The Dying Gaul

WorldFilm.about Review

I know just why I wanted to see "The Dying Gaul": Peter Saarsgard, Patricia Clarkson, Campbell Scott. Especially Scott, who directed the fine "Off The Map" and who always gives quality, nuanced performances. With every supporting role, Sarsgaard manages to steal the film -- and that's a lot of films: "Kinsey," "Garden State," "Shattered Glass" and "Jarhead" (also opening today.) Clarkson is having an amazing career resurgence ("Good Night and Good Luck"), a tremendous feat for an independent actress in her forties. She wears a white bikini for a greater part of "The Dying Gaul."

Campbell Scott, Patricia Clarkson and Peter Sarsgaard in "The Dying Gaul."

I have nothing flat out bad to say about any of the performances in Craig Lucas' overwrought drama, which screened to acclaim at Sundance and is adapted from his own play of the same name. The film's biggest flaw is its reliance on the computer. The entire plot hinges upon revelations made in a chat room. Hence in key scenes in "The Dying Gaul," Clarkson types feverishly into a computer far too old and clunky for the impossible sleek Los Angeles home she lives in. Sarsgaard, in contrast, is a laid back typist. Clarkson smiles as she types. She furrows her brow. She makes pensive faces. She hits the enter key with emphasis. Our reward: the constant, irritating bleep of the computer. I hate listening to that bleep at home on my own PC. I certainly don't want repeated computer bleeps in my movie-going experience.

Oh, and the plot. Sarsgaard plays Robert, an impoverished, grief-stricken and openly gay screenwriter whose script is bought by big time studio executive Jeffrey (Scott who is back in devilish Rodger Dodger mode). Jeffrey wants his new protegee to take the gay story line out of his screenplay; ironically enough, he also wants to have hot gay sex with the his gay protege. Bemused and out of his league, Robert obliges. Clarkson plays the bored but beautiful trophy wife. The woman feels left out; it's not enough for her to parade in her unbelievably stunning home in her bathing suit. She wants emotion. She wants truth. Under a variety of pseudonyms, she meets Robert in a chat room and manages to convince the already much manipulated screenwriter that he is chatting with his dead lover. You got that? With a couple of well written sentences, you can drive a sensitive screenwriter positively mad. The Steve Reich music in the background adds to the effect.

Given the ominous title of both the film and the screenplay-within-the-film, chances seem good that someone will die. Who is the gaul? Some suspense is created. Someone has to die. The stunning swimming pool in "The Dying Gaul" is certainly to die for.

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