As emotionally gratifying as it is intellectually stimulating, James Ponsoldt’s The End of the Tour is both a wonderfully compelling character analysis on David Foster Wallace, the brilliant author behind Infinite Jest whom we lost all-too-soon, and an refreshingly honest portrayal of psychological and philosophical anguish.
Its tremendously thoughtful commentary is ponderous without being heavy-handed, becoming all the more relatable as it examines everything from one’s sense of worth in their 30s to the value of dumb modern action flicks. Most of all, however, it lets Wallace and his words breathe as naturally and as candidly as possible, and is never afraid to strip the ‘90s writing legacy down to his most human form. In doing this, Ponsoldt presents a resounding down-to-earth biopic of the late writer, and completely lives up to Wallace’s self-imposed modesty while always still recognizing the brilliance found inside. It’s a respectful but never less-than-critical look at the subject and what he offered us in his abbreviated time in this world, and it’s hard to imagine him wanting it any other way.
One late night in 2008, reporter Dave Lipsky (Jesse Eisenberg) is interpreted from writing his latest story to answer a call from his colleague. The person on the other line asks if he’s heard the news. What news? Dave Wallace (Jason Segel), he says, is dead. How could this be, he asks? That’s not possible, he tells himself. Trying desperately to wrap his head around the news, he goes into his closet, pulls out a box of old cassette tapes and transports his memory back. It’s 1996. He’s a newly minted 30-year-old reporter for Rolling Stone Magazine and had his second book, The Art Fair, hitting the bookshelves. Its success is significantly muted, however, in comparison to Wallace’s own sophomore novel.
Infinite Jest, the novel soaring Wallace into stardom, is at the height of his media popularity and acclaimed by nearly all who venture inside its 1,079-page text. He’s the literature figurehead of the moment, but also a total recluse. Fascinated by his success and wishing to work his way into his mind farther than the writer's pages will allow, Lipsky uses his media position’s resources to follow Wallace during the last leg of his book tour. His editor (Ron Livingston) only wants to know the truth regarding acquisitions on Wallace’s heroin addiction, but the reporter himself obviously wishes to discover the man hidden under the towering adoration. He recognizes the genius inside the man, but what does Wallace make of himself? What defines himself outside of being a renowned author? How much validity in his humility?
Based on Lipsky’s actual five-day experiences, chronicled in the memoir the film’s based upon, Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself, The End of the Tour invites us through Eisenberg’s character to interact as a fly-on-the-wall admit this revered-but-reserved figure. Segel, while never particularly looking or sounding like the man in question, nevertheless completely cloaks himself in Wallace’s soft-spoken persona. It’s an astoundingly unpretentious portrayal focusing on the depth of the departed figure rather than his simple mannerisms. He lets the humanity of Wallace come out, despite not recreating him entirely accurate, smuggling warmly into the role and letting the emotions of the moment come gracefully every moment he's on screen. It accumulates to not only his finest work as an actor to date, but one of the year’s most brilliant performances.
And though he never quite on Segel’s level (this is Wallace’s film, after all), Eisenberg more than stands his own as well. He gives one of his most versatile and humble performances to date, without letting the hard-pressed ideology get in the way of the simple morality. Both actors — efficiently carrying the movie in duality as a two-man show — work off one another elegantly, letting the rich dialogue swim with poignant authenticity heightened by their carefully constructed work. It’s the most compelling film of the season, in a summer filled once again with intensive gun-play, superheroes and explosions. A little intellect goes a long way.
Ponsoldt’s film moves at a gentle, diligent pace, and his nuanced-but-dictated direction lets every moment transpire in an efficiently low-guarded fashion, despite the heavy conversations at the forefront. He constantly asks us to question where the genuine human interaction begins and the investigative reporting ends in the process. With Lipsky’s recorder brought into the frame at any given notice, he’s quick to not make us haste into assumptions or get caught up in their potentially bulging friendship. He doesn't even let us pretend we know everything happening within these characters' minds.
A fine line of jealousy and doubt always come in the way of true compassion from both men, but there’s always a willingness to open up and learn from one another’s insecurities and insights. This dynamic beautifully displays the fraught-but-remarkably casual presentation of their two-way conversations, inviting the intelligence on both ends come out but never letting the commentary become too protruding, obvious or simplistic. Lavishly adapted to the screen by Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Donald Margulies, all of this adds layers to Wallace and Lipsky’s confrontations and, though the emotional finale suggests a more simplistic interpretation of these events, like Wallace himself, The End of the Tour constantly asks up to think about the bigger, greater equation at play.
Additionally aidd by fantastically crisp cinematography from Jakob Ihre, Danny Elfman’s surprisingly downbeat score and a brief-but-consistently scene-stealing performance from Joan Cusack as Wallace’s escort Patty, The End of the Tour is a resounding accomplishment all around. It's a completely arresting glimpse into a man only a few truly got to know entirely — one who apparently loved junk food and his dogs as much as his neighbor, among other simple pleasures, but never could truly prove his similarities to the everyman to the public-at-large. Much like the reporter’s assignment, what begins as a conventional journey quickly turns into something far more cathartic and even therapeutic. It’s touching without having to prove itself over-and-over again, genuinely mindful and absolutely absorbing. It’s a dense and observant piece of work, and therefore rightfully the type of biopic to have Wallace’s name attached.