As young people say these days, Tyler Thomas Taormina’s “Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point” is a vibe. It’s more of a mood piece than a traditional narrative, capturing the surreal nature of family life in the American suburbs around the holidays. The lights, the noise, the laughter, the family squabbles – there’s something so distinct about that time of year when emotions are buoyed by the warmth of the season in a way that’s so powerful that you can almost feel the memories implanting as they’re happening. I have so many memories of Tallerico family Christmas parties, going as far back as when I was a kid in my great-grandmother’s basement, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a film that more deftly captures that feeling of chaotic comfort. Much like actually going to a big family party, it unfolds in spurts of conversation, Carson Lund’s camera sliding from person to person without a traditional driving narrative or even a central protagonist. And yet there are inferior versions of this film that feel like watching someone else’s home movies. The reason this one works is because it feels like watching mine.
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point” unfolds in and around a family gathering at a nice, average house in Long Island owned by the Balsanos. Through snippets of conversation, we learn that the matriarch of the family can’t take care of herself anymore, which has led to discussion of assisted living facilities, and has led to the selling of the home, which most family members are just learning about. This casts a shadow of finality over the whole film. Remember those aforementioned Tallerico Christmas parties? They don’t happen anymore. Homes were sold, some people moved out of state, others had families of their own and in-laws to see, etc. And there’s a palpable sense in “Miller’s Point,” set in 2006, that this was the last time these people would all gather on the 24th of December. Sure, there have been dinners and smaller groups since then, but it’s not what it once was. Something is fading away in this film, disappearing into memory.
What’s remarkable about Taormina’s approach is the tonal needle he threads as that memory fades. It’s that fine line between sincerity and sentimentality. There’s a refreshing lack of cynicism in his work, and yet it also never succumbs to the tropes of the maudlin holiday dramedy. One of the reasons for that is the natural, unforced nature of his cast and the writing around them. We feel like partygoers more than film watchers, going from seeing a few kids throwing food at the Christmas tree to checking in on the teenagers playing video games in the basement and then outside to a serious conversation about mom’s fate. It truly feels like while we overhear one interaction, others are happening all around the house.
My only real complaint is that I feel like Taormina’s grip on the balance and material is tighter in the house than when he follows a few of the teenagers around town into flirtations and interactions with a couple cops played by Gregg Turkington and Michael Cera. The authenticity remains – Taormina understands that playful unpredictability that emerges when a group of teenagers decides to leave the parents behind for a few hours – but these sequences feel a bit more artfully manufactured than the stuff at the house.
In the end, “Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point” is notable for what it avoids, never becoming the nostalgia-drenched sitcom version of a “better time” almost two decades ago. (He also wisely avoids needle drops of the era, using music skillfully, especially a wonderfully moving scene set to Frank Sinatra’s “A Garden in the Rain.”) It’s a deceptively complex piece of filmmaking, something that feels artfully executed and organic at the same time. It has so many layers, all of them covered in the emotions that erupt when we reconnect with our families.
