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Sherrybaby (2006) IFC Films,
1 hr. 36 mins.
Starring:
Maggie Gyllenhaal, Ryan Simpkins, Brad Henke, Bridget Barkan, Giancarlo
Esposito, Danny Trejo
Directed by:
Laurie Collyer |
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Writer-director Laurie Collyer
delves into the delicate psyche of a troubled grown woman who never really
conquered her childhood demons in the harrowing feminist indie film
Sherrybaby. Maggie Gyllenhaal gives an emotionally charged performance as
a drug abusing ex-con forced to face her “damaged little girl” issues in
the midst of regaining her independence. Clearly, Sherrybaby is tender,
psychologically complex, perceptive and resoundingly redemptive in its
reflection of womanly angst. Gyllenhaal, last seen in the earlier released
World Trade Center as an endangered cop’s wife, may very well have matched
her effectiveness as an actress since her rousing turn as an S&M-loving
office worker in the disturbing Secretary. Collyer has delivered a solid
commentary on the weaknesses of human behavior and the expectations put
forth to address those penetrating frailties of modern-day faulty
womanhood malaise.
Granted that we’ve seen flawed women championing their cause before in a
landscape of confusion and self-discovery. However, Collyer is able to
personalize her conflicted protagonist’s angst by skillfully exposing this
woman’s lingering wound that has festered her soul in what amounts to be
ages. As Sherry, Gyllenhaal is blonde, curvaceous, naughty...she’s “yummy”
all-around based on the outside package. But the inside package is a whole
different story—she’s tortured, self-absorbed, stunted mentally and
insecure. The truth is that Sherry never grew up or learned how to face
the consequences at hand. Collyer understands this unsteady woman’s
turmoil and this is what definitely triggers the rawness and touching
vibes in Sherrybaby. It’s one thing to showcase the struggles of a
golden-haired siren with a narcissistic shell to crack; it’s another thing
to comprehend the struggles in such a sympathetically ambitious manner.
New Jersey-based Sherry is finally released from prison after serving a
three-year stint for robbery and heroin addiction. She ponders the new
challenges of being sober and her overall responsibilities that follow.
But Sherry is a creature of her own misguided instincts and habits. She
realizes that benefiting from her self-centered tendencies and flaky
demeanor will take her far in demanding whatever she desires (read: her
sexual prowess). Why bother going through the trouble of buying the eggs
in the market when you can seduce the chicken right on the spot? No doubt
that Sherry has a body to kill for and it will continue to be the
essential asset that she exploits to her advantage. Weirdly, Sherry is
both crafty and pitiful in several regards.
Shortly, Sherry moves into a Christian halfway house where she looks to
compose herself. It’s not an easy transition because of her constantly
being tested by the other residents. Sherry knows how to deal with the
adversity—remember, she’s a former convict newly sprung from the clinker.
Of course when there’s a moment to seize an opportunity to engage in
sexual activities with one of the recovery program directors, Sherry
demonstrates an odd sense of liberation and empowerment through the
manipulation of her promiscuity. At that point, we imagine what a peculiar
display of vulnerability and vitality that this woman carries so assuredly
as her secret weapon. Sherry is trashy and a motivating tramp—recklessness
is her guaranteed calling card. Still, you cannot help but recognize an
unstable woman on the edge whose facade of being under control is simply a
figment of her warped imagination.
In addition to searching for steady work, Sherry returns to one specific
job that she put on hold over three years ago—the role of motherhood. She
ventures over to her brother and sister-in-law’s (Brad Henke and Bridget
Barkan) place to visit her young pony-tailed daughter Alexis (Ryan
Simpkins). Sherry’s sibling has been raising Alexis during her absence
behind bars. Of course when Sherry starts hinting about wanting to regain
custody of Alexis once again, the butter hits the fan. Obviously, there
are concerns about Sherry’s incompetence to raise her little girl in light
of her awkwardly continued effort to find herself in completeness. The
reality sets in: little Alexis would probably have a better shot of taking
care of her fragile mother than the other way around. This ultimately
shows how unrealistically delusional and dense that Sherry really is in
actuality. For her to claim instant motherhood is shockingly bewildering
if not selfish. Sherry can hardly keep her head above water yet she wants
to take Alexis along to sink with her? Predictably, a tug-of-war ensues
between Sherry’s insistence on reuniting with her precious kid and the
kid’s concerned uncle and aunt wanting to save her from her scatterbrained
mother’s self-destructive nature.
Sherrybaby thankfully avoids the dreary pitfalls of assuming the generic
makeup of a common “woman-in-peril” TV movie. That’s probably because
Collyer’s handling of this poignant yet probing material has depth, focus
and a piercing meaning behind a troubled woman trapped in her lingering
stages of disillusionment. The intriguing journey taken by Gyllenhaal’s
Sherry is marred by all sorts of obstacles: frustration, indecisiveness,
guilt, deception, carelessness and sorrow. Surprisingly, the preachy
factor is kept at a minimum. Collyer isn’t interested in making Sherry’s
failure in life as “a poster girl for dysfunction”. Instead, this is a
winning examination of a deeply afflicted woman whose inner suffering
percolates uncontrollably.
Hopefully Gyllenhaal will be remembered at Oscar time. Her portrayal of
Sherry is textured with dimensional thrusts of pain and detrimental
indifference. Gyllenhaal’s character has worldly scars that brim
underneath (and on the surface) as a complicated cutie with an assortment
of anger and bereavement that’s potent and noteworthy. As a character
study, Sherrybaby resonates with genuine passion and consideration. Sure,
it’s a familiar tale that’s been told many times before. But with
Collyer’s structured storytelling behind the camera lens, we’re truly
invested in revisiting this specific “woman-woe-is-me” melodrama with
better appreciation. |
