Bryan Cranston terrifically unlikeable in ‘Wakefield’
It’s not as if Bryan Cranston hasn’t played unlikable characters before.
Or is unlikable really an accurate description of Walter White, the chemistry-teacher-turned-meth-kingpin in “Breaking Bad,” one of the all-time great television performances? Cranston was, after all, able to retain just a speck of humanity for Walter. He did horrible, horrible things, but we still came back for more.
In “Wakefield,” Robin Swicord’s film, Cranston plays the title character, a man every bit as selfish, self-absorbed and self-justifying as Walter. The stakes aren’t the same — Howard Wakefield is a wealthy suburban dweller who moves into the attic above his family’s garage, walking away from his wife and daughters and life. Walter White killed people.
But compressed into one film, with far fewer compelling supporting characters, Wakefield the man is a tough sell. He takes a perverse delight in the consequences of his action, even as he tries to write everything off as a kind of well-deserved vacation from himself.
Yet once again, thanks to another terrific Cranston performance, we hang in there.
The film begins in Manhattan, with Wakefield leaving his law office and heading for the suburbs on the train. His wife calls; he declines it. A power outage forces the passengers to walk home, and
when he’s doing so Wakefield sees a raccoon rooting through his garbage. He chases the animal up to the attic above the free-standing garage, where he notices he can see into his house, see his wife Diana (Jennifer Garner) and daughters as they prepare for dinner.
So he watches. And keeps watching. Diana calls again. He declines the call again. He doesn’t leave. Hasn’t everyone thought about simply checking out of their lives, Wakefield asks in Cranston’s voiceover (that Swicord uses throughout)? Wakefield is certain of the answer. He’s just like everyone else, just bold enough to act on his impulse.
Only he isn’t. As Diana grows concerned and, over days, weeks and months mourns and starts to let go — at least that’s how we see it from Wakefield’s perspective — he reminisces on their lives and relationship.
This may be the most-selfish bigticket thing he’s done, but it’s hardly the first. The more we get to know Wakefield, the more self-centered he grows in our eyes. He seems successful — a beautiful wife, two daughters, a highpaying job, a terrific home — and yet the more he talks, the more we realize how unsatisfied he has become. In his mind, he didn’t earn all of this so much as he was owed it. Wakefield sneaks around at night, living out of garbage cans, including his own. His hair and beard grow unruly, and he has a lot in common with the obviously symbolic raccoon, who’s still hanging around.
Swicord based her script on a short story by E.L. Doctorow, who in turn was inspired by a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Perhaps Wakefield is correct in his assumption that he’s simply acting on a universal urge, or at least a long-standing one.
Again, though, the urge may be more common than people like to acknowledge, but acting on it is not. What’s more, Wakefield chuckles with delight at times as Diana suffers. Of course, he’s not so happy when she begins moving on with her life without him.
In Wakefield’s mind, naturally, there is no life without him. It’s to Cranston’s credit that, at least for a couple of hours, we’re willing to play along.