Mouse

Grief is undeniably an emotion that’s difficult to depict well cinematically. The feelings run so deep that they’re hard to capture authentically and sensitively. And, because of this, movies dealing with this subject often get a pass when they’re being assessed. Indeed, no one wants to be disrespectful toward vehicles attempting to get a handle on these feelings, and that’s truly understandable. But what if a picture seeking to accomplish this comes up short on its mission? Are those offerings genuinely fair game for evaluation on their artistic merits? That would seem to be a fair question and a legitimate undertaking as long as it’s done sincerely and without callousness. I raise that matter, because, in my estimation, it would seem to apply to this latest release from the directing duo of Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson. While the tragedy and sadness depicted in this drama of coming to terms with grief are indeed palpable at times, the film overall doesn’t do the kind of justice to its core subject that it truly deserves. In 2002, high school students and besties Minnie Dunn (Katherine Mallen Kupferer) and Callie Bell (Chloe Coleman) look forward to starting their senior year at North Little Rock High School. Minnie is shy and somewhat geeky, coming from a dysfunctional blue collar home headed by her single mother, Barbara (Tara Mallen). By contrast, Callie is bubbly, effervescent, charismatic and talented, looking forward to a future as an actress, in an upscale home headed by her parents Mark (Christopher R. Ellis) and Helen (Sophie Okonedo), her tough but loving mentor. Callie constantly tries to bolster the confidence and self-esteem of her more reserved friend, especially in the acting class in which they’re enrolled under their caring teacher, Mr. Murdaugh (David Hyde Pierce). It’s a task at which Callie achieves mixed success, but the bond between the two pals is certainly unmistakable. However, that connection is shattered when Callie dies in a traffic accident, leaving Minnie adrift on her own. The same can be said for Helen, who is suddenly left without her only child. Together, the two try to pick up the pieces and carry on without the lynchpin who brought them together in the first place. But what roles will they assume in one another’s lives now that they enter uncharted territory? That’s what this film seeks to explore. However, while the intention here is undoubtedly a noble one, the execution doesn’t seem to be up to the task at hand. The narrative is loaded with a great deal of underdeveloped story threads and uninteresting incidental material, both of which often feel like their incorporation has been included to either help fill out the runtime or simply because the film doesn’t have a clear idea where it wants to go. Granted, that kind of uncertainty is often present in grief-related scenarios, but, without a more definitive sense of direction, these elements don’t add much to the overall story flow. And attempts at explaining away this underwhelming material as “nuance” is not a satisfying justification for a lack of more engaging, heartfelt, meaningful material. To its credit, the film features a stellar performance by Okonedo (especially in a particularly moving scene between the two mothers), but she’s clearly a better actress than the material for which she has been given. “Mouse” is ultimately a disappointment when it comes to addressing its subject matter, especially for viewers in comparable circumstances who might have benefitted from the kind of wisdom a picture like this should impart. And, in a time of loss, that’s knowledge that could help provide the healing balm that’s needed most but that is noticeably lacking here.