Straining as usual for an operatic grandeur that's wholly at odds with his natural filmmaking style, Xavier Dolan runs what might have been an intimate, affecting drama into the ground. The shrill theatrics he's so intent on forcing upon us don't arise organically from the material, nor from Dolan's innate instincts as a director; he must manufacture them out of stylistic touches that scrape away at an otherwise genuine tone of sweetness and empathy. The plainest method of sabotage employed by Dolan is the brash musical score by Gabriel Yared, which throttles every scene it plays over, not enhancing the on-screen action but running over it, like a dumper truck over a hedgehog. It's emblematic of Dolan's adolescent desire to embellish, to add yet more perspectives to his design, to doll it up until it resembles less an emotionally-charged, moving examination of secrets and lies, fear and guilt, than an episode of Dallas directed by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Dolan's own diva antics also make their attempt at overriding his better judgement, as Tom at the Farm mostly resembles a portrait of his pretty face, which saturates the screen for so long that it seems to lose all attraction by the film's end. And I've no doubt that that's entirely contrary to his intentions. As a film that deals so immediately and so openly with emotional content that is neither of those, not even the most determined of Dolan's pretensions can stymie the emotional growth herein, and it is afforded occasional moments to sing through and remind the viewer of what this story alone is capable of achieving. Dolan's delicate, self-conscious hand may never be benevolent enough to craft a full feature in such honest fashion, but it's that very delicacy that permits moments such as these to exist. He ought to trust in his more basic talents, rather than concern himself with elaborating and expanding them. A young, prolific and supported filmmaker, he's got many years to work on that.
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