The Soloist 3/5 Starring Robert Downey Jr. ‘amp; Jamie Foxx Directed by Joe Wright Rated PG-13
Skim over its IMDb synopsis and ‘The Soloist’ might read like sentimental Oscar fodder: L.A. Times columnist Steve Lopez (Robert Downey Jr.) is hunting for his next front-page piece when he meets homeless schizophrenic Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx), who solemnly plays a two-stringed violin next to a gigantic statue of Beethoven.
Ayers speaks in uncensored babble, wears a plastic Hawaiian lei over a sparkly sequined jacket and pushes a shopping cart overflowing with miscellaneous scraps and garbage bags. But his music ‘mdash; simple and resonant above the constant urban grind ‘mdash; is testament to the transient’s misunderstood sensitivity and profound inner conflict, a timeless grace.
Yeah, it’s kind of lame on paper ‘mdash; but only at brief interludes does ‘Soloist’ actually slip into the realm of red-carpet sap. Whereas most ‘based on a true story’ flicks take loose liberties to heighten drama ‘mdash; tossing characters in merely to provide comic relief or to fill gaps in the storyline ‘mdash; ‘Soloist’ seems to adhere to an unpretty reality. It is not a film about a man’s revelation in his musical genius, or a finding a cure for mental illness that will bring him out of poverty; in fact, most of Lopez’s attempts to relieve Ayers’ ailments are frustratingly ineffective.
We might guess that a beautiful donated cello will be the vagabond’s ultimate salvation ‘mdash; but he refuses to play it indoors, preferring instead the guttered, rat-infested streets. When Lopez gives his friend an opportunity to perform a recital for the public, we might guess that the Juilliard dropout’s prodigious brilliance will attract enough mass-media attention to deliver Ayers a professional career and stable lifestyle. Instead, he panics and runs offstage before his bow even hits the strings.
Director Joe Wright’s drama ultimately explores a common humanity between two unlikely companions, along with the deeply psychological underpinnings of homelessness. ‘Why did you drop out of school?’ Lopez asks. Ayers shakes his head, his squinted, half-blind eyes darting back and forth. ‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘It just didn’t work out.’
Their quiet exchange lets us in on the transient’s traumatic, life-consuming disease: nothing has ever just ‘worked out’ for him. But as we hear the relentless scattering of voices distracting Ayers’ thoughts ‘mdash; goading him, threatening him, consoling him ‘mdash; we hear, too, a sea of music, Ayers’ imagining of symphonic accompaniment to the low, sad bass of his cello. Through his eyes, we see the psychedelic colors of synesthesia and flashback glimpses of an increasingly troubled past.
While Foxx’s performance is as gripping and nuanced as in ‘Ray,’ it’s no pity party. Scenes depicting squatters are nightmarish and border on grotesque, but they’re carefully juxtaposed by Ayers’ unassuming, almost childlike, nature. Lopez handles the grubby street chaos with a cool, appreciative understanding ‘mdash; never demeaning his subjects or shying an occassional sleepover on the sidewalk.
By the climax, we’re so thoroughly rooting for the characters’ success ‘mdash; for Ayers to connect with the outside world and come to terms with his inner demons, for Lopez to write inspired pieces and overcome his own fears and misgivings ‘mdash; that we forgive the occasional waves of tearful orchestral melodrama in light of the cast’s absorbing relationships and restrained, yet intimate, sincerity.