October 19, 1990 | Sam Krichinsky arrives in America in 1914, and makes it to Baltimore just in time for the Fourth of July. Dazzled by the celebratory bursts of fireworks, delighted by the bright promise of a new life in a land of plenty, he strides through the city streets with the self-confidant awe of Adam in paradise.
In search of his brothers, who left Russia years ahead of him, and who now live in a neighborhood called Avalon, Sam stops to speak with a passing stranger. Sam cannot help remarking on the stranger’s huge shoes. The stranger smiles, and explains: He is paid by rich men to break in their new shoes for them. Sam smiles, and shakes his head.
What a country!
Barry Levinson, the Oscar-winning director of Rain Man, returns to the autobiographical mode of his Diner and Tin Men with Avalon, a fond, full-bodied drama based on the experiences of his parents and grandparents in the brave new world of America. It is a story of anticipation and assimilation, traditions and disruptions, with the narrative sweep of an epic novel and the intimate detail of a family album. And by being so adamantly specific in its observations, it is all the more universal in its themes.
What a movie!
Avalon is nothing less than the immigrant experience in America, even as it offers nothing more than a nostalgic view of a single family. Sam (Armin Mueller-Stahl), a Russian-Jewish paperhanger modeled after Levinson’s real grandfather, never tires of remembering his first day in this extraordinary land. Thirty years after the fact, he continues to regale his grandchildren with the same story, despite the not-so-playful scolding of his tart-tongued wife, Eva (Joan Plowright), or the affectionate impatience of his grown son, Jules (Aidan Quinn).
Much of Avalon is given over to family gatherings in the ’40s and ’50s, like the Thanksgiving dinner that begins the movie in earnest. Once again, Sam speaks of his first glimpses of the New World, and, once again, Eva says, in effect, ”Enough, already!” The Baltimore row-house fills with members of the extended Krichinsky family — brothers, cousins, wives, husbands and children — and other family legends are repeated. But memory, Avalon will have us know, is at best an unreliable record. Sam remembers a fateful day as dark and wintery; another member of the clan corrects him: No, the day really was bright and summery.
Much, much later, Sam looks back in melancholy, and recalls visiting the old Avalon neighborhood. Hardly anything he remembers is still standing. If he had only known he would lose so much, Sam notes sadly, he would have taken the trouble to remember it better.
In sharp contrast, Levinson’s own recollections are razor-sharp. Avalon is so precise in its evocation of family ties and tensions, so attentive to the sound of real life in all its loving excess and messy explosions, it repeatedly resounds with the solid ring of truth.
At one point several years into this multigenerational story, there is a Thanksgiving dinner in the new suburban home of Sam and Eva. The children are restless, the grown-ups are hungry, and Sam, tired of waiting for his chronically tardy brother, Gabriel (Lou Jacobi), decides to carve the turkey.
Then Gabriel arrives and explodes.
”You might as well have stabbed me in the heart!” Gabriel cries, storming through the door and back to his car. Sam follows, apologizing and explaining, but Gabriel will hear none of this. Because, in Gabriel’s eyes, Sam has committed the unpardonable sins of breaking family tradition and failing to respect his older brother. The scene is both richly comical and immeasurably sad — and so terribly real.
At heart, Avalon is about the dissolution of the family, the drifting apart for reasons far more subtle and insidious than arguments over turkey carving. Sam and his brothers make their living in the new world of Baltimore as paperhangers, figuring their hard labor will lead to a better life for their children. ”It’s not important for you to know how to wallpaper,” Sam tells his young grandson, Michael (Elijah Wood), ”because you should never do this in your life.”
Jules and his cousin Izzy (Kevin Pollak) have big plans for taking the post-war world by storm: They invest their money into a store devoted to one exciting new product, television sets. Sam is skeptical, especially when Jules brings a TV home, and the only thing he can view is a test pattern. But the TV sets begin to sell, the family store expands to stock other appliances, and business gets even better. Jules can afford to move his wife, Ann (Elizabeth Perkins), their children and his parents to the suburbs, far away from the cramped row-house neighborhood.
Trouble is, family ties can stretch only so far. Just ask Gabriel, especially after his long drive to the Krichinsky home for Thanksgiving dinner. Or ask Sam, who’s shocked to learn Jules alters his last name, to make it sound more ”American.”
Television does more than provide Jules with his livelihood — it also interrupts, then supersedes communication in his household. During one of the most poignant moments, we see a Thanksgiving dinner served on small trays, for a much smaller family gathering, in front of a flickering TV screen. Along comes the Fourth of July, and Jules doesn’t have time to celebrate — the holiday is too good an excuse for a heavily promoted sale at his store.
Aidan Quinn tries hard to convey Jules’ restless ambition, but the character really calls for the aggressiveness of a young Richard Dreyfuss. (Say, the Richard Dreyfuss of The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz.) Still, Quinn is by no means unconvincing, and the rest of the cast is splendid.
Armin Mueller-Stahl, the remarkable German actor who almost single-handedly redeemed The Music Box, is deeply affecting as Sam, while Joan Plowright brings the perfect edge of abrasiveness to Eva, his no-nonsense wife. Elijah Wood is endearingly wide-eyed as Michael, a boy too easily impressed by the cliffhangers at his neighborhood moviehouse. Elizabeth Perkins is excellent, playing Ann with alternating currents of pent-up rage and supportive love.
Allen Daviau photographed the film, Norman Reynolds handled the production design, Gloria Gresham did the costumes and Randy Newman composed the music. Remember those names: You will be hearing them when Oscar nominations are announced early next year. Avalon is a film that brings out the very best in everyone.
