Avalon

“You cut the turkey?”

After Casino and Aliens went on the short wait list from Netflix, I received the bailout from my film swap partner because he suggested a generational take on immigration, family deterioration, and the growth of technology. It is clear from that base synopsis that the hordes of Netflix patrons won’t be yammering for this one anytime soon, right? Yet Barry Levinson’s Avalon (1990) completes his Baltimore trilogy (the other two are still sight unseen by me) in fine fashion, relying on a film that emphasizes memory, the mobility of class – as well as the injurious gossip that sweeps headlong through the family as a result of that mobility – and the loyalty to one’s immediate family long after one’s entirely conscious of the loyalty.

If all of this sounds like your typical PG romp through U.S. history, it’s not. Levinson crafts the story so that it becomes localized around a single Russian family, the Krichinskys, rather than serving as a universal outline for the immigrant experience. Most of our narrator Sam Krichinsky (Armin Mueller-Stahl) tales are even tolerated but not really listened by the family, so dependent are the stories on repetition that the family has largely tired of the same old chronicles at Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. Moreover, memory has become so conflated in Sam’s mind that others are constantly reminding that this or that detail is wrong, superimposing the real memory over the initial flashback. This sort of fallibility deepens the narrative and exposes the narrativization of history as a flawed enterprise.

When the film shifts its focus from Sam onto his son, Jules (Aidan Quinn), the film starts to lose a little steam, becoming a checklist of the typical move toward suburbia with the retrospectively droll statements about why anyone would want to live in suburbia. Yet freshness still exists for the film, as it legitimately tackles issues of naming, immigrant experience, and identification. The sadness Sam feels at seeing Jules take the name Kaye over the Krichinsky family name possesses a power that is unexpected, revealing how much of a quality director Levinson is when he cares about his material (*cough* Sphere *cough*).

As earlier stated, the film starts to conform to the upward mobility story in the second act, detailing how Jules’ financial success threatens to tear apart the family, especially once family traditions are neglected in favor of pleasing the youth, leading to the ultimate laugh in the film as the perpetually late brother of Sam arrives… after they’ve already cut the turkey. The disgrace and humiliation felt at such disregard for waiting until everyone’s there soon splinters the family, but with the effects of technology and TV breaking out, such change is expected.

Where the film loses its momentum a bit is in its focus on Jules’ son, Michael (Elijah Wood). We are asked to believe Michael, or any child, is dumb enough to think lighting model airplanes on fire in the basement warehouses full of wood, cardboard, and hay is a bright idea. Moreover, the conclusion of the warehouse fire scene is a bit too heavy-handed and easy, allowing the mechanisms of the plot to be overtly emphasized.

When the film remains on Jules and Sam, though, the immersion of detail is realized and allows Levinson to chronicle a time-tested story in a visually luscious way, full of wonder and excitement. Actually, I cannot remember the last time a PG film was so affecting in its honest celebration of the human spirit. And while the finale of the film circles back upon itself a bit too carefully, it’s nonetheless a beautiful moment, articulating all the possibility that we hope America offers.

Avalon: 8.5/10