SUNSHINE CLEANING
Directed by Christine Jeffs
Produced by Jeb Brody, Peter Saraf, Marc Turtletaub & Glenn Williamson
Written by Megan Holley
Released by Overture Films
USA. 102 min. Rated R
With Amy Adams, Emily Blunt, Alan Arkin, Jason Spevack, Steve Zahn, Mary Lynn Rajskub & Clifton Collins Jr.
 

There are many reasons to compare Sunshine Cleaning with Little Miss Sunshine. Both smack the word “sunshine” in their titles with irony. Both movies star Alan Arkin as a dreamy curmudgeon who annoys his children and inspires his grandchildren. Both are considered “little independent movies that could,” which probably can be credited to the producers who oversaw both films. They’re also cheery with winsome losers. Depressed at their seeming inability to succeed at life, their characters learn to keep their quirks, and to let go of negative tendencies before the climax.

Rose (Amy Adams) is a maid who hasn’t really found a profitable skill since cheerleading—except maintaining a long-term sexual relationship with her high-school boyfriend (Steve Zahn), who is married to another ex-cheerleader. Rather than pay child support for his secret son, he foots the bill for Rose’s real-estate classes. We’re introduced to Rose just when this starts to bother her.

Rose’s sister, Norah (Emily Blunt), is unemployed, sad, and quirky. She’s sad because her mother killed herself when Norah was a child. She’s quirky and unemployed because she’s sad. (Every 15 minutes or so, we see the same slow-motion flashback of her and Rose circling a sprinkler as children.) Emily Blunt tries hard to give life to Norah, but her overcompensation makes Norah too lively and upbeat to inspire sympathy for someone who’s supposed to be depressed.

In the film’s first five minutes, Rose’s married boyfriend suggests that she start a business cleaning crime scenes. So she starts Sunshine Cleaning with Norah less than 10 minutes later, and the two turn an immediate profit. For characters overwhelmed by stagnancy, there doesn’t seem to be any difficulty in effecting such a pervasive sea change in their lives. This is where Little Miss Sunshine starts to win the competition. Forget sympathy; it’s difficult to even empathize with the sisters, who are too winning to be losers. Their personalities and circumstances don’t match what the script predicates audiences to feel.

We want to suffer—preferably with conflict and climactic tension, and then rejoice. That’s why Little Miss Sunshine worked. Instead, we start by rejoicing in the sisters’ ambition. Then we’re asked to continue rejoicing as the newly self-improved Rose and Norah remain at the same level of enlightenment for the next hour. And then we’re supposed to commence emphatic rejoicing when a surprise deus ex machina returns us to the exact circumstances of the film’s outset. It doesn’t work.

Amy Adams and Emily Blunt do what they can with their roles, but it’s Mary Lynn Rajskub as a minor character, Lynn, who flowers in the spotlight. Rajskub, who also appeared in Little Miss Sunshine, plays a woman caught in Norah’s maternal fixation who is awkwardly offbeat, but still capable of functioning and enjoying life—an underdeveloped character, but played with a suggestion of depth thanks to an insightful performance. Zachary Jones
March 13, 2009