Surviving a Velvet Morning

In playwright Neil LaBute’s film, Some Velvet Morning, Stanley Tucci is hardly thinking about becoming the next pope. Instead, in this chamber piece from 2013, Tucci’s hot on the trail of an enigmatic young woman who may or may not be named Velvet. LaBute himself personally suggested that I watch this flick, based on my appreciation for an earlier LaBute cinematic work, The Shape of Things. Now that I’ve seen Some Velvet Morning, I can understand why it has divided critics and audiences, even those of the film-festival-going variety. Yes, the writer/director displays in this film his usual mastery of dialogue and his gift for ambiguous characterizations, but I can understand how some moviegoers have come away from it annoyed and even offended. Still, I found it, when all was said and done, genuinely bracing.

 Part of the challenge of Some Velvet Morning comes from the audience’s need to figure out just what is going on. We start with a languid young woman in a bright red minidress stretched out on a sofa in an oh-so-pristine townhouse. Then a well-dressed older gentleman carrying quite a lot of luggage rings her doorbell, and the film kicks into action. These two apparently know each other, though there’s been a long absence, and the viewer is tasked with figuring out exactly what exists between them.

 Perhaps the most instructive moment occurs at the end of the credit sequence, when five words appear on the screen: For August Strindberg, with Love. LaBute, a serious student of classic drama, was clearly influenced on this project by the 19^th century Swedish author of intimate plays like Miss Julie, in which the battle of the sexes plays out with dramatic ferocity. As always, LaBute’s screenwork here feels much like a stage play, with sharply articulated dialogue briskly moving the action forward. But there’s also the vividly cinematic use of the full townhouse set, including steep staircases and well-decorated nooks and crannies to add some visual reality to the story’s twists and turns. 

 Watching the plot unfold, I was struck anew by Tucci’s talent for naturalistic performance. Whatever his mood at any given moment, he’s totally credible, even when lashing out with lightning speed. In both his character’s neediness and his anger, he seems completely real. His opposite number, Alice Eve, was unknown to me. As she changed moods and approaches to the man at the door, I sensed there was something histrionic about her, in contrast to Tucci’s more internalized performance. In time, though, I questioned my own earlier judgment. That’s what this film does to you.

 I won’t go into where it all leads. But at the end of this relatively short film (all of 82 minutes), the viewer should acknowledge having been on quite a journey, one whose conclusion he or she had not quite anticipated. (It’s hardly surprising to me that not everyone is pleased with this outcome.)

 I should add that the film’s curious title was apparently borrowed from a Lee Hazlewood song from 1967, best known from a recording in which he duets with Nancy Sinatra on her “Movin’ with Nancy” album. One critic said at the time, “’Some Velvet Morning’ sounds like two songs spliced together by a madman, or an avant-garde short film in song form.” Its lyrics are famously enigmatic, having puzzled critics and fans for generations. Hazelwood has confirmed that in writing the song he was thinking about classical Greek mythology, and particularly with the beautiful but dangerous Phaedra, whose love life was certainly complicated. Does the song help explain LaBute’s story? Well, maybe, or maybe not.