‘The Descendants’ ascends to dramatic heights

‘The Descendants’ ascends to dramatic heights Image

To Alexander Payne’s indelible portraits of men in crisis — Paul Giamatti’s divorced, unpublished author in “Sideways,” Jack Nicholson’s widowed, untethered retiree in “About Schmidt” and Matthew Broderick’s divorced, vengeful civics teacher in “Election” — add George Clooney’s about-to-be widowed real estate lawyer in the moving, darkly comic drama “The Descendants.”

That Matt King’s wife is in a coma is only one of his problems; he’s never been much of a father to his two daughters, 10-year-old Scottie (Amara Miller) and 17-year-old Alexandra (Shailene Woodley). The members of his large, wealthy family, descendants of a Hawaiian princess and a white banker, are selling off their last 25,000 acres of pristine Hawaiian land, weighing the bids while being cautioned about the environmental impact of yet another golf resort. And his grief is complicated by the revelation that his wife had an affair and was planning to leave him.

Matt may be king of this particular slice of paradise, but life goes on in Honolulu as it does everywhere; unlike his siblings, Matt insists on raising his family only on what he’s earned, and he hasn’t been on a surfboard in 15 years.

Now this self-described “back-up parent” must learn how to handle Scottie’s pre-pubertal curiosity and Alexandra’s obnoxious boyfriend (Nick Krause), not to mention his father-in-law (Robert Forster), who blames Matt’s stinginess for his daughter’s accident.

He must follow the dictates of his wife’s living will, alerting all that it’s time to say goodbye. And he will take his children on a mini-vacation to Kauai, to see the land that will no longer be theirs and track down his wife’s lover.

Unlike the protagonists of Payne’s earlier films, Matt is a man who, blessed with money and looks, has never had to try very hard. It’s a role close to the public’s perception of Clooney, who has aged into this performance with deep valleys under his eyes and deeper folds in his neck. His wry delivery and chilly remove suit the part well, as do those Hawaiian shirts tucked into his chinos.

Even Payne’s more unusual casting choices work, including Matthew Lillard playing it straight as the callow lover, and surfer Laird Hamilton as the man who may have been responsible for the accident.

The director’s sense of place is as unerring as ever, as is his barbed, rueful dialogue, here working for the first time with screenwriters Nat Faxon and Jim Rash (adapting the novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings). The parts tie together neatly, and the conflict resolves a bit too easily.

But “The Descendants” finds Payne, now 50, having arrived in midlife with a new maturity, eschewing solipsism and snickers for a deeper engagement with the world in which his men flail, buffeted by misfortune and seizing the day only when they’ve run out of other options.

(At the Barrywoods, Glenwood Arts, Palace, Studio 30.)

‘The Descendants’ ascends to dramatic heights