Movie Review: St. Vincent

There is no actor quite like Bill Murray. Now, that doesn’t mean there aren't those who can perform as well or even better than the Saturday Night Live legend, comedy superstar, polished dramatic performer and director Wes Anderson’s consistent muse, but Murray is one of the few actors working today who has the rare talent of lifting or sometimes even carrying an entire film through his innate screen magnetism and persona.

The glimmer of Murray’s cult of personality shined through after the comedic high of the late ’70s and early ’80s with Harold Ramis’ “Groundhog Day” in 1993; it declared itself in his first collaboration with Anderson in “Rushmore” in 1998, and Murray’s talent and unique aura cemented itself in the cinematic firmament in his Oscar-nominated performance in Sophia Coppola’s “Lost in Translation” in 2003.

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Ever since, the “Dao of Murray” has evolved and grown, not only with each successive project (remarkably, no matter its critical success or failure), but he has also served as his own best PR man, showing up at random people’s kickball games, bachelor parties and weddings. And, like a Bigfoot, the elusive sightings are only spread via social media updates and the occasional selfie.

In addition to eclectic public sightings (not to mention his grandiose guest spots on The Late Show with David Letterman), Murray has become notoriously selective in what projects he invests and spend his time. Now, no matter the potential for great or lackluster film, the announcement of a new Bill Murray performance is met with the immortal and gleeful words of Woody Harrelson in “Zombieland:” “Goddamn it! Bill F***ing Murray!”

The most recent addition to the Gospel According to Murray is “St. Vincent.” Written and directed by Theodore Melfi (his first feature-length film), the story revolves around an old Brooklyn man named Vincent (played by Bill Murray), who has all the textbook symptoms of being a scumbag: he's an alcoholic; he smokes cigarettes; perpetually gambles at the horse tracks; is in constant debt to his bank and his bookie; routinely pays for sex from a pregnant Russian stripper and lives in state of filth. His only seemingly redeemable trait is that he loves and feeds his white cat, Felix.

The layers of this sourpuss get peeled away when a young boy named Oliver (played by newcomer Jaeden Lieberher) and his single mother, Maggie (played by Melissa McCarthy) move in next door because of his parents’ recent divorce. Due to Maggie’s long shifts as a CAT scan nurse technician at the hospital, she reluctantly hires her dysfunctional next door neighbor to serve as a babysitter to her adolescent son. And during Vincent and Oliver’s time together, they quickly bond, with Murray weaving into Vincent’s soiled surface a conscience and a determined brand of virtue through mentoring young Oliver.

Melfi’s film is like modern scripture with a clear-cut moral, stock characters and themes. Live-action film isn’t always the best medium for this type of story (usually only successful in the realm and conventions of animation) and that remains true for “St. Vincent.” It’s a solid beginning as Melfi’s feature-length debut, and it extolls rare performances from actors rarely allotted these kind of grounded characters.

Murray adds another notch in his filmography with a performance that ricochets from humorous and playful to shameful and heartbreaking, as he grapples with his emotional and physical demons. Two pleasant surprises are McCarthy as the flustered newly single mother, Maggie, and Naomi Watts (two-time Academy Award nominated actress) as the foul-mouthed, pregnant stripper, Daka. Seeing McCarthy play a woman who isn’t constantly bouncing of the walls with her almost superhuman comedic timing is refreshing. Likewise, Watts commits to the off-kilter role as she would any dramatic Oscar fare.

“St. Vincent”consists of characters that I fell in love with and were etched in my mind for several days after. This gives me hope for Melfi’s future film endeavors. With several shorts under his belt and his feature-length debut now released, Melfi has great potential to move forward. Unfortunately, the plot and direction of “St. Vincent” is predictable and nearly off-putting in its parable quality. But now that he has received the blessing of Murray (cinema’s comic buddha), Melfi can have the opportunity to create films worthy of his blissful cast of unscrupulous saints and noble sinners.