Review: Passion Fish

Passion fish, we're told in the film of the same name, need to be squeezed tightly between your fingers while you "think about somebody you want some lovin' from." One of the two women being schooled in that particular Cajun mythology replies, "I don't need it that bad!" and hands her little fish back, but her companion, permanently paralyzed from the waist down after being on the losing end of an auto-meets-body accident, quietly squeezes hers for all she's worth. That scene, understated, poignant and perfectly framed by the events that precede - and follow - it, epitomizes John Sayles' 1992 gem.

Passion Fish is a Litmus test for anyone who watches it, like so many of the movies of John Sayles. If you're hoping for gun battles, car chases, explosions, sitcom humour or characters whose every move you can predict within the first five minutes of meeting them, then you'd best keep looking. What Sayles delivers here is the story of two women, played impressively by Mary McDonnell (of Battlestar Galactica fame) and Alfre Woodard (from St. Elsewhere and many, many other movies and TV shows) who are both at turning points in their lives. (McDonnell earned an Academy Award nomination for her role here as May-Alice Culhane, while Sayles's original screenplay also grabbed an Oscar nomination.) The two of them are thrown together by circumstance, and theirs is an unlikely alliance right from the start... and indeed, right through the final scene of Passion Fish. After all, these are real people that Sayles is showing us for 2 hours, not cardboard cutouts.

At one point, while the two women and Louisiana tour guide Rennie (David Strathairn) are gliding through the Bayou in the dark of night, Woodard's fish-out-of-water character Chantelle, born and raised in Chicago, asks, "Now are we lost?" Rennie, who knows the waters of that part of the world better than he knows his own children, simply responds with, "No matter where you at, there you is." We're not hit over the head with the applicability of this message to the passengers of his boat, but it's also not lost on us. May-Alice is having to learn how to redefine her life within the bounds of a wheelchair, and her live-in nurse Chantelle has possibly lost everything - in the form of a secret so painful that she initially can't even bring herself to talk about it - thanks to some poor decisions made in her past. Each of them provides something that the other needs, whether it be nursing care or a steady income, but the real point of the movie seems to be that it's the friendship each can maybe offer the other that's really going to make the difference... if anything can. As May-Alice confides to another woman, "I almost feel like we could be friends... only there's so much garbage between us!"

One pair of scenes stands out for the beautiful symmetry that Sayles brings to them. The women head into town so that May-Alice can visit her physiotherapist for a session. On the drive there, May-Alice spots Rennie with his wife and kids, and is temporarily distracted by her own thoughts of longing toward the man who's captured her heart (and for whom she was so vigourously squeezing her passion fish earlier). Later, on the drive back home, it's Chantelle who's lost in reverie, recalling how she'd spent the "down time" in town with a local man named Sugar who's slowly won her over. She "don't need it that bad," indeed, because, unlike her employer, Chantelle is already getting "some lovin' from" who she needs. This is a beautifully-drawn parallel as only a master like Sayles could pull off without calling attention to itself.

The musical choices for the movie are as perfect as everything else about it, providing genuine Cajun flair to the proceedings at several points. That's just one of the trademarks of a John Sayles film, as his chameleon-like ability to take on the appearance of whatever setting he shoots in is once again on display. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this movie was made by someone from Louisiana, just like Lone Star had to come from the mind of a south Texan, Limbo from a long-time Alaskan, and so on, down through his filmography. That's part of the package that you get when you watch a John Sayles production, and it's one of the reasons I keep coming back, again and again.

If you get nothing else out of Passion Fish - and that's a highly unlikely prospect, I'd say - at least you'll learn why a certain fictional soap opera actress "didn't ask for the anal probe." That scene alone is worth the price of admission!

While not quite at the same level as Lone Star, Passion Fish is nevertheless a nearly-flawless example of engaging and endearing film-making.

Rating: ****