A slow, melancholy meditation on mortality, loneliness and community, it’s hard to imagine a more poignant role for Harry Dean Stanton, who died two weeks before Lucky’s US release. In John Carroll Lynch’s drama, Stanton gives the most substantial performance of his career since Paris, Texas, showing that decades on, he retained all of the same depth and emotion.
Stanton plays the titular character, the moniker a nickname from his long-ago Navy days. A real photo of the actor in his muscular, uniformed youth harks back to that period, but nowadays, both Lucky and his life are different. A slow-moving and slight old man whose routine is defined by familiarity and limits, he starts his days with gentle calisthenics and a cigarette, before buying exactly one day’s groceries at the local store. He then moseys along to his local bar, where his cantankerous nature is indulged by the townspeople.
Lucky’s mind is still sharp – he’s stubborn and bright, tackling crossword puzzles and discussing topics like truth and realism – both of which become important themes in his life. After a fall, he begins to confront his age and mortality, and his concerned neighbours try to make this independent loner accept their help and companionship.
The affection the film feels for the actor is echoed by the affection the townsfolk feel for the gruff but still compassionate Lucky, as an incredible array of older actors (David Lynch, Ed Begley Jr., Tom Skerrit, Beth Grant) gather around him to argue, bicker and act like the found family they are. A lovely tribute.