Keanu Reeves Week: Thumbsucker (2005)

2 months ago

THUMBSUCKER, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Keanu Reeves

by Andrew Root

“Why are you talking like that?”

Pre-2005, Keanu Reeves was a joke to me. He was one of the only actors to whom I would not give a chance. I felt personally affronted when I found out that he had played Don John in 1993’s Much Ado About Nothing, a film based on a Shakespearean play, for god’s sake. Reeves is in constant danger from carpenters, he’s so wooden—how could he even attempt to interpret the words of the greatest writer of all time? He couldn’t. It was a foregone conclusion. Why bother seeing the movie at all? Ditto the rest of Reeves’ filmography. Why even invest the time if you know he’s just going to screw it all up? Ok, I saw The Matrix, but only because I was 16 and it was KICKASS, and I forgot he was in The Devil’s Advocate (while I was watching it). But apart from those… well, I’d seen 20 minutes of Bill & Ted when I was a kid, so what else did I—a self-affirmed film snob—need to know?

Along came Thumbsucker, the Mike Mills film based on the novel by Walter Kirn, starring Tilda Swinton, Vincent D’Onofrio, Vince Vaughn, Kelli Garner and Lou Taylor Pucci as Justin Cobb in (sadly) one of his only leading roles. And of course, Mr. “Cool Breeze Over the Mountains” Reeves as some kind of hippie, new-age dentist named Perry. The line from the trailer that convinced me to buy a ticket at the local second-run/art house theatre was Pucci’s. As Justin sits reclined in the dentist’s chair, Reeves—in his trademark low gear/terribly profound delivery—asks our protagonist if he is ready to let go of his thumb. In a response mined directly from my brain, Pucci says “Why are you talking like that?” HA! YES! EXACTLY! Someone else knows how ridiculous this guy is, and they tricked him into being in a movie about that very subject! A feather in my anti-Reeves cap if there ever was one!

“What’s your power animal?”

Sitting in the darkened theatre, I eagerly awaited my chance to mock the object of my ire. His first appearance gave me plenty to work with; the Navajo blanket in his office’s waiting room; the pan flute music being piped through the speakers; the driftwood coffee table; the wooden bead bracelet; the way he keeps his hand rested on Justin’s shoulder; the inexplicable abundance of wolf paintings; his “I haven’t seen a barber in years” hairstyle (full disclosure: at the time, neither had I). And then the scene draws to a close and—in what seems like a brief exchange of dentist/patient small talk—Perry asks if Justin’s father is still planning to enter the upcoming 6K race. “He seems very attached to the idea of winning… I don’t think he likes me always beating him,” he says. WAIT, WHAT?! That was an insight into character! HOW DARE YOU, REEVES? You’re out of your wheelhouse! You should stay where you’re better acquainted; the realm of monosyllabic incredulity!

Reeves only turns up in a handful of Thumbsucker’s other scenes; as I watched, I found myself irascibly liking Perry more and more. He’s deadpan hilarious in the hypnosis scene, displays a subtle brutality in the post office, and is charmingly dishevelled in his rundown, “depressing” strip-mall dentist’s office towards the end of the film. One of Thumbsucker’s major themes is the evolution of character, the inevitable changes we all experience as life passes us by; it is no surprise, then, that Perry also changes. Ostensibly quite comfortable in his nest of naturalism, Perry’s lupine-lined cocoon is not as secure as it seems. During a bike race, Justin and his little brother leap from the crowd, accosting Perry with blood- smeared pictures of wolves, and causing him to crash in more ways than one. The next time we see Perry, he’s cut his hair, obtained a tie and jacket, and sworn off the “hippie psychobabble” to which he had a full subscription the last time we saw him. He claims to have re-written his life philosophy, “found new answers to [his] questions.”

Could it be that this character is going through a complex (albeit off-screen) personal journey? Surely that’s not allowed for the bass guitarist from Dogstar! Yet Perry compellingly chugs along, his doctrines taking left turn after left turn. The massive crises he faces force him to redefine his isms, and he finally ends up in a dingy dental practice, smoking in the examination room and selling pragmatic nihilism as the only true path.

“I accepted myself in all my human disorder. You might want to do the same.”

There are parts that certain actors are born to play, and then there are parts which, without certain actors, just couldn’t exist. Perry Lyman, like olive oil infused with garlic, has the inherent aroma of Keanu Reeves. The two personas are inextricable. Any other actor would have just been—well, acting. But knowing what we know about Reeves’ C.V., his public face, and those endless(ly delighting) “Sad Keanu” memes, Reeves’ portrayal of an inward-looking, philosophically fluid dentist is deliciously layered, each strata playing with the ones above and below. Reeves’ blank stare actually reads as considerate introspection, his vacant delivery conveys the unmoored nature of his character, and… well, the guy delivers a substantial performance. I have to hand it to him. He creates a subtly realized character who faces a true existential crisis while serving as a counterpoint for the ever-changing protagonist, thus strengthening the themes of the film as a whole. Keanu Charles Reeves did that. Whoa.

Andrew Root tumbls here, and warns you against the Thumbsucker drinking game, in which you take a drink every time someone says “Justin.” You will be, in all likelihood, poisoned.