# High Art (1998)

### reviewed by
James Sanford

    HIGH ART (October Films)
    Directed by Lisa Cholodenko

Of all the Brat Packers of the early 1980s, none was more consistently charming and down-to-earth than Ally Sheedy. And none has kept such a low profile in the past few years. While former co-stars such as Demi Moore and Matthew Broderick have since become household names, Sheedy has been toiling in films with titles like "Country Justice," "Groupies" and "The Pickle." If you somehow managed to miss all of them, count yourself in the majority.

What's initially most startling about seeing Sheedy in "High Art" is her appearance: flat black hair, a pasty face that hasn't seen the sun in weeks, jutting shoulder blades that threaten to burst through her blue-white flesh. Hard to imagine this is the same young woman who was the adorably wholesome ingenue of "St. Elmo's Fire" and "War Games." Have the years been so unkind to her?

No, actually Sheedy appears to have spent her time out of the spotlight learning the mechanics of performance. As Lucy Berliner, a once-acclaimed photographer who drifted out of the New York art scene into a private world of drugs and dead-end relationships, Sheedy is a genuine revelation; gone are the days when she coasted by on charm and her girl-next-door smile. Patricia Clarkson matches Sheedy magnificently as Greta, an ex-film star from Germany who's now both Lucy's lover and the albatross around her neck. Though Lucy can see the toil heroin has taken on the older Greta -- Greta rarely has both eyes open at once and tends to fall asleep in the midst of sex -- Lucy still can't shake her own addiction.

Enter downstairs neighbor Syd (Radha Mitchell), a moon-eyed editorial assistant at Frame magazine who meets Lucy by chance and tries to engineer a comeback for her. Lucy, who freely admits she's irresponsible, is less interested in resuming her career than she is in pursuing intimacy with Syd. Director Lisa Cholodenko makes no attempt to romanticize the bohemian squalor in which Lucy and Syd live, nor does the screenplay paint the bond between the two as a positive first step toward a better future. Instead, both women have serious issues they hope to bury in the relationship: for Syd, a confused sexual identity; for Lucy, an existence built around self-destructive behavior. "High Art" opts for a rather predictable finale, but up until that point the movie works as a compelling, well-observed character study, tinged with razor-sharp black humor. And Sheedy's incisive work should guarantee she won't spend the next ten years hiding her light under a bushel. James Sanford

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