Assisted Living
Todd, the caretaker-janitor for the elderly in Elliot Greenebaum's confused comedy ''Assisted Living," brings his dirty clothes to wash at the nursing home where he works. He sneaks out in the middle of his shift to get stoned. He's rarely on time, and more than once a staffer has complained about his questionable work habits.
In an act that's poignantly funny and mean, Todd prank calls residents, pretending that he's some long-dead relative checking in from heaven, eager to report that there's sex and gardening in the afterlife. The old person on the other end of the line experiences bewilderment, elation, and serenity.
The elderly on-screen don't appear to be in on the joke, and that uncertainty pushes the movie into the realm of cruelty. But ''Assisted Living" isn't enough about any particular thing to arouse indignation. The film isn't about the hazardous Todd. It isn't about the long-faced residents and the neglect and loneliness they endure in these homes. At 77 minutes, it's a short sketch stretched to feature length.
Having filmed at actual assisted-living homes in Kentucky, Greenebaum certainly captures their atmosphere, showing us random snapshots of the facilities: residents playing pool, residents watching television, residents getting their hair done. They all look perfectly stultified, and the movie seems both depressed and quietly amused by the community of wizened, mortal faces it's found.
By aspiring to be a fly on the wall at a residential institution, Greenebaum's movie reminded me of one of Frederick Wiseman's masterpieces, 1967's ''Titicut Follies," which exposed abuses perpetrated on mentally ill convicts at a state prison. Greenebaum, though, isn't remotely as content to sit and watch, and he realizes the movie needs to do something, so there's an awkward relationship between Todd and Mrs. Pearlman (Maggie Riley), a resident whose Alzheimer's leaves her with memories of Australia and the absentee son who might live there now. In her delusion, she thinks Todd is her boy. He pulls his crank-call gag on her, and she's left further deranged.
Michael Bonsignore's glassy-eyed acting makes Todd seem vaguely aware of his transgressive behavior, but the character is likely too bored, too stoned, or too depressed to stop himself. Beyond that the movie is uncertain what it wants to do and say. So it tries a little of everything. A third of the film is done as a pseudo-documentary, in which the home's staff rambles on in the faux off-the-cuff manner of ''The Office." And there are too many unnecessary scenes of the facility's director (Clint Vaught) on the phone trying to get his son to go to day camp.
The whimsy Greenebaum wants to construct can't match the terminal sadness that naturally takes over the film. Perhaps in accidental tribute to Todd, the whole thing feels half-baked.
Wesley Morris can be reached at wmorris@globe.com.
Video
