Given the hypnotic, powerful performances that John Hawkes has been routinely turning in over the past couple years in things like Winter’s Bone and Martha Marcy May Marlene, it’s been with bated breath that the film world has waited for the man to get a real starring role, a truly meaty part that would allow him to flex his acting muscles and prove that he has what it takes to anchor a film. So when it was announced that he would be playing writer Mark O’Brien, a man who was paralyzed from the neck down and spent much of his life confined to an iron lung, in The Sessions, the opportunity seemed perfect. Not only was Hawkes going to be starring in his own movie, he was going to get to play a guy with a disability. He might win an Oscar!
In the lead up to the film’s release, excitement increased. Reports that Hawkes was taking his role so seriously that he’d been risking permanent injury by doing exercises to curve his spine surfaced, and it seemed like The Sessions was going to be the sort of hard-hitting biopic that hasn’t been seen since Daniel Day Lewis did My Left Foot. But then the trailers for the film hit and it kind of seemed like this tale of a paralyzed Polio sufferer trying to lose his virginity by working with a sex therapist was going to be funny. Hawkes didn’t wear a pained expression, he delivered his lines with a sly smirk, and William H. Macy was playing an uncomfortably frank priest with gloriously long hair... there’s nothing sad about that at all.
And it’s true, when you really break it down, The Sessions is largely just a sex comedy; and if it has any big asset working in its favor, it’s that it manages to be really charming. All of the featured performances, from Hawkes as the lead, to Macy playing his confidant, to Helen Hunt the sex therapist, to Moon Bloodgood his nurse, are warm and full of personality. It’s great fun to watch these people on screen. And the script that writer/director Ben Lewin has penned for them to work with is so full of sharp dialogue and clever quips, that the movie never manages to bore. Sure, there are some groan-worthy sex gags here and there, but when they’re delivered by actors with the timing and presence of a Hawkes or a Macy, even the clunkers are able to get at least a smirk out of you. The Sessions is a pleasant time at the movies, and it’s likely going to put a smile on the face of anyone who sees it.
The problem is that the subject matter should require it to be a little bit more than just a breezy sex comedy, and the film fails to deliver anything beyond that. Certainly it’s not fair to review a movie based on what it isn’t rather than just looking objectively at what it is, but it’s hard to not attack Lewin’s film on that level, because watching it mimics the feeling of watching a great movie that has had all of its best scenes cut out. Here is a protagonist who must have had one of the most challenging, interesting lives imaginable, and the only time we spend with him is during the point in his life where things start looking sunny and happy, and he learns about what it means to love. What kind of crap is that?
Of course, there’s nothing inherently wrong with making a movie that’s strictly about the search for love. But even in the painless, easy way that the O’Brien character manages to find love, The Sessions just feels too simple. The quickness with which every female he meets overlooks his handicaps and falls for his charms is just too easy, too lacking in drama to be compelling. His only rejection comes after he thrusts a rushed and miscalculated admission of love at one of his caretakers, and even that he responds to with a sort of “aw shucks, we’ll get ‘em next time” attitude. Even Hunt’s character, who has therapeutic sex with people for a living and should be more adept at separating sexual contact from emotional attachment than anyone, melts in a matter of days once O’Brien starts to write her sappy poetry. Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that so completely at odds with the reality of how people would interact with someone who has disabilities that are this severe?
Essentially, the fact that O’Brien can’t control his body in any respect gets glossed over completely in this film. There are gross, humiliating realities to having disabilities at this level, and other than including one scene in which O’Brien gets bathed by his nurse, this movie manages to avoid all of them. There aren’t any scenes where he’s greasy, or stinky, or smeared with his own shit. All of the constant struggle that should go into keeping him presentable, keeping him clean, especially for a story that revolves around sexual intercourse, is missing completely. If anything, having no control of your body and not being able to breath outside of an iron lung for more than a couple hours at a time gets presented as being a rather magical, charmed way of life. It’s as if, in the universe of this film, being handicapped imbues you with the super power of being clever and wise, and only inconveniences you with the fact that you have to hang out in your house most of the time. No big deal.
The lack of any real, compelling drama isn’t the only place where The Sessions disappoints, either. Ben Lewin has made a really bland looking movie here. I’d liken the aesthetic of this film to that of a sketch comedy show on basic cable. It’s not incompetently shot or full of production errors—nothing like that—but the camera work here is utilitarian at best and pedestrian at worst, the production design drab and uninspired. The Sessions just doesn’t look like a high-end piece of art, it looks like something that was thrown together without having the benefit of much time or many resources. To put things bluntly, the bulk of Lewin’s experience as a director comes from doing TV work, and it really shows.
The centerpieces of this movie are its performances, however, and the actors really are good enough to keep an otherwise disappointing film from ever feeling like a chore. John Hawkes is believable as O’Brien. He always gets you to buy into the reality of these situations, no matter how absurd watching a grown man awkwardly attempt to lose his virginity with a paid physical therapist is. And he really is just so damn charming. Hawkes is completely immobile the entire film, having only his face to use as an acting tool, and the twinkle in his eye and the sound of his voice is generally all he needs to con you into caring about his potential sexual gratification.
Helen Hunt, while not being that strong of a personality, is always a serviceable actor. She’s warm, natural, and always able to convey the emotion of any given scene well; and her comfortable-on-the-screen, veteran presence goes a long way toward grounding this film’s therapy session scenes, which can include nudity and pretty explicit sexual situations. The surprising thing about The Sessions, though, is that it’s not really the already great principal actors who get to shine the most—it’s the supporting players.
William H. Macy is one of the most beloved actors on the planet, for a reason. Probably his performance, more than anyone else’s, helps to elevate this film a step above where it would have been otherwise. O’Brien’s meetings with Macy’s priest character work as a sort of narrative framework for the film, and really a lot of what Macy has to do is just deliver a whole bunch of expositional dialogue that keeps the plot moving. That could have gotten pretty clunky and boring, but through the sheer magic of Macy’s comedic timing and his ridiculous reaction shots to the blunt sexual matters O’Brien discusses with him, he’s able to keep even the housekeeping scenes in this script light and entertaining. The guy is the best.
If you had to single someone out as giving the best performance of the film, however, probably that honor has to go to Moon Bloodgood. She doesn’t get as much screen time as the other actors, her character isn’t given as much to do, and she’s playing everything understated and subtle, but somehow she’s able to take a nurse character who I’m sure looked a little thin on the page and turn her into a fleshed out and captivating character. Bloodgood is reserved, almost stone-faced, but the fact that she’s able to maintain a distance and an air of professionalism in the face of her boundary-blurring job speaks volumes about who her character is as a person. And the fact that she can play things so reserved and so subtle, but still make her character feel warm and empathetic rather than cold and detached, is a real feat. Watch Bloodgood’s face during this movie; it doesn’t do much, but when it does do something it speaks volumes.
I guess the last big question hanging in the air regarding this film is how it handles all of the sex stuff. Seeing as the entire driving force of the plot is the main character’s attempt at achieving intercourse with his ravaged but responsive body, it stands to reason that they’re going to have to show some sex. But how much? Is it tasteful? How explicit do things get? Were they able to cover the sex therapy but still make the film about the people rather than the boning? In general, they straddle the line pretty well. There’s a good deal of nudity, and there are some graphic depictions of sexual acts, but they never linger long enough to make you forget that what you’re watching isn’t meant to titillate. If anything, the only way The Sessions oversteps its bounds is by having a few too many crude gags. When you’ve got a couple actors the calibre of Hawkes and Hunt stripping down to nothing just so you can make a predictable sex joke, it might be time to rethink your priorities. And when you’ve got a subject whose life was as interesting as Mark O’Brien’s, and you only explore the parts of it that make for feel good moments and juvenile humor, it becomes difficult to see your film as anything other than a missed opportunity.
