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Actor-turned-director Matthew Shear makes a promising feature debut with a vivid portrait of an unemployed actress and her nanny, both of whom feel as though they are drowning.
It is no exaggeration to say that Amanda Peet delivers the performance of a lifetime in *Fantasy Life*. There should likely be no confusion between the actress and the character she brings to life—Dianne: a former screen star, now in her fifties, who stopped landing roles a decade ago when the scripts she was offered simply didn't measure up. Yet, there is a wisdom and weariness about her that suggest Peet has seen a great deal of the world; it is even somewhat unsettling to realize that a similar span of time has passed since she herself last appeared on the big screen.
Her luminous return in this comedic drama—directed by Matthew Shear and centering on two people at a crossroads in life—reminds us just how much her interpretive boldness has been missed. Peet throws all vanity out the window to embody a walking bundle of anxieties, despite leading a rather comfortable life with homes in both New York and Martha’s Vineyard.
Presenting herself almost as a spectator of her own existence, it is fitting that Dianne does not make her appearance until about twenty minutes into Shear’s debut—at which point she gradually begins to take control of the narrative. Instead, *Fantasy Life* opens with Shear himself playing Sam, a timid tax attorney who discovers he has been fired from his job. A visit to his therapist, Fred (Judd Hirsch), reveals that Sam is grappling with other issues that can trigger paralyzing panic attacks at any moment; however, finding new employment will not be one of those problems, as Helen (Andrea Martin)—Fred’s wife and secretary—suggests he could work as a nanny for their son, David (a perfectly deadpan Alessandro Nivola), and David’s wife, Dianne.
With a rate of $300 for a night’s work, the pay might seem comparable to what he earned previously; however, beyond having to contend with a trio of highly unruly preteen sisters, Sam truly earns his keep by having to deal with the girls’ hapless parents. David seizes every opportunity to chase his dreams of becoming a rock star, clinging to a tour gig as part of the backing band for a Gov’t Mule member’s side project; meanwhile, Dianne can barely be coaxed out of bed in the mornings, feeling utterly incapable of accomplishing anything.
If David or Dianne possessed even a shred of the initiative that would be required of a less affluent family, they could undoubtedly find a better caregiver than Sam—who is barely capable of looking after himself. Yet, this ends up forging a bond between him and Dianne, as each sees a reflection of themselves in the other. Their struggles could easily be dismissed as "rich-people problems"—given the upper-class milieu they inhabit and the widespread lack of open dialogue regarding mental health issues like depression; nevertheless, Shear—a seasoned actor himself—ensures that both his own performance and Peet’s radiate a level of profound dissatisfaction that is undeniable, even if largely imperceptible to those around them.
Furthermore, he has assembled an extraordinary ensemble cast to strike every raw nerve in Sam and Dianne: Bob Balaban and Jessica Harper play her parents, joining forces with Hirsch and Martin—who portray David’s parents—to turn a summer stay on Martha’s Vineyard into anything but a vacation, especially after Sam is suspected of endangering the children during one of his panic attacks.
There are moments when the viewing experience can become a tad too comfortable for the audience: the general trajectory of *Fantasy Life* holds few major surprises, and the film is visually quite pleasing. However, the clean, crisp visual compositions—so in keeping with the luxurious lives portrayed therein—subtly guide the viewer's gaze toward the emotional turmoil that Sam and Dianne perceive when there is little else to observe.
Shear meticulously crafts both the staging and the reaction shots to demonstrate the impact that others can exert through their mere presence; this gives rise to a scene—set around the table during a family dinner—that proves alternately hilarious and devastating, and which possesses the vitality characteristic of live theater. Toward the end, the simple act of taking a seat at that table paves the way for a satisfying conclusion. When *Fantasy Life* fully embraces its subtle sense of humor and its sensitivity, it succeeds in opening its doors to everyone.
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