ninety minutes run-time
Rated R, 88 Minutes
D: John Slattery
W: John Slattery, Alex Metcalf
Genre: Small-town hijinks
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: The poor sap who can identify with this crowd
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Everybody else
