St. Vincent Reviews

Indie dramadies about softhearted curmudgeons befriending adorable, precocious moppets is a genre that produces more duds than gems. Case in point: St. Vincent, Bill Murray’s entry in that much-abused genre finds him saddled with babysitting a tween that feels like the embryonic version of Jason Schwartzman in Rushmore. Except writer/director/co-producer Theodore Melfi is no Wes Anderson, and St. Vincent is often left adrift tonally, cliché in narrative, and buoyed by strong performances from the three leads. Murray can do likeable prick in his sleep, it’s his default mode, but he still does strong work here. Melissa McCarthy gets little to do, but she does manage to nail the tricky balance between drama, comedy, and barely concealed resentment in a long freeform monologue detailing her harried working mother’s backstory. While Jaeden Lieberher gives an acting performance that manages to make a real character out of a series of quirks. Lieberher may have a strong, long-lasting career in front of him if he keeps delivering work as uniformly strong as he does here and in 2017’s IT: Chapter One. It’s just a damn shame that St. Vincent gives into such schmaltz and obvious emotional pandering instead of sticking to the pricklier terrain its three characters often find themselves in.