‘I CAN ONLY IMAGINE’
PG 1:50
How do you go about forgiving a monster?
“I Can Only Imagine” tiptoes around that difficult question in this song-inspired biopic. Behind the lyrics of the Christian crossover pop hit, there’s a story of complex grief, illness, child abuse and a great deal of sadness spurned by broken people in a broken home. This faith-based movie only scratches at such difficult details in exchange for something lighter and more inspirational.
Directing team Andrew and Jon Erwin made a choice to pursue a story that’s more “Rudy” than “Friday Night Lights.” When you’re aiming to make a PG-rated drama, it makes sense to hinge a movie on the song’s uplifting sentiment. “I Can Only Imagine” already has a successful framework, and the brothers want you to leave the theater feeling better.
But MercyMe songwriter and frontman Bart Millard’s song and life story should sizzle with more emotional weight. Overcoming an abusive father (Dennis Quaid in ultra-mean mode) and an absent mother (briefly played here by Tanya Clarke) led to the creation of a song that’d break into mainstream notoriety and gain him the opportunity to motivate a planet’s worth of people looking for comfort in their own arduous times.
I was conflicted when I walked out of the Oklahomashot movie, which too neatly unravels Millard’s youthful years in Texas and rocky teenage years touring on the road before writing the film’s title track. It’s like a “Walk the Line” watered down for the family-friendly crowd.
But singer and actor J. Michael Finley brings no shortage of enthusiasm to the starring role. He handles the emotional highs and lows of Millard as if he were ready to bring the story to Broadway. He’ll make you believe just how much one person can love music.
It’s also a somewhat self-important character — nearly every conversation and scene revolves around Bart — which is a lot of narrative weight to shoulder. The character struggles to find his place in the music industry while blighting his dark past. His reluctant manager Brickell — songwriter Trace Adkins, who’s always ready with fortune cookie wisdom — sees right through him and recognizes a hidden pain.
So, what’s surprising is how often the film stops short of saying — or showing — anything potentially upsetting or thought-provoking about the frustrations created by abuse. It seemed strange to me that the entire third act hinges on a performance of “I Can Only Imagine” when there’s so much left unsaid between Bart and his family. It’s a missed opportunity to remain so fluffy in the face of such an interesting origin story. It also speeds too quickly through the road of forgiveness.
Quaid’s transformation from tyrant to Southern Texas frittata chef is jarring. In one scene, the father figure bashes a plate over his son’s head after an argument. Not long after, the two are reunited and dad’s dishing out fancy eggs. Neither character expends much effort wrestling with the cost of redemption even though there’s a season’s worth of Oprah moments to hash out.
I think forgiveness can be simple and beautiful, but shouldn’t it be more of a struggle? This could’ve been a chance to explore humanity and instead veers toward boosting the song’s mythology.
The stakes could be so much higher, and “I Can Only Imagine” too often settles on serving comfort food. Filmed on a modest budget of $7 million, I see how it made the most within its limitations. It looks like a much more expensive movie than it is thanks to the sunset-soaked Okie cinematography, secular soundtrack and recognizable actors — all three things that are bit out of the ordinary for its genre.
To be fair, the movie never acts like it has all the answers. Rather, it’s an example of how one man found hope, forgiveness and redemption in the face of impossible odds. It’s not so much about how to forgive. Instead, it’s an advertisement for the profound aftermath of forgiveness.
I understand why that’s powerful, but how the characters in this film found so much grace is left to the imagination.
Starring: J. Michael Finley, Brody Rose, Dennis Quiad, Trace Adkins and Cloris Leachman. (Thematic elements including some violence)