A review of “A Home at the End of the World” by Jeanne Aufmuth


Stars: ***

Rating: R for language and nudity

Run Time: 1 hour, 35 minutes



Colin Farrell brings at lot more than dishy looks to the table in this quirky coming-of-age tale.

Suffering a bad wig and pointedly period tunes, Farrell acts out the life and times of Bobby, a sensitive, awestruck man-child with a penchant for honesty and the embrace of his childhood friend Jonathan (Dallas Roberts).

Tragedy marks Bobby from the outset; from the unforeseen death of his beloved older brother to the untimely demise of both parents.  Jonathan’s mom (Sissy Spacek) pseudo-adopts the needy boy in his formative years, offering up homespun support that impacts Bobby’s future.

As the sexually ambiguous Bobby and Jonathan advance into adulthood and the bohemian ways of New York’s East Village circa 1980s, they become the axis of a spinning group of friends and lovers. The most meaningful of which is zany, free-spirited roommate Clare (Robyn Wright Penn), who loves both men with a fierce conviction. Their unusual arrangement is one of the film’s many off-beat but compassionate set-ups.

You don’t have to dig deep to find more than pretty to the scrumptious Farrell.  His is an Oscar-caliber performance worthy of high praise.  Loss has deeply etched Bobby’s psyche, leaving him in a permanent state of search and salvage. Farrell manages to sustain that reservoir of vulnerability for the full length of the film. 

Narrative wobbles a tremulous line between heartfelt and glib, keeping just within the confines of realistic emotion and credulity.  A lot goes unspoken, some self-consciously but the majority emotionally raw.

Less is more in this Home.