There’s rarely a moment where the sun isn’t oppressively shining in writer-director Jeffrey Reiner’s Lake George. Tactfully captured by cinematographer Tod Campbell, it’s the kind of light that unveils the further it lingers on something, whether it’s beating against the asphalt of the SoCal highways or piercing through shabby hotel blinds. Lake George is a study of contrasts in this way, often opposing the illumination of the landscape with the inner wickedness and secrets of its flawed but earnest characters. Finding a way to harmonize its meditations and exciting moments, it shades its thrills with the existential musings one might get from a road trip movie. It’s all tied together by stellar turns from Shea Whigham and Carrie Coon, who color within the lines of familiar character archetypes but do so with adroit self-awareness and disarming style.
The film focuses on Whigham’s Don, an insurance adjuster released from prison after ten years and who is eager to turn his life around. As he phones his previous contacts, they either don’t pick up, refuse to help him, or he learns they’ve passed away. With no one left to turn to, he goes to the Armenian gangster Arman (Glenn Fleshler), for whom he did some white-collar crime. Arman owes Don $50,000 but taking advantage of Don’s desperation, Arman says he’ll only give him the money if he “takes care of” his girlfriend, Coon’s Phyllis, who Arman feels is getting too ambitious and cocky for her own good.
While Don finds and captures Phyllis, he quite literally can’t bring himself to pull the trigger. As he spirals, tortured that his opportunity to start a new life is hindered by his inability to commit an act of violence, Phyllis suggests that the two join forces to steal Arman’s money, which has been stashed throughout the region. Don begrudgingly accepts, and the two embark on a Robin Hood-inspired road trip, fueled by their common enemy.
Most of the film takes place on the road where Don and Phyllis bicker and bond between heists. It’s a delight to see Whigham and Coon interact, much of the humor and tension coming from seeing how they hold such radically different views on life but are saddled together through circumstance. Whigham has never been better here, unafraid to embody someone trying to remain in control even as they know they’re out of depth. There’s a chronic weariness he wears on his face, and we never know whether that masks a deeper strength or if he’ll simply let the overwhelming nature of his circumstances inhibit him from further action.
Coon compliments Whigham’s loud facial expressions by being a chameleon, adopting the skin of a damsel in distress only to then use docility as a cover to strike at a moment least expected. Coon’s character can switch between fear and annoyance to shrewdness within a breath, but there’s an undercurrent of confident resolve that courses throughout.
The way Whigham and Coon can flit between a variety of dynamics is also what keeps the film coursing with unexpected and cackling energy: is there romantic tension or do they have more of a sibling dynamic? Or perhaps could the older Don instead be viewing Phyllis through a paternal lens? Whigham and Coon operate at various registers and capture the ways that strangers can often know us in truer ways than our closest family and friends, as the high stakes the characters find themselves in reveals a deeper truth about oneself.
Just as the exposing sun contrasts with the hidden motives of the film’s characters, Reiner finds equal delight in mixing the macabre and comedic. This is perhaps no better exemplified than in a scene where Don and Phyllis try to stage a photo to make it seem like Don killed Phyllis. Between Don not figuring out how to get the camera settings to work to Phyllis being dissatisfied with the ratio of blood on her clothes, it’s a humorous sequence where the grandiose nature of one’s schemes clashes with the messy logistics of implementation; in the scene prior, we see Phyllis and Don grab supplies from an Ace Hardware store.
It’s the type of blatant brand marketing that I might have rolled my eyes at in another movie given how long the camera lingers on the store’s logo. But in the context of Lake George, it speaks to the normalcy and scrappiness of these characters and the desperation of what they’ll do to survive. Rene G. Boscio’s score also embodies these dualities, tender when it needs to be, but with just enough hints of discordance, as if it holds a knife beneath its warmth.
A mix of shocking violence, beautiful landscapes, and endearing performances, Lake George reminds us that sometimes, the people who see our truest selves are those strangers we’ve bonded with by a shared circumstance. Yet tucked between its on-screen perils is a message about the hope of redemption and fresh starts, no matter one’s past.
Summary
‘Lake George’ boasts shocking violence, beautiful landscapes, and endearing performances, particularly from Carrie Coon and Shea Whigham.
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