THE STORY – When a construction worker unexpectedly joins a local theater’s production of Romeo and Juliet, the drama onstage starts to mirror his own life.
THE CAST – Keith Kupferer, Dolly de Leon, Katherine May Kupferer, Tara Mallen, Hana Dworkin, Tommy Rivera-Vega, Alma Washington, H.B. Ward, Dexter Zollicoffer, Deanna Dunagan & Francis Guinan
THE TEAM – Kelly O’Sullivan (Director/Writer) & Alex Thompson (Director)
THE RUNNING TIME – 110 Minutes
Shakespeare’s “Romeo & Juliet” has probably inspired more subsequent stories than any other play ever written. The tale of star-crossed lovers whose double suicide ends their families’ years-long feud has captured the hearts and imaginations of audiences and artists for centuries, inspiring countless adaptations across genres. You’d be forgiven for thinking there was no new angle from which to look at the play, but “Ghostlight,” the new film from Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson, has found a way to incorporate it in a way that feels fresh, even inspired Through a community theater production of the play, a family learns to heal from a recent tragedy.
We first meet Dan (Keith Kupferer) as he raises the curtain on his daily routine. As a construction worker, a jackhammer, he lugs heavy loads of materials and directs traffic around the construction site, but he’s distracted. His daughter, Daisy (Katherine Mallen Kupferer), has been acting out at school in increasingly violent ways, and his wife, Sharon (Tara Mallen), is at the end of her rope taking care of both of them as well as the grade school students she teaches. The family has been reeling from a recent unnamed tragedy and has retreated into their own personal cocoons, living with each other but not listening to one other. One day, when the pressure of everything gets to Dan, and he loses his temper on the job, he catches the eye of Rita (Dolly De Leon), an actor with a local theater troupe who brings him into a rehearsal of “Romeo & Juliet” after the actor playing Capulet (Juliet’s father) quits. Despite supporting his daughter’s love of performing, Dan has never acted himself, and he doesn’t want to be there. He’s the kind of old-school guy who never expresses his emotions and doesn’t understand most of what’s happening. But he finds himself drawn back to the theater, and in the process of rehearsing the play and sharing with the group of oddballs that make up the cast, he opens himself up to feeling the emotions he has been repressing. As Daisy and Sharon eventually become involved, they start to heal as a family.
The speed with which the film unfurls the backstory of the family’s tragedy can feel agonizingly slow, but when the reveal comes, it hits home. Dan doesn’t know the story of “Romeo & Juliet,” and when it comes time to rehearse one of the key scenes, he breaks down. He does not understand why the characters do what they do, nor why anyone would write such a thing. Pushed to perform the scene anyway, he blows up and turns to face away from the rest of the ensemble and tells them his story. Slowly, one by one, they each silently approach and start hugging him, staying at his back so that he can feel their support without having to show his face. Their respect for his personal space combines with their support and love for him in a gesture so powerful in its simplicity that you cannot help but be moved. O’Sullivan and Thompson’s gracefully understated direction never over-embellishes the moment, keeping Quinn Tsan’s lovely score away from the most emotional moments. The directing duo strikes the exact right tone, letting the deep emotions speak for themselves.
Casting an actual family in the central roles only adds to the emotional authenticity of the film. The familial shorthand present between them transfers to the screen seamlessly, making the film’s communal spirit even more meaningful. Each family member performs in a different register – all the better to align with their different stages of grief – but they still feel like a unit, and each of them gives a wonderful performance. Mallen has the smallest role, but she adds dimension to every scene she’s in, revealing hidden layers to Sharon and Dan’s story with every reaction. Mallen Kupferer may feel a bit stiff and unbelievable in the earliest scenes with Daisy acting out. But as the character softens, the actress loosens up, blossoming into a natural performer before our very eyes. Daisy is the mouthpiece for the screenplay’s themes because of her experience with theater, and Mallen Kupferer makes a clear connection between Daisy’s strong sense of decency and the empathy she gains for others by playing other characters. As Dan, Kupferer performs with uncommon sensitivity, slowly breaking down Dan’s walls and rebuilding him from the ground up. Dan’s journey ends up about where one would expect, but the path he takes to get there bears some unexpected turns. Kupferer sells every single one, digging deep to find unexpected wells of strength and emotion for the character. Dan constantly surprises himself, and watching Kupferer chart his journey to acceptance is heartrending. It’s one of the year’s best performances so far, subtle and interior but beautifully modulated and hugely impactful.
Anyone who has participated in amateur theatricals – community theater groups, church plays, school shows – knows the indefatigable communal spirit that powers these often threadbare groups, how the community that forms when working on a show lifts one up and carries one when things go wrong. “Ghostlight” captures that spirit with great warmth and honesty – that group hug the ensemble gives to Dan is the most obvious example, but it is just one of many such beautifully rendered moments. The key is the empathy that lies at the heart of the craft of acting. In order to believably portray a character different from you, you have to put yourself in their shoes, understand what they’ve been through, and comprehend why they do what they do. O’Sullivan and Thompson have made that theater-based empathy the film’s North Star, the guiding force behind every artistic decision.
“Ghostlight” contains several emotional climaxes in the third act, as family history and play production become more deeply intertwined. The last one is the most muted, which sends the film out with a whisper instead of a bang, but it’s a choice perfectly in keeping with the film’s ethos, one that trades in grand gestures for smaller, more intimate ones and makes them land with maximum impact. Grief is a heavy load, and we all need a soft place to fall so that we can unburden ourselves of it. The theatrical community, so grounded in empathy and deep feeling, free of shame and judgment, is just such a place. “Ghostlight” stands as a powerful testament and soul-stirring tribute to that community and its power.
