The words and sentiments in the best pop movies are singular and salutary, and, knowing that, makers of movie dialogue often reduce heart and hope to trailer-ready phrases. Yet the nerve and fortitude of his characters' struggle to be good and kind and, well, happy, lets me disremember that particular barnacle on the zeitgeist. It sounds enough to make you wince and gag at once. Ugly souls and bad men are joyful to describe or for actors to play, a sweet sin to write about.
Happiness writes white, goes the phrase.
And so is Cameron Crowe. Fugit's performance, a charming and truly inspired one, seems to channel the wiles of a young writer. Fugit has a way of swallowing lines but still making himself crystal clear. His large eyes, following the ways of this world he has only known through records, brim with curiosity but also the necessary discernment, even judgment, of the born scrivener. Then there are their phone calls late at night, William seeking the light, Lester offering sage, heavy-voiced brilliance about the ways of rock and, more importantly, the ways of rock musicians, the two chatting as if they are the only two people awake on Earth at that very moment.