A primary aspect of Nick's character is his alcoholism, and its portrayal is one aspect of the film that I found particularly interesting. Alcohol/alcoholism is a heavily used motif in Carver's work, and it is an affliction which frequently debilitates his various characters (as it famously did to the author himself). I found that Dan Rush (the Director) really captured the sense of Nick's dependence on alcohol, and not in the charged (and comic) scene where he demands credit from a mini-mart worker, but in invariably more discreet ways. 'Nick' is rarely without a can of beer in his hand; as he drives home from work, as he sorts his belongings, or as he engages with other characters - but the beer is never the focal point. As in Carver's stories, the alcohol abuse is continuous, constant, yet subtle - ingrained into the characters being rather than being an exaggerated action. Ferrell's supping of beer is exercised with the fluidity of breathing, the can almost an integrated part of his body rather than a prop. Here Rush has communicated cinematically what Carver communicates in his writing - the naturalness of alcoholism. Despite the occasional stereotypical alcoholic outbursts, the abuse remains discreet and as a result is paradoxically suggestive and apparent.
Another element of the film I enjoyed, although it is not fully explored in 'Why Don't You Dance?', is the desperation and sadness of the character of Nick Halsey. I have only ever seen Will Ferrell in farcical comedy roles before, and I have to admit I questioned his ability to convey sufficient seriousness for this role. Yet I was pleasantly surprised. Ferrell is a brilliant actor, and he convincingly conveys an impression of Halsey's utter isolation. For a main portion of the film we see Halsey struggling to hold his own and predominantly looking from the outside inwards; he gets woken by sprinklers, he struggles to cycle with his shopping, he has his Slurpee knocked over, he has his car driven away. All these moments are bittersweet snapshots of everyday life. They are funny yes, but simultaneously sad - there is an overwhelming sense that Nick is completely alone in these situations, and at the mercy of the power of others, unable to confront the problems which face him. These moments are additionally evocative because of their overwhelming and uncanny normality; these things can, and do, happen to us. In that sense we could be one spilled drink away from Nick Halsey; one disaster away from the rapid spiral that results in the impromptu sale of your life's work and possessions. Although Carver does not provide us with all this back-story in his story, it does not feel like an offense or an overstep, the lonesomeness and isolation Rush communicates seems befitting to Carver's style, and to the character of Halsey.
Now, I fully appreciate that film cannot fully imitate literature - particularly when Carver gives you so little to go on - but Rush gives us the back-story we never really ask for. The beauty of Carver's stories are their shortness, their succinctness, and most importantly - what they don't say. In 'Why Don't You Dance?' there is no 'Nick Halsey', no 'Kenny', no 'Catherine.' There is no lost job, no lost car, no new neighbor, no friendly kid, no betraying friend. Yes, understandably, these elements are necessary to pad out the story and give it weight - yet the specificness of a name, a place, a history destroys the intrigue originally found in 'Why Don't You Dance?'. In Carver's story the protagonist is interesting because he is so non-descript, so unexplained, and because his actions (namely setting up on the lawn and selling his possessions as if this were normal) defy all reasonable logical and social etiquette. If you give him a reason for being on the lawn and a reason for selling his stuff, he becomes another rational, pragmatic human being - and that is certainly not what Carver's characters are.
Despite my criticism of the film, I did enjoy it. Yet I don't think it can warrant that it is based on 'Why Don't You Dance?'. What I was waiting for, throughout the entire film, was for someone (anyone) to dance. The most engrossing moment in Carver's story is when the young couple, coerced by the man, do actually dance. It is a paradoxical moment of lightness combined with immense tension. The man gives the couple a taste of alcohol - the alcohol that debilitated him can momentarily free them, it can give them joy and release their inhibitions , a quality that he himself has become immune to. In the story the man also dances with the girl, and all Carver's focus is on the human contact between them; 'he felt her breath on his neck', 'she pushed her face into the man's shoulder'. A gap is bridged, he is lifted, he can dance. In the film we miss these two successive, profound moments - we miss the moment where perhaps the man could go back and take the place of the boy, where he could dance. When Nick shares a hug with Samantha at the end of the film, there is the tantalizing possibility that they could dance - but they do not. Perhaps this withheld dancing is an intentional deprivation on Rush's part, sparked by a worry of being too literal with Carver's story. Or perhaps, Rush uses the moment to thwart the audience's epistempohilia - the hug showing a degree of human contact that is similar, but not the same, as the dance that we anticipate. Whatever motivates Rush's exclusion of the dancing scene it is, for me, a flaw. Carver's stories delight in ephemeral, miraculous moments of human contact overcoming the incapacity of self-imposed exile. If you add too many of those moments, you upset the tenuous equilibrium between hopelessness and hope - risking sentimentalization of Carver's work. However, if you remove or intrinsically modify those crucial moments (as Rush has done) you eradicate the glint of salvation that shines amidst the desolation of Carver's writing. I'm afraid a hug just doesn't cut it, I wanted them to dance...why didn't they dance?.
As I often find with films, they do not live up to the literature upon which they were based. However, despite its flaws, 'Everything Must Go' still resounded very strongly with me. Discovering it really was like finding a treasure in a yard-sale. Amongst the clutter of the in-your-face comedies and cliched romances I found this unheard of film which meant something to me.
