Cold Souls
Metaphors often work for their ability to succinctly capture and elucidate a complex idea, employing more accessible terminology and concepts than their perhaps obscure counterparts for which they stand. Too stretch a metaphor to its logical conclusion might come across as tedious or, worse, a dead horse beating contest. The inquisitive conceit of Cold Souls is a rather simple one, yet it has far-reaching applications: what is the soul? Is the soul a physical entity? Is the soul itself a metaphor? Sophie Barthes asks these questions as she writes and directs this film, and in so doing, leaves few stones unturned. Witty, charming, and, above all, enlightening, Cold Souls is a film that asks hard questions with a smirk hiding in the corner of its mouth.
Paul Giamatti (Paul Giamatti) plays himself as himself. During rehearsals for Chekhov’s play Uncle Vanya, he finds that he can’t quite separate himself from the character, and he feels his life sinking further into a mire of hopelessness. To alleviate his pain, his agent recommends he consider having his soul removed. And he’s serious, too. So, taking his advice, Paul played by Paul as Paul goes to the Soul Storage Company to investigate this new technological wonder. After deciding to go through with it, he finds himself worse off than before. He returns to get his soul back – but there’s a problem: his soul has been stolen. And, with one of the best lines of the entire film, the contrived, thinly disguised plot really gets going: “What is my soul doing in Russia?!”
Giamatti, ironically enough, turns in what may be his best performance to date. His simplicity and honesty rival anything he’s accomplished heretofore. His character (himself) is an actor at odds with himself, and Giamatti brilliantly plays the role of a lifetime, what Camus called the role each person must play, what Stanislavski referred to as the most interesting thing in the world: himself. Emily Watson plays his wife (Red Dragon; Synecdoche, New York), a woman unable to understand fully her husband’s trauma, even after he reveals the truth. Ultimately, this story is a tale of questions, at turns tearfully inspired and guffaw-inducing funny, as Giamatti captures the essence of a man truly grappling with his own soul in a palpable, moving performance.
Like many teachers, this film never truly answers the questions that it asks. In fact, at times, it admits openly that it doesn’t know the answers. What happens to the soul after death? The doctor (played by David Strathairn) states unequivocally that he has absolutely no idea. What is the essence of a human being? Ultimately, what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? And, simply, who are we? These questions are ubiquitous, finding manifestations throughout every culture since we hopped up on our hind legs. A genuine, droll, and affecting film, Cold Souls explores these age-old inquiries with aplomb and poignance, under a new light, both literally and emblematic of something much larger than itself. And, in the end, we learn that, with all its deformities and imperfections, our soul, this unbearable lightness, is truly what makes life worth living.
Rating: 3.5/4 Stars