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Little Manhattan

Everyone remembers his or her first love, at least those old enough to have the experience. And even if you haven’t, “Little Manhattan” provides realistic hope for people who have loved and lost, and even those who may have no idea what’s happening. This is one of the few times in recent years that a film could truly be called magical. Director Mark Levin and writer Jennifer Flackett have instilled such purity and kindness into all aspects of the film that you can actually feel the warmth coming from the screen; a step above the superficiality of animated children’s fare, and a refreshing change of pace from typical romance stories.

Gabe is 10 years old, living with his semi-divorced parents on the Upper West Side. His typical boy youth life is interrupted when he meets 11-year-old Rosemary in karate class. What develops is an honest recount from Gabe’s viewpoint of the ups and downs of their two and a half week relationship. The accuracy on both writing and acting accounts is what makes the story so enjoyable. Everything feels right. The two don’t embark on an epic romance filled with love, hate and struggle, lasting years until they are tragically torn apart. They experience things as two clumsy kids should, with absolutely no idea what to do except follow their impulses. Gabe isn’t recalling his relationship years later, making profound observations about how young and foolish he was. He’s recalling things a few days or moments after they end, telling the audience exactly what he feels after getting through his first love. Their relationship might be incredulous for most people, since there aren’t many who can say their first love took place on the Upper West Side of New York City. But regardless of locale, the two leads capture the essence of what childhood should be: lessons for the future, wrapped into small packages like getting an ice cream bar together or practicing karate in your room.

The technical aspects of the film blend together seamlessly with the artistic. Sparse computer graphics are used to illustrate key moments, which keep the film a childhood tale at heart while not making it too fantastic. The graphics themselves are gorgeous and unique, like the top of a building morphing into a pirate ship, or sheep in Sheep’s Meadow, a Woody Allen type tribute to New York, like much of the discourse. Musically, all the songs emanate classic filmmaking like a 1950s love story. They compliment the atypical characters, providing a classy grace to the story. Not having to see a 20-something girl walk solemnly to the beat of Counting Crows is wonderful.

Throughout the film nostalgia runs rampant, for the age of filmmaking when big stars and graphics didn’t matter, where film merit was based on capturing the audience emotion, instead of winning an award or procuring box office receipts. It runs rampant for an age where modern convenience and responsibility don’t haunt every waking minute. For an age where, at least for a short while, love could run its course without distractions, free to roam the streets and sidewalks, with nothing but the moment.

Written by: Jason Villemez

Reviewers Rating: 9
Reader's Rating: 10.00
Reader's Votes: 1

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