What sets “Still Alice” apart from other films about dementia and Alzheimer’s disease is that the story is told from Alice’s point of view. When the 50-year-old college professor gets disoriented and lost, we see the blur and feel her panic.
Julianne Moore portrayed Alice convincingly, winning an Oscar for her role. In the beginning, Alice is poised and articulate. She lives the perfect American dream: a loving husband (played by Alec Baldwin), three beautiful children (married lawyer daughter, doctor-to-be son, and aspiring actress) and a prestigious career.
Before the film arrived on Maui, I played the trailer on IMDB and extracts on YouTube. The 13 YouTube clips from the soundtrack were named after scenes in the movie. Although I didn’t know the order or the plot, I fell in love with the music.
British composer Ilan Eshkeri used just four instruments for the entire film score: the piano, violin, viola and cello. He chose the piano because it was an instrument of the family and the home. In an interview, Eshkeri revealed that two of his friends lost their fathers to the disease. He said, “…in many ways this [“Still Alice”] was a culmination of an artistic expression of something that has deeply touched me.”
When I finally watched the movie on the big screen, I found myself matching Eshkeri’s music with the scenes, a guessing game of piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the now familiar YouTube clips.
The first sign of Alzheimer’s appears as Alice gives her invited speech at UCLA and forgets a word in mid-sentence. She dismisses it with “I shouldn’t have had that extra glass of champagne last night.” We sense her embarrassment.
Afterwards, in the taxi ride to see her youngest daughter (played by Kristen Stewart), she remembers the word she forgot and scolds herself for it. The music that accompanies this “LA Drive” starts with a trance-like treble ostinato on the piano joined by the cello playing the melody and then the viola adding momentum.
Alice flies back home to New York and goes for a run. The strings begin. The piano adds to the frenzy. She runs through Central Park and abruptly stops at Columbia University where she works. The music falls apart, into dissonance and emptiness. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings. All is a blur. Single notes on the piano sound as she finally comes out of her panic and realizes something is terribly wrong.
What the film does superbly is trace the progression of her disease, giving subtle clues of its advancement in intimate moments. She repeats herself exactly as she said it seconds or minutes before, like a broken record, as though she’s saying it for the first time. Her family members notice these oddities.
By the time Alice gives her second speech, she has lost her job but not her productivity. She volunteers to speak at the Alzheimer’s Association.
She begins with a quote from the poet Elizabeth Bishop about the art of losing: “I find myself learning the art of losing everyday, losing my bearings, losing objects, losing sleep, but mostly losing memories.” Suddenly, she loses the papers of her speech, dropping them on the floor. The audience gasps. I, too, gasped and worried if she would be able to find her place, whether the pages are numbered.
After stooping down to pick up her papers, she jokes, “I think I’ll try to forget that just happened.” Everyone chuckles. She continues. “All my life I’ve accumulated memories. They’ve become my most prized possessions.” Her voice has a nervous energy but she keeps her poise.
“Who can take us seriously when we are so far from who we once were?” Single notes on the piano are heard, faintly and slowly until the rest of the main theme accompanies the speech. The camera sweeps to the audience, which includes her well-dressed daughter, her son-in-law, her son, and her doctor. Others are real Alzheimer’s patients. Alice’s voice cracks with emotion and bravely continues, while the main theme of the music takes over.
The directors and screenwriters Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland, life partners for 20 years, had their own story to tell in the making of this movie. Before working on “Still Alice,” Glatzer was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, known as ALS and Lou Gehrig’s disease. Glatzer’s condition gave the project a sense of urgency, and the film was completed within one calendar year. Glatzer died on March 10, 2015, at the age of 63.
Watching “Still Alice” reminded me of those years when my piano guitar duo played for elderly audiences in the Netherlands. It was easy to spot the Alzheimer patients in nursing homes and hospitals. They received us with blank faces, complete lack of emotion or connection. Staff at such institutions said that the patients sleep better after a live music performance. When we shook hands with the silent elderly residents afterwards, we could feel their desire to connect in their firm grip and moistened eyes.
Although I’ve never known anyone personally with the disease, “Still Alice” has brought me that much closer to someone who has it: Alice.
Bring a handkerchief. You will need it.
“Still Alice” is rated PG-13 for mature thematic material, and brief language including a sexual reference.
