You Can Count On Me

An unassuming but intricate study of the relationship between a brother and sister who were orphaned early on in their lives, Kenneth Lonergan's directorial debut (he was the screenwriter of Analyse This, among other works) is such a winning combination of humour, pathos and ambiguity that it's hardly surprising such luminaries as Martin Scorsese were willing to play godfather to this small, independent project.

Sammy (Linney, in an Oscar-nominated performance) is a single mother and bank clerk, who fills her life with paperwork, churchgoing and empty sexual relations (''cause I feel sorry for them") in the small town she grew up in.

When her nomadic loser brother (Ruffalo) returns home after a lengthy absence, Sammy loosens up a little, but only a little. Enough, however, to commit such cardinal errors as fucking her boss (a thoroghly anal Broderick) whose reign of bureaucratic terror has forbidden the use of colour icons on computers, among other things.

You Can Count On Me is not quite, however, the simple family affair that its deceptive premise might suggest. Lonegan keeps on twisting the various personal persepectives, like an all-seeing benevolent family therapist. Ruffalo's character is an out-and-out loser, and even his nephew expresses surprise when he manages to pick him up from school - but it soon becomes clear that his prissy sis might be "as big a fuck-up as I ever was". The scenes featuring him and his nephew often beg the question of exactly who is the more spoilt brat of the pair, and it's precisely this paradoxical playfulness which makes You Can Count On Me such an endlessly entertaining multiple character study. Just don't expect any car-chases.