Other possible donees need more explanation and context. The boy is definitively innocent, and the pain Ben endures in order to donate his own marrow (a donation presented via his close-up grimace accompanied by loud moaning and a doctor’s admiring comment on his refusal of anesthetic) seems noble, even brave. (His quest is like the doubled-down version of Rock Hudson’s in Magnificent Obsession, only less convincing.) Some of these choices are obvious: certainly, as Ben looks across a hospital cafeteria at the thin, bald, bone-marrow-needing child Nicholas (Quintin Kelley), his desire to help seems sensible, or at least emotionally viable. His plot is basic, in its excessively melodramatic way: Ben, traumatized by a past event that is revealed in excruciatingly drawn-out bits during the film, seeks salvation in giving parts of his body to worthy recipients. ![]() Worse, it’s a problem the movie mostly ignores. And because you know nothing of these folks except what Ben tells them, you accept that his verdicts on their characters - whether or not they “deserve” the gifts he means to bestow - are sound. Rightly concerned that someone is coming at them with so much research, Ben’s interview subjects - Emily, like the blind Ezra (Woody Harrelson) and the spousal abuse victim Connie (Elpidia Carrillo) - resist and then submit. He approaches his subjects knowing everything about them - their incomes, their tax records, their legal problems. In each instance, he pulls out his IRS auditor’s credentials in order to gain access. Ben’s ability to move in and out of Emily’s life is at first creepy, then, as he appears to be hovering over other folks as well, even more insidious. Ben keeps his eye on Emily, later that night slipping into her room and hiding in a dark corner so he can see her sleep, fitfully, yes, but also beguilingly. He first spots her in a hospital, where she is looking frail and sad, shuffling in the hallway, her hospital gown offset by stylish fuzzy boots. The rest of the film is essentially a flashback (with other flashbacks folded within it) that explains how Ben came to this dire point, as well as how he came to meet Emily. The first scene has him tearful and aesthetically shadowed, informing a 911 operator that he wants to report a suicide - his own. Indeed, at film’s start, he appears as desperate and unglued as any of the individuals he watches. That’s not to say that Ben is godlike per se. The combination is most apparent in the judgmental gaze of Ben (Will Smith). ![]() Equally afflicted by an old-school weepies affect and new-agey self-righteousness, the movie is by turns clumsy and overbearing. This scene - the happiness followed by sadness and alarm - exemplifies the general rhythm of Seven Pounds: repeatedly, shots of pretty people in picturesque places give way to high drama, marked by worrisome music and that acrobatic eye-of-god perspective. As the camera pulls out and up, looking down on our fallen beauty, a tragic image designed to inspire simultaneous anxiety and sympathy, distance and intimacy. Just after Emily compliments her neighbor on a colorful garden, she gasps for breath, lets go of Duke’s leash, and collapses. ![]() For a moment, her exuberance and yours form a kind of perfect circle. ![]() sky above her is magnificently blue, her suburban street lined with green trees and pickety fences. As Duke galumphs and tugs eagerly at his leash, Dawson’s Emily smiles, her face radiant, her whole being given over to the majesty and pleasure of her dog. There will be no more glorious image on this season’s movie screens than Rosario Dawson walking a black-and-white spotted Great Dane.
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