Lickety-script, parlourized parlay, respective reflections respondents embrayed, a guest, a neighbour, interrupting the labour, coaching a fabler, ultrasounding enabler.
The savour.
A lady moves in in her van, parking on the street then in the driveway, a compassionate suburb, she becomes a distinct curiosity, troubled yet pluminescent, in her wayward harmless upbraid.
Alright, there's this writer who talks to himself, splits it between literary and day-to-day preoccupations, the imaginative side earning the scratch, the other forced to handle bills, conversation, too sympathetic to turn the lady away, too conflicted to stop thinking he should, writing the story as it unreels, thought unified in action.
It works, fussy yet comfortable comedic communal kerfuffles, both characters lost in transition diversifying their conditions to mutually suspend, mystery driving Alex Jennings (Alan Bennett) to understand Miss Shepherd's (Maggie Smith) past, tragedy romantically polishing its unveiling.
Warmhearted comedy you know, strong communities, not so obsessed with sleaze, such obsessions perhaps indicating decadence, yet still, often, hilarious.
I like these stories that write themselves without trumping everything up to exercise extreme bravado.
It does drag for 15 minutes or so but then picks up and limberly compensates.
Heart, it's great to see films with heart that aren't tearjerkingly sentimental, or, if they are like that, say in the final moments, they at least recognize such indulgences with ecstatic free-spirited self-deprecating smarm.
Gradually revealing Shepherd's past while contrasting it with current circumstances generally keeps the pace moving at a productive contemplative putter.
Assembling this and that.
Rascals.
A film that's being written while it unreels that can't get past the first 5 minutes due to all the conflicting voices might work.
It's probably been done.
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