Still Alice

Still Alice is a film based on the novel by Lisa Genova, directed by Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland. It tells the story of a former linguistic teacher from Columbia, who is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at the age of fifty.

Alice’s family forms a rather stereotypically perfect American family portrait. Alice Howland (Julianne Moore), and John Howland (Alec Baldwin) have two exemplary children, Anna (Kate Bosworth), a lawyer, Tom (Hunter Parrish), a doctor, and the artistic rebellious daughter, Lydia, who longs to become an actress and is played by Kristen Stewart. They form a pleasant cast, very much in tune with one another. Alice is therefore surrounded by a supportive family, and the film mostly takes place at her home near the campus of Colombia in NYC, and in part at a vacation home near the beach. 

Aesthetically speaking, the film has nothing we haven’t already seen:  still establishing shots, several steady-cam movements, and anticipated shot-reaction-shots. The picture has a familiar brightness, and depth of field, which we have grown accustomed to seeing through the lenses of DSLR cameras. The film could have been made for television, as it definitely provokes the viewer and emphasizes the emotion through the build up of the music, and the linear narrative. However, those technical aspects do not take over the essence of the film. What remains central and real is how the film treats the subject of the disease.

The film is blunt in showing the development of the disease, and every single detail in the plot counts. From a Dove soap bottle found in the fridge to subtle hints of OCD on her phone, we understand that Alice is holding on to what she can, and the details of her life at home is all she has to hang on to.

Julianne Moore’s performance is outstandingly convincing in its subtlety. Her character is restrained and smart. She breaks down once or twice when she is diagnosed with the disease, but her character stays strong. She struggles to keep control, and adapts rather skillfully to her illness (an example that comes to mind is she uses her phone every day to practice her memory, and answers a list of questions she had written to herself at the earlier stage of the disease).

Alice’s actions are not heroically embellished, because the reality of the disease is impossible to control. Her character resists until the disease takes over. We see her vanish, and she regresses to a childlike behavior. 

Alice is “still Alice” physically, but mentally, she is disappearing: “I am not suffering, I am struggling, struggling to be a part of things, to stay connected to who I once was.” The film is not victimizing in any way, but the bottom line and tone of the film is pure sadness. Alice’s disease makes her unaware of who she is, and one cannot help but feel the deepest sense of pity for her. 

One of the scenes I am constantly drawn to as I recall the film, is when Alice is sitting on the couch. This is near the end of the film, and the state of her disease has become critical. Alice sits alone in her living room and stares into the dining room ahead . The shot focuses on her person through a medium wide shot of her. I remember the look of innocence in her gaze. The emptiness of the room surrounding her emphasizes her solitude.   

Her children and husband are conversing in the dining room opposite where Alice is sitting.  They speak of Alice in the third person, as if she weren’t there. They discuss placing her in an institution. The camera falls back on Alice, but this time at a greater distance from the previous shot of her. The angle is placed from the point of view of the children and the husband. Alice has a faint smile on her pale face, as if lost and confused. Her silhouette reminds us of a ghostlike figure floating in the distance.

I do not recall if the camera is in motion and pans closer into Alice at this point. If it does, the movement is discreet. The image of her sitting alone on the couch is photographed in my mind like a symbol of pure vulnerability and solitude. 

Alice is a person and given her past, she has built her identity.  Yet, she seems empty now, and void of that identity.

There is no use denying the truth: bring a box of tissues or a generous shoulder to cry on. However, once the tears have been shed, embrace the pain in your heart. Your life could be taken at any time, but your strength is your awareness. The London Evening Standard said the film “affirms life.” Take the tissues, venture through the film, and venture out. Alice repeats, “living the moment,” a message that should be taken to heart  by all of us out there, alive inside and out.