There's something about the family in Barry Levinson's semi-autobiographical epic "Avalon" that reminds me of my family. It's odd, because they seem to have very little in common with mine. My ancestors were European but I had no "ethnic" types, no accents or heritage. I grew up in the Midwest, not in Baltimore. My father worked in a factory, he didn't own his own store. And yet, here they are. This is my family. This is every-family.

"Avalon" is quite possibly the most American film ever made. It taps into our psyche and our heritage by presenting an amazingly full-bodied picture of the American family. Levinson packs everything in here from car wrecks to bee stings, from July 4th to Thanksgiving, from birth to death.

At the heart of the film is a phenomenal performance by Armin Mueller-Stahl as the patriarchal Sam. Sam is everything to the film, father, grandfather, brother, husband, entertainer and host. He holds the film together. That Mueller-Stahl becomes Sam is not so amazing. He's a great actor and relatively unknown so suspension of disbelief is easy. No, what's really so amazing here is the character Levinson, as writer/director/co-producer, creates. We love being with Sam as much as his grandson, Michael (Elijah Wood), does. We love to hear him speak. We love his stories.

At the heart of these tales is his version of coming to this country. "I came to America in 1914," he says solemnly. We are entranced. The phrase, repeated like a chorus in a popular song, becomes a motif in the film. It bookends the picture and reminds us of Levinson's chief aim here. Not to tell his own personal story, and not to bring us a slice of Americana. No, Levinson's film is about the death of the storyteller. How television, a cheap, gaudy, poor substitute somehow seduced us and enraptured us. In Levinson's film, television doesn't just kill America; It doesn't just kill the American family; It nullifies it.

Levinson shows us this with brilliant images that pause at the end of scenes like odd snapshots from an old scrapbook; The empty table remains, lifeless, as the family moves to the television; The empty lake side, with it's still water, as seen after an unsettling moment; A foursome at a lavish nightclub suddenly becoming totally still, as if they realize that immense change is coming. With these images Levinson shows us the truth of his theme. The effect is haunting.

Even with such a lofty and serious goal as showing us the death of the American familial storyteller (and Levinson pulls it off incredibly successfully), the film has moments of beautiful humor. The grandmother (Joan Plowright) and mother (Elizabeth Perkins) have a personality clash of dynamic magnitude, yet Levinson makes wonderful light of this by showing us the love and respect between the two. We see them for what they are, as they see each other, and we love them for being themselves. Where others may have gone overboard and shown us a full-blown feud here, Levinson keeps the mood and tone of his film in perfect balance with the story by making the frequent clashes here subtle and humorous. Also, Mueller-Stahl is wonderfully likeable and sweet bringing humor to his character whenever possible. In a scene where he sings cheerily about being able to sleep better when there is a breeze, we suddenly see our fathers and grandfathers in his stead, doing a silly yet sweet thing that would embarrass the child in us now, in this era. Levinson makes these quirks real and charming. Wood's wide- eyed love of his grandfather wins us over too.

Every actor in the film adds wonderful and graceful touches to the story, fleshing out Levinson's remarkable anecdotes. Aidan Quinn and Kevin Pollack are perfect as cousins who become business partners. Levinson concentrates mainly on their story letting all of the other aspects of the plot revolve around this duo. This is only right as they are living out the American dream, opening their own business and becoming more and more successful with each expansion. But Quinn and Pollack make us care about their fates while never having to force us to like them. Quinn's big brotherly charm and subdued demeanor are perfect for the film. This is probably his most successful role ever. Meanwhile, Pollack, as is his wont, brings humor to a character without ever overdoing it. The man himself can be quite outrageous, yet in role after role, he tones down his persona to fit his character and consistently wins us over. He may very well be the best character actor doing light comedic roles in the 90's. Finally, Lou Jacobi, a familiar character actor who has amused us for years uses his broad strokes to make a minor character a huge delight. It's impossible to watch the film without laughing at his antics and eventually mimicking his key line: "I can't believe you cut the toir-key!"

In the nether regions of the film, Randy Newman's wonderful score also acts as a motif and becomes the finishing touch to the film's remarkable tone. Used in both happy and sad scenes, Newman's motif amazingly works within the context of both emotions. Every so often Levinson pulls the camera back ever so slightly, fades the film's soundtrack out and layers Newman's score over the scene. The effect is amazing. Whether celebratory or sorrowful, the resulting scene is always touching. Newman's music underscores both of these emotions perfectly. It is a triumph in the use of music as a motif in a film.

Levinson's attention to detail makes the film work amazingly well. And his pacing is perfection. But, it is his underemphasis of many key moments that eventually make the film a triumph. We see the television coming into play here but the changes it makes in the character's lives are subtle. His light touches are the key. One has to look for them to notice them. I watched the film several times, for example, before I noticed that a majority of the events in the story take place on Thanksgiving. Even the final scene, one should note, is on Thanksgiving.

I had also watched the film many times before I noticed the beauty of what is now my favorite scene. In it, Wood runs to his grandfather's house on the 4th of July. He thinks he is responsible for burning down his father's store. He is engulfed with the feelings of confusion and guilt. Feelings that no young boy should ever have to face. Exiting a streetcar, he runs down a street of tract houses towards his Grandfather Sam's domicile. As he runs, he snakes through endless scenes of celebratory fireworks and sparklers, the street alive with the scenes of the holiday. Levinson pulls the camera back and slows the action down to slo-mo. Wood is now running through the troubling thoughts in his mind. It is powerful yet subtle symbolism. We see Wood running through his own thoughts yet the scene is a vivid reflection of reality. Levinson works subtle cinematic magic like this throughout the film.

"Avalon" is the story of America. It is all of our stories. It is how we got here. This is not only Levinson's finest picture (and remember he made "Rainman" too), this is the finest "American" film ever made. This is the story of an American family, and it's decline. It is the story of all of our lives.

Note: Filmed in Levinson's hometown of Baltimore.

Review written in 1995

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