Mark Reviews Movies: THE TOMORROW MAN

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Review by Mark Dujsik | May 30, 2019

First and foremost, The Tomorrow Man portrays a sweet but believable romance between two people who cannot let go of the idea that the past is a prologue to tragedy, the present is meaningless, and the future is something to fear. These are troubled people, to say the least, and although it seems as if one of them might be more distressed than the other, writer/director Noble Jones' film doesn't play a game of comparisons. They both have problems, but as strange as it may sound, that also means that these two at least have something to share with each other, to discover together, and about which to come to a mutual understanding.

That's the start of the relationship, which also happens to be between two people of a certain age—specifically, two folks in their 70s. The movies have been getting better about portraying older people as more than the setups to a series of jokes, the kind mouthpieces of beneficial words of wisdom, or the inevitable occupants of coffins for others to mourn in the second or third act. It's still a relative rarity, though, that a film can look past age and see people who are still brimming with life, ideas, and that universal desire to find some place of worth and meaning in this world.

Jones' film is one of them. Here, we meet Ed (John Lithgow), a retired analyst living off a generous pension, who spends his days preparing for a societal collapse that he is certain is coming. We also meet Ronnie (Blythe Danner, whose recent résumé is relatively solid in finding roles that go beyond the range of "old person" stereotypes), who doesn't have the luxury of being able to retire and works a regular job in an antique store. Like Ed, she also has a secret hobby, although it's left as a bit of a surprise late in the story's second act.

What can be said is that these are two lonely people, driven by almost compulsive impulses beyond their control. Such behavior, as an almost gimmicky method of character definition, is usually a young person's game in quirky stories, although that might be mostly because we're only used to such stories about younger people in general. In this one, the characters are more defined by their quirks than by their ages. It is, admittedly, still a bit reductionist, but considering the alternative, such a move is at least a step in a less demeaning, more compassionate direction.

Ed spends his days in his home—watching the news, posting messages online with other conspiracy-minded people, eating his dinner while sitting in his underwear in a recliner. He's divorced, and his adult son Brian (Derek Cecil) barely talks to him, partially because he has a wife and daughter of his own but mostly because Ed does all of the talking when they do talk—always the father trying to convince the son to prepare himself and his family for some inevitable cataclysm.

While shopping for supplies, Ed spots Ronnie and, noticing her shopping habits, assumes she is a "fellow traveler"—a believer in the forthcoming collapse. After some awkwardly innocent scheming (parking his gas-guzzling truck too close to her car in the store's lot) and small talk and following, he asks her out for dinner. She accepts.

Jones gives these two characters time to talk, to learn about each other, and to bond over the things that unite them. It's so simple, yet so many romances forget to take the time to depict or pass over this period in a burgeoning relationship. We're reminded or clarified about Ed's status—his divorce, his difficult relationship with his son, his genuine belief that the end of civilization as we know it is on the horizon. We learn what we need to know about Ronnie, too—a dead husband, a daughter who died as a child, a similar but not quite as dire sense of uncertainty about the future.

There's a sense of desperation between these two characters, which, perhaps, gets to the heart of why their relationship comes across as much deeper than the meeting of two quirky, older people. Lithgow and Danner are wise enough to play this shared trait with a sense of near-existential longing, instead of just turning these characters into some form of pathetic joke. They're desperate, yes, but only because life and the world have passed them by while they've been busy preparing for doomsday or mourning. There's also, more importantly, a sense that their bond is more than being desperate for attention and affection, which is an even trickier nuance to depict.

Eventually, after a disastrous dinner with Ed's family and the revelation of Ronnie's hidden hobby, the story becomes focused on how these two might be able to help each other out of that isolation, that obsession with the past, and that anxiety of the future. With the time and effort taken to the establish these characters and their bond, there's a real sense of give and take between them, as well as some honesty about how stubborn old habits and reliable crutches can be.

The film is tender and thoughtful in its portrayal of these two, as separate entities of pained solitude and as a potentially united front against whatever the world has thrown—and might throw—at them. It's enough, perhaps, that we can forgive Jones for ending The Tomorrow Man with a joke that's a step too far in making the point.

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