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The movie was written by Logan Sparks and Drago Sumonja, and directed by longtime actor turned filmmaker John Carroll Lynch (of “ Fargo,” “ Zodiac” and other films too numerous to mention-he’s another Stanton in the making). He’s as surprised as anybody when he finds himself opening up to younger people, including Loretta, who has issues of her own, and a young insurance agent played by Ron Livingston, whom Lucky despises immediately but who opens up suddenly, almost desperately, like a drowning man begging for someone to pull him from the water. Lucky is the kind of guy whose capacity to make new friends either went dormant or switched off at a certain point. Either way, love and respect are present in every moment. Lynch holds his own: whether he’s as fine an actor as Stanton or simply a good friend to him is a moot point. There’s an extra-dramatic thrill to watching these two, who have known each other for at least thirty years, play old friends. Lynch directed Stanton in many projects, including the recent “Twin Peaks: The Return,” which cast the actor as a weathered exemplar of decency: a trailer park manager who offers to give a jobless tenant a break on the rent so he won’t have to keep selling his blood, and who cradles a dying boy and watches his soul rise to heaven. Howard is distressed about the disappearance of Theodore Roosevelt, his beloved, ancient tortoise (call the animal a turtle at your peril). The movie is also about friendship, especially as emphasized in Lucky’s conversations with his buddy Howard, played by David Lynch as a dandy in a cream-colored suit, white fedora and red ascot. “It doesn’t exist,” Lucky replies, an edge in his voice.
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“Friendship is essential to the soul,” Paulie tells him at the bar. (Other people talk more openly than he does, often as a means of trying to get him to open up and be vulnerable, which is really not his style.) Much is made of Lucky’s atheism, which complicates his defiant attitude towards the inevitable approach of death. It’s about the choices not made and the roads not taken: Lucky has a lot of regrets, but you often have to deduce what they are, because he’s the kind of crabby old eccentric who’d rather get into debates with people than just talk to them. This movie is about death, of course, and fear of death, and health, and loneliness.
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But the story’s deeper meanings reside in its images of Harry Dean Stanton moving at a tortoise’s pace through a series of sun-drenched, Western-styled panoramas (the soundtrack often playing a solo harmonica version of “Red River Valley” performed by Stanton), or making his way from the entrance of his favorite coffee shop or bar to his customary seat (when he sees someone else sitting in it, it throws him for a loop). plays Lucky’s physician-what a treasure trove of actors this film is). This is often framed as banter, or enclosed within routine events such as a random conversation in a restaurant ( Tom Skerritt plays another World War II veteran he's too young for the part but you believe him anyway) or in a doctor’s office ( Ed Begley, Jr. "Lucky" is filled with frank talk about primal subjects. We see a lot of Lucky at home, often in his baggy underwear, doing yoga exercises and smoking cigarettes (he has a pack-a-day habit, has since he was a teenager). They argue amongst themselves and with other patrons about philosophy, morality, religion, game shows, etc. Lucky goes to his favorite bar and drinks and talks to the owner Elaine ( Beth Grant) and her husband Paulie ( James Darren, of TV’s “T.J. He walks around town and stops in the local coffee shop, where he talks to the head cook ( Barry Shabaka Henley) and a particular waitress, Loretta ( Yvonne Huff), who takes an almost daughterly interest in his well being to the point of stopping by Lucky’s tiny home to inquire about his health and share her stash of weed.