Stevie (2002)

Steven Fielding, the title character from "Stevie"

Some people should not be parents.

As a college student at Southern Illinois University in the mid-80s, would-be director Steve James (notable for the inspiring 1994 film “Hoop Dreams,” following former Chicago gang members as they try to stop the cycle of violence, in 2011’s terrific “The Interrupters,” as well as my favorite 30-for-30 film “No Crossover,” about the highly-publicized assault trial of enigmatic high-school basketball phenom Allen Iverson) volunteered as an Advocate Big Brother. Idealistic and well intentioned, he imagined an experience where he and the boy might toss around a baseball, bond over sports, and mutually benefit from the mentoring program. He was assigned young Stevie Fielding, a ostensibly typical 11-year old, from a nearby rural town.

Upon graduation, after spending much time with Stevie, James relocated to Chicago to pursue his film career, leaving the boy behind.

Now a decade later, James wonders what’s become of his former charge, and decides to chronicle the reunion.

“Stevie,” the resulting 2002 documentary, is one of the most anguished and tragic films I’ve ever seen.

The film profiles the life of now-grown-up Stevie, a troubled man who wears thick glasses, tie-dyed Harley-Davidson t-shirts and an unkempt beard. His nickname’s “Snake,” he says because he’s never been afraid of them (I can think of other reasons). He has made more poor decisions during his lifetime than seems reasonably possible. He seemingly cannot get out of his own way.

From the outset, it’s clear that young Stevie was no picnic. He’s been through a slew of foster homes. Shortly after meeting Stevie, James recognized almost immediately that he was in over his head. Dutiful and determined, he did his best to be a positive influence, anyhow. Looking back, he feels guilty that he didn’t stay in touch with Stevie, after moving away. Tellingly, he also recalls his marked sense of relief, once his responsibilities with Stevie had ended.

Over the course of the film, we’re introduced to several members of Stevie’s immediate family. We meet his nearly-absent mom, the half-sister who lives in a trailer next door, an accusing aunt, and the step-grandmother who raised him. It’s quickly clear that Stevie has the terrible misfortune of being surrounded by a family so profoundly dysfunctional, it nearly defies comprehension. I won’t divulge all he’s endured, but “abusive” and “neglectful” don’t begin to cover it. The harrowing scope of his mistreatment is absurd. You watch in slack-jawed amazement, as the troubling and catastrophic details of Stevie’s appalling Dickensian childhood unfold. Several times, just when you think things can’t possibly get any worse for Stevie, unbelievably somehow they do.

Watching “Stevie,” I began to realize I’d seen the title character somewhere on film before. It slowly dawned on me that Stevie Fielding bears and uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt’s character Early Grace, from 1993’s “Kalifornia.” The pair share the same mumbling drawl, rural sensibilities, childlike immaturity, lack of foresight, uncontrollable impulsivity, aimlessness, matter-of-fact violent tendencies, and inability to grasp the possible consequences to their actions. The further the film delved, the more the similarities became apparent (which, given Stevie’s reckless and self-destructive nature, is a sincere tribute to Pitt’s acting abilities). Stevie is the 3-dimensional, real-life version of Pitt’s psychopathic Early.

Where they differ (and one reason why “Stevie” is so compelling), however, is that unlike Pitt’s creation, Stevie Fielding is at times touchingly sympathetic. When we witness the painful lengths and depraved depths of all he’s experienced, we naturally feel for him. No one should ever have to suffer such treatment, especially as a young child. Which isn’t to say we excuse him for the thoughtless choices he’s made; there seems little doubt that he’s a criminal. We do, however, come to realize that his faults are not solely his fault. Because of how he’s been raised, Stevie’s simply incapable of safely and smartly negotiating his own life. Over and over, he can’t be kept from sabotaging himself.

Like Hoop Dreams, this is an epic work. In real time, the filmed action covers roughly four years. However, it as it repeatedly looks back over the history which molded Stevie, the film covers more than two-and-a half decades.

Interestingly, similar to “No Crossover,” the filmmaker is actually part of the action of the film. Rather than simply being a detached observer, his interaction with his subjects is part of the story, not only historically, but also in how it evolves. This unusual dynamic brings a fascinating dimension. How much can he do or say? When should he intervene, and when should he sit back? Is he responsible for some of what transpires? In voice-over narration, James laments some of these difficulties, and his own decisions.

Why so some of us turn out like Albert Einstein, or Jimmy Carter, or Mohandas Ghandi, while others result like Stevie Fielding? “Stevie” poignantly asks questions about how much responsibility do our parents and families (and Big Brothers) bear in determining who we ultimately become? How much personal responsibility does each one of us have in this process? Can someone exposed to the worst life has to offer ever muster the courage, ability and emotional wherewithal necessary to some day decide to interrupt the vicious cycle, pick themselves up by their bootstraps, and suddenly right the ship?

In “Stevie,” we not only meet the misguided, uneducated, marginalized loner from the film’s title, but also the committed filmmaker who refuses to give up on him, regardless of how dire the circumstances. We see not only Stevie’s disastrous trajectory, but in the process also learn something about the dedication and compassion of James, as well. Through intimate interviews, the film somehow strikes a delicately balanced tone, alternating between mournful and hopeful. I went from shaking my head at Stevie’s family, to shaking my head at him, to finally feeling genuinely worried and saddened about what might happen to him in the end. And I also wondered about the disquieting toll the entire experience must’ve had on James, too. He is without question one of the most talented documentary filmmakers working today.

I’m sorry I didn’t see “Stevie” in the theater, upon its initial release. Smart, thoughtful, honest, heart-rending films like this deserve a wider audience. It would have been one of my favorite films of that (or any) year. This movie far exceeded my expectations.

Hit and Run (2012)

Watching the Netflix movie “Hit and Run,” I faced a dilemma. At about the 70-minute mark, finding myself only marginally entertained, I began glancing at the clock. I’d already had several “This is gonna get better, right?” questions inside my head. Then it occurred to me that last mail pick-up was in half an hour. I reasoned that if I returned it today, I’d have a new disc day after tomorrow. If I finish it, it won’t make the post til tomorrow But there’s still half an hour left in the film.” What do do? 

“Hit and Run” isn’t bad. It just isn’t all that good, either.

Real-life husband and wife Dax Shepherd and Kristen Bell play Charlie Bronson (a name dictated by the plot) and Annie Bean. She’s got a PhD from Stanford, in conflict resolution (really?), but now teaches at a small, back-water college “500 miles from LA.” He’s in the witness protection program, having seen a crime, and testified against the perpetrators.

They’re affectionate, and clearly quite fond of each other. Unfortunately, they’re also given to bouts of cuteness, exemplified by quasi-introspective conversations about respective patterns of speech, the shared future of their relationship, and who they hope they’ll become once they get there. The back-and-forth is supposed to be mildly insightful, evidence of mutual caring, compassion, smarts, and desire to improve their lives together. Instead, it transparently comes off mostly as proof of the writer’s overly-clever contrivance.

Annie’s former boyfriend Gil (Michael Rosenbaum) still carries a torch, and is hysterically suspicious of Charlie. Via his cop brother, Gil discovers Charlie’s car (the third, and perhaps main, star of the film, a thoroughly restored 1967, 700-hp, shiny, black Continental) is registered to “Yul Perkins.” Which (of course!) is Charlie’s real name.

With that info, Gil uses his laptop to not only discover why Charlie’s in witness protection, but then also uncover the names of the criminals against whom Charlie testified. Predictably, he uses Facebook (because most underworld figures find it useful to maintain a high-profile online presence) to contact the heavy, a dreadlocked-and-dubiously-named Alex Dmitri (Bradley Cooper). Somehow Gil’s figured it that he can at once protect and win Annie back, as well as get Charlie out of the picture, with the help of social media.

There are a few other characters mixed in as well, though they’re hardly worth mention. Tom Arnold plays Randy, a poor caricature of the bumbling-idiot archetype. He’s a US marshal, tasked with keeping tabs on Charlie. His Keystone-Cops role consists mainly of spilling coffee on his shirt, crashing his car through fences, and accidently discharging his weapon repeatedly.

Gil’s brother Terry is a stereotyped gay policeman. Mostly he’s on his smart-phone app “Pouncer,” (a clone of Grindr), apparently a GPS tool used by gay men to solicit anonymous sex (if the film’s to be believed). 

Kristen Chenoweth plays Debbie, Annie’s boss. She’s supposed to be a woman who’s world-weary and insightful, encouraging Annie to pursue the good life she never had. In practice she does little more than advertise her pharmacological dependence, and quip off-color would-be comedic lines. Lines that no reasonable woman would never, ever (in a million years!) imagine, much less show the poor judgment of speaking out loud. 

So Charlie and Annie are on the run for LA, with Gil, Alex, and Randy in hot pursuit.

At this point you know both the nuts-and-bolts of the plot, as well as where I began to start wondering whether finishing the film was worth the effort.

Perhaps it’s unethical for a reviewer to cut out early, only later presume to write something about a film s/he didn’t even finish?

On the other hand, maybe it says all you need to know about “Hit and Run” that I even considered it?

Weighing all the evidence, I decided mailing it back early was the best course of action. Next in my queue is a the well-reviewed documentary “Searching for Sugar Man.”

I’m pretty sure I made the right choice.