Farewell to an actor both Lucky and great
Lucky
(out of 4) Starring Harry Dean Stanton, David Lynch, Beth Grant, James Darren, Hugo Armstrong, Barry Shabaka Henley and Yvonne Huff. Directed by John Carroll Lynch. Opens Friday at TIFF Bell Lightbox. 88 minutes. 14A What’s a five-letter word meaning “great performance”?
How about Lucky, which also happens to be the title of the directing debut of Fargo actor John Carroll Lynch. Fate has made this beautifully lensed personality study the last major onscreen role of actor Harry Dean Stanton, who died last month at age 91. It’s a fitting showcase and farewell for his natural ability to inhabit a character.
Stanton is the eponymous Lucky, a name dating back to his Second World War days as a Navy sailor. He resides in a western backwater where there seems to be as many cacti as people, and he has a daily routine.
It begins with calisthenics at home, done in his underwear to lively Spanish music, followed by coffee and a crossword puzzle at a diner. He rounds out the day with a “Bloody Maria” cocktail at a bar named Elaine’s.
He walks everywhere, easily spotted by his faded straw cowboy hat, and he always has a ready opinion — such as why he thinks the crossword answer “realism” is as much as a thing as a concept. When Lucky accidentally falls in his kitchen, the townsfolk fret about his health, but his doctor (Ed Begley Jr.) declares him to be “one tough son of a bitch.”
Lucky has a face that looks as if it wore out three bodies, but his mind remains lively and his personal interactions are quirkily endearing. One of his friends, played by his Twin Peaks director David Lynch, is searching for an escaped tortoise that goes by the name President Roosevelt.
People worry that Lucky smokes too many cigarettes, the American Spirit kind in the bright orange box — what, no Lucky Strikes? — but if they were going to kill him, they would have done so already.
“Nothin’s permanent,” he dryly observes, but Lucky, in his own low-key way, will prove to be not as laconic as he seems.
If all this doesn’t sound like much, it’s not, except for the fully realized performance by Stanton, who might as well be playing himself — and screenwriters Logan Sparks and Drago Sumonja did write the role just for him. They also included scenes where he demonstrates his genuine skills as a harmonica player and singer.
Stanton had a long career as a character player, with a noteworthy star turn in Paris, Texas, the 1984 Palme d’Or winner by Wim Wenders. Lucky quietly but persuasively makes the case that this most human of actors should have been used as a lead more often.