“St. Vincent” is one of those movies that starts out ostensibly as a comedy, and how can it not with Bill Murray playing the lead role, but then makes its way into heavier themes and moments, leaving most of the comedy behind for the anguish and tragedy, you know, the rest of the stuff that makes up this crazy thing we call life. The resulting thing is the ugly word “dramady,” which we should replace with another word so as not to have to use that stupid word ever again, because what exactly is the laughs-to-scene ration needed to tip a film’s scales from “comedy” to “dramady,” if not into straight up “drama?” Can we just call these movies “true to life?” Because like life, it is often hilarious and often sad and sometimes both at once. That is “St. Vincent.”
Vincent (Murray) is a drunk. His only “friends” are the nameless fellow regular patrons at his favorite bar and the Russian prostitute (Naomi Watts) who is pregnant with what may or may not be Vincent’s child. He is mean to everyone, has no money, and is much debt thanks to a bad gambling habit. Suffice to say, the dude has issues. And then one day a new neighbor moves in to the house next door, a single mom named Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) and her 12-year old runt of a son Oliver (newcomer Jaeden Lieberher), and before long old Vincent finds himself hanging out with impressionable Oliver, and they become buddies. Vincent shows Oliver how to gamble and how to break someone’s nose (for self defense purposes, of course) and Oliver, like, helps Vincent how to feel again. And stuff.Continue Reading …
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