The Soloist

Copyright 2009, DreamWorks Pictures

It's interesting that, only one week after State of Play opened in American theaters, The Soloist comes out; both films are almost completely different with one big exception: a subplot in each film deals with the demise of the newspaper industry. Both film's main characters (or some of them) decry the lack of interest in the 21st-century American public in the newspaper industry and the stories they have to offer. For many reasons, the argument is sold better in State of Play.

A major part of that is due to the fact that The Soloist, based on its marketing, shouldn't have anything to say about the newspaper industry. Yes, one of the main characters, real-life columnist Steve Lopez (Robert Downey, Jr.), writes for the Los Angeles Times, and other characters work in a newsroom, but based on the trailers, this movie is about Lopez's relationship with Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, Jr. (Jamie Foxx), a homeless man who was once a student at Juilliard and is a skilled cello player. Old media dying shouldn't be part of this film.

Even worse, the film's director, Joe Wright (previously of Pride and Prejudice and Atonement), and screenwriter, Susannah Grant, don't care enough to talk about dying papers past the first half of the film. In general, The Soloist is a film with too much going on. First, we see the blooming friendship between Lopez and Ayers. Second, we're given flashbacks into how exactly Ayers went from cello prodigy to a mentally disturbed homeless man. Third, we're shown how dominant the problem of the homeless community in Los Angeles is. Fourth, finally, is the newspaper's death. In a film that barely reaches two hours, that's just too much to work with, especially since Grant's script gives short shrift to the final two elements.

Wright and company are able to pull off three of the plots; only the newspaper section completely falls flat. I mentioned in my review of State of Play that the supporting characters in the newsroom felt believable, as did their interactions with the main characters played by Russell Crowe and Rachel McAdams. The Soloist fails there; aside from Downey, Jr., the only other major players in the newsroom are Mary, Lopez's ex-wife, played by Catherine Keener; and two of Lopez's fellow writers, played by Rachael Harris and Stephen Root. Keener's character is given more to do with regards to her marriage to Lopez. [Spoiler alert] When Mary is told, in the middle of a musically-tinged sequence that focuses more on Ayers, that she's being fired, even Keener's natural charm can't make me care; this lack of interest is compounded because her job loss is never mentioned again. Very lazy.[End spoilers]

Despite all of this, I liked The Soloist, completely because of Robert Downey, Jr. and Jamie Foxx, two immensely charismatic actors who play off each other well. Downey, Jr. sells his frustrated writer role better than most; though this isn't his best performance, he's about as good as you'd expect, meaning that he's amazing. In a role that could very easily be cheesy and hammy, Foxx does a great job of reining his homeless character in. Though he delivers many verbose and nonsensical monologues, Foxx embodies Ayers, making him feel realistic even when he's pushing those who care about him most away. Keener, as mentioned before, is quite good in a thankless role. The other supporting cast has very little to do, with Nelsan Ellis, as a smart but somewhat uncaring homeless shelter worker, being a standout. Aside from the strong lead performances, Wright manages to be flashy (especially in a psychedelic sequence as Ayers watches the Los Angeles Philharmonic play Beethoven) but not as forcefully so as in Atonement (go on, tell me WHY the five-minute sequence needed to be one take or even needed to occur).

Overall, The Soloist is a film hampered by a weak script but lifted up by great actors who deserve better. I'd say see it, even with its flaws and the burden of being known as an ex-Oscar contender (what with having been moved from its cushy November slot).