Mysterious death in Maine? Isn’t this Stephen King territory? In fact, doesn’t Stephen King own the rights to all deaths in Maine, fictional or otherwise? Hmmm. Maybe not. Must have read it somewhere.
Hunter was a folk musician, kind of a Neil Young type, a throwback to acoustic guitars, imperfect vocals and one guy on a stool. His career lasted one album before his death by cliff, leaving behind a widow, Hannah (Rebecca Hall), a small army of well-wishers, and number of curious music historians attempting to extrapolate his place in the pantheon of musical genius. Among the latter is Andrew (Jason Sudeikis), who is so obsessed with Hunter’s shallow portfolio that he cannot leave Hannah alone.
Hannah, of course, is nothing shy of hostile, first ignoring his messages, then getting the police involved, then stealing Andrew’s notebook and destroying it page-by-page as he flails. I was caught between, “well, that’s kind of a dick move” and “these two are going to fall in love, aren’t they?” Neither of these thoughts sat well with me. Hence, I wasn’t terribly surprised that the inspiration-challenged Hannah eventually concedes to let Andrew co-write Hunter’s biography. This concession is preceded by Hannah reading some truly dreadful purple prose in the notebook she stole … are we led to imagine her saying, “oh, how I wish I could bluster on about Hunter’s artistry the way this guy does?”
Wait. This is a comedy?! I’m sure I read that wrong. No. No, I did not.
Was Hunter a true artist? That’s kinda the premise to Tumbledown, so we roll with it. Yet we’re told he only produced the one album, and, yeah, I’m a movie critic not a music critic, but as his sound was neither unique nor modern, I find it very hard to believe that he’d left a Curt Cobain-like legacy of adoration. And Andrew’s approach to the biography as if he’s trying to solve a mystery helps not one bit in getting to the necessary pre-determined conclusion.
Jason Sudeikis is a casting director’s pet these days with his ability to deliver straight-faced snark, get embarrassed, and then fall earnestly in love. And he’s wrong for this film. Both his natural condescension and skepticism conflict with his notion of a truther undertaking a labor of love. Rebecca is pretty good at 
passing for American, but why doesn’t she have a Maine accent? In fact, where were the Maine accents in the film? Only three of the cast attempted, including a Grade A failure by Joe Manganiello. Memo to Joe: Not sure what you were doing or why you were doing it. My guess is most of your fans don’t want you to speak, anyway.
Honestly, I question what Tumbledown is rooting for – you have a girl pining for a lost husband. You have a fanboy out to pen the definitive word on the man’s greatness. Do you really want these two to get together? Why? Wouldn’t she see him eternally as a poor substitute for the man she lost? Wouldn’t he see her as simply a tangible extension of the legend he couldn’t touch? You can frill this film up all you want, but Tumbledown needs a psychologist, not an audience.
A “legend” caused dissatisfaction
While climbing, he lost his traction
The townspeople cried
And then replied,
“Time for the widow to get back in action”
Rated R, 105 Minutes
D: Sean Mewshaw
W: Desiree Van Til
Genre: Shoving square pegs into round holes
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Insanely hopeless romantics
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Realists
