Paul Giamatti does a little soul searching in the thoughtful “Cold Souls”
Paul Giamatti, the lead character and star of “Cold Souls,” is miserable.
Deep into an off-Broadway production of “Uncle Vanya,” Anton Chekov’s most demanding play, he’s suffering from anxiety so intense it’s begun to manifest itself physically.
“I have this throb in my stomach. I have this pain in my chest like somebody put a vise around my heart and just … tightened it,” Giamatti complains to his clearly concerned director. He feels bogged down. Distracted. Distraught.
On the verge of an emotional breakdown, Giamatti spots an article in The New Yorker magazine about Soul Storage, a revolutionary new firm that extracts people’s souls — relieving them of the psychic baggage that so often burdens and limits human lives.
“It’s not an exact science,” cautions Dr. Flintstein (David Strathairn, “Good Night, and Good Luck”). Scientists don’t know much about the side effects of removing souls, and they still aren’t sure why souls tend to resemble chickpeas or grey, gritty lumps of coal.
One thing is certain, the doctor adds. “When you’ve gotten rid of the soul, everything makes so much more sense.”
The promise of a life without angst and indecision is what finally hooks Giamatti. From the moment he steps out of the soul extraction device, which resembles a spiffed-up MRI scanner, he feels different — lighter, less anxious, even a bit bored.
At home, he downs scotch and stares at his feet. At dinner with friends, Giamatti munches stick after stick of celery and casually recommends “pulling the plug” on a dying parent. His wife Claire (Emily Watson) is not amused.
Giamatti’s acting is also starting to suffer.
His tone-deaf delivery of one scene in “Uncle Vanya” resembles William Shatner doing a summer stock production of “Kiss Me Kate” — all over-enunciated lines and wild gesticulations. (Even at his most crazed, his eyes — known to poets the world over as the windows to the soul — are utterly blank.)
Realizing that remaining soulless could mean the end of his acting career and his marriage, Giamatti leases what he believes is the soul of a Russian poet. The gambit works. The play is a success.
But when”Uncle Vanya” is over and Giamatti goes to retrieve his inner essence from Soul Storage’s lockers, it’s gone. Stolen, actually.
With the help of Nina (Russian actress Dina Korzun), whose participation in the international soul trafficking trade is slowly killing her, Giamatti sets out in search of his soul.
Writer-director Sophie Barthes (“Happiness”), treats her dead-serious subject matter with a touch of whimsy.
There are meditative, even dreamy, moments as characters stroll the banks of a frozen Russian river or doze off in lonely hotel rooms. In one surreal sequence, our protagonist delves into his very psyche — uncovering the strange, symbolic things you’d expect to find a Charlie Kauffman movie.
At other times, “Cold Souls” recalls some of Woody Allen’s more absurd work — served straight with a twist of irony. We witness a constantly shifting balance between hazy fantasy and harsh reality, poetry and prose.
Holding the whole existential yarnball together is Paul Giamatti, who plays off his angstful public image with aplomb. It’s a pure pleasure to watch him switch from long-suffering schmuck to soulless scallywag — tossing off all his nervous ticks and neuroses like an old coat.
Giamatti has made his reputation most often as a miserable malcontent, in “Sideways,” “American Splendor” and the Emmy and Golden Globe-winning mini-series “John Adams.”
Here, in “Cold Souls,” we’re given the chance to simply watch him act. It’s inspiring stuff.
Barthe’s quiet little tragicomedy invites more thoughtful discussions than flat-out laughs, to be sure. That’s part of its charm.
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Great post poor cold souls.