To Leslie, directed by Michael Morris, is an earned anti-miracle of a film. Andrea Riseborough, as an anxious predictor of the past, dancing for both stoplight and spotlight, gives a performance that has a few steps on creation. She forgets when things began, and gets there first. As her son, Owen Teague lets body language change his voice and it shows. All the performances here- by Marc Maron, Allison Janney, Stephen Root, Andre Royo- forgo out-of-body by being leapt-into and if sorrow is living’s sole quirk, all here know that every person we are is sad. There’s no fly-on-the-wall element here. Just a wall, a slapped wrist, a gaze, an occasional vision. Devastation and restoration either have the same god, or are. Lottery or no, everyone gets their name called when loss this passive is the currency of the moment. The whole film feels like a final scene, until its final scene. Best film I’ve seen this year.
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