The Station Agent: Why aren't all librarians this forward?

So many independent films with small budgets and shooting schedules set out to be whimsical in their deep sadness, and poignant in their subtle quirks. They try to create characters that bounce off each other with an awkward profundity that endears us to the tiny budget. Unfortunately, this often results in a lot of silence that says nothing. In an attempt to make us understand that a lot is happening, nothing happens.

What a relief, then, that The Station Agent avoids all these failings, and somehow, while living up to the small-budget-indy-comedy-drama stereotypes, it avoids them. I have a theory that it's the actors. When the aforementioned "so many independent films" try to leave all story to subtext (cuz putting in just normal text costs money), it's up to the actors to perform that subtext. If they cannot, then the long shots of uncomfortable faces, and the quasi-improvisational dialogue falls flat on it's ass. We end up feeling like we're watching a high school video project.

Peter Dinklage is the man. He sits there and carries these facial expressions that say so much. The way an aged actor like Jack Nicholson or Brian Cox or Angelica Houston can sit perfectly still and silent, yet communicate a sea of emotion. It's overwhelming to witness. These actors make us feel each emotion, but, of course, we aren't totally aware of the most of them. It reminds me of those moments... You know when you're following some thought-path, this way and that, with one idea or memory reminding yourself of, or guiding yourself to, the next... And at some point you reach a conclusion, and you return to the real world, but there's some sort of lingering emotion... or--even more subtle--some hint of an emotion. You feel ill at ease, and you can't be sure why... I always try to take the time to backtrack the thought process, and figure out why I feel the unexpected way. Usually, it turns out that while I sped down the proverbial thought-path, I passed some mental turn-off, or chose some branch that brushed past an emotional memory. Let's say I hear a song, and I think about the song, and what it means to me. I go through all the memorable times I listened to it, or it played in the background, and it's a fun little exercise. Some might say it's a little masterbatory, but there we are. In any case, as I move on to some other thing, I realize I'm feeling wistful about something. But I can't pinpoint what. So, I step back through the list of memories, until I realize that one of those song-memories involved an ex-girlfriend (for instance), and that ex brings up a lot of wistfulness. Possibly the ever-dreaded "unresolved emotions". I stand there, letting the half-triggered feelings-bomb run down me, and then I move on.

And that's what good acting is like. The faces and voices and movement of these wonderful people, these modern-day jesters, play in front of us, and trigger personal emotions, and experiences. After a scene is over, we may shift uncomfortably in our seats, because we are left with a small lost of emotions and thoughts. The depth of which we are barely aware.

That's what this film was like. And certainly, it had it's misfires and it's confusions (like the thing in the end with the train, and the smash-cut to the next day? What, exactly happened? Or better to ask: why didn't the director let us know what happened?). But with so much honest interplay, there was little to take away but respect and appreciation. So thank you.