Gray's Anatomy

A man and a microphone. At its core, that's all 'Gray's Anatomy' really is -- and yet, through Spalding Gray's peerless gift for storytelling, and Steven Soderbergh's inventive cinematic eye, a whole world is opened up. Though the camera rarely cuts away from the film's neurotic, rambling star, his effortless words and the director's striking compositions manage to breathe visual life into mere oration. A filmed monologue like no other, the movie presents a fascinating marriage between two gifted artists. While certain aspects of the production don't always reach the heights that they aspire toward, the experiment is worthwhile nonetheless, resulting in a slightly flawed but wonderfully unique experience.

Adapted from celebrated actor/writer Spalding Gray's 1993 monologue, the film is essentially a one-man show of sorts. Gray recounts his experiences with a rare eye condition while detailing the elaborate means he went through to treat it. Chronicling his sometimes outrageous experiments with alternative therapies and various, amusing tangents along the way, the monologist espouses hilarious and thought-provoking insights on life and medicine. As the sprawling, verbal stream of consciousness continues, Gray illuminates personal discoveries and universal themes -- all through nothing more than his words.

While the idea of an entire movie centered on one man literally recounting a story might not seem especially stimulating, Gray's unique gift for verbal storytelling is truly impressive. A fantastic performer who weaves a charismatic blend of biting wit, neurotic analysis, and ironic observations throughout his work, Gray's words can be truly captivating. His specific mannerisms, inflections, and pauses reveal a masterful command of delivery and timing. The subject matter appears rather straightforward at first, but as Gray continues, and the monologue builds and builds upon itself, the various digressions start to form a greater whole. Tangents about Christian Scientists, Hassidic Jews, and astral projections are juggled smoothly, and from these sometimes chaotic anecdotes, Gray somehow ends up shaping a fascinating, funny, and cohesive tale.

Not content to simply document a stage performance of the monologue, Soderbergh instead opts for a much more cinematic and experimental approach. Gray is filmed in numerous, often long takes sitting down in various, simple sets with appropriate backdrops that relate to his story. Carefully timed tracks and dolly movements bolster the momentum and intensity of his words. There's even an instance where Gray himself is physically rolled through different sets as he transitions to new settings in his monologue. Soderbergh's lighting design becomes especially striking, and various bold, moody hues are cast upon the actor, enhancing the tone and emotion of the scenes. As the movie continues, the aesthetic grows more elaborate, and while sets remain fairly simple, they often avoid literal representations of the narrative in favor of more abstract, minimalist associations. Though the visual style can get quite aggressive, it thankfully never overpowers the storytelling, and flashing lights, smoke, silhouetting, music, and subtle sound effects all serve to complement the performance. Mirroring the monologist's own rhythm and timing, Soderbergh seamlessly pieces together each isolated segment of the story with artful precision.

As successful as the coupling between orator and filmmaker is, the cinematic approach taken does have some drawbacks -- most notably, the absence of a live audience. Like all performers, Gray feeds off the reactions of his viewers, and that important relationship is sacrificed here. In the film's companion documentary, 'And Everything is Going Fine,' Gray actually remarks that he grows tired of hearing himself speak for so long, and likes to break up his performances by interacting with the audience. Unfortunately, that isn't possible in the film, and as compelling as his story can be, there are indeed instances where Gray's constant ramblings outstay their welcome. In fact, though I did enjoy the movie, there are a few stretches where the actor's neurosis becomes rather grating, tedious and downright annoying. With that said, Soderbergh does actually attempt to break up the monologue in a different fashion. The director intersperses interview footage with ordinary participants about topics related to Gray's story. Regrettably, these bits don't add up to much and really are nothing more than an attempt to pad out the runtime. Likewise, as compelling and complementary as the director's style can be, the balancing act between cinema and monologue never completely results in a fully shaped whole.

'Gray's Anatomy' offers a unique fusion of two different art forms that are tied together by their propensity for storytelling. Spalding Gray's verbal monologue is given visual form thanks to Steven Soderbergh's cinematic ingenuity, and the results are mostly successful. While Gray's words are full of potent emotion, cynical humor, and insightful observations, the one-man conversation can get a little tedious, and though Soderbergh's style is striking, it never quite advances the monologue into a true motion picture. Sort of stuck between two different worlds, the experiment features elements that complement one another brilliantly, but can't quite form a satisfying whole. Flawed but certainly worthwhile, the film remains a testament to Gray's gifts and a distinct entry in Soderbergh's eclectic filmmography.

The Blu-ray: Vital Disc Stats

Criterion presents 'Gray's Anatomy' in their standard clear case with spine number 618. The BD-50 region A disc comes packaged with a booklet featuring an essay by critic Amy Taubin. The film's companion piece of sorts, the documentary 'And Everything is Going Fine,' is also currently available from Criterion.