Directed by: Lance Oppenheim
Unrated, 81 minutes
The enduring mystery of what happens to us when we die drives us to find meaning in life, but what if we reach our twilight years and still don’t know what to make of our time on Earth? That’s the dilemma plaguing the retirees in “Some Kind of Heaven,” a curious new documentary about The Villages, a Florida retirement community the size of a small city. But while the movie acknowledges death right in the title, it paints a convincing portrait of life and the constant search for answers that occupies us all.
Following a handful of retirees—a widow longing for companionship; a drifter in search of a stable life that won’t compromise his freedom; a couple hitting an unexpected rough patch after 47 years of marriage—“Some Kind of Heaven” defies stereotypes of aging even while it embraces obvious facts of life. Yes, these people are wrinkled, and they move less gracefully than once they might have. But if the movie argues for anything, it’s that as long as life continues, there will be opportunities for growth. Barbara, feeling lonely in the months following her husband’s death, seeks company at various club meetings, from a tambourine ensemble to a gathering of the Jimmy Buffett-idolizing Parrotheads. The movie closes with her delivering a monologue in an acting class, to the applause of her classmates. Life and liveliness are where we make them, the movie shows us.
This is, however, no ordinary exploration of aging. The Villages, advertised as “Disney World for retirees,” is itself a character in the unfolding dramas of its residents. A land teeming with golf carts and palm trees, pristine tennis courts and swimming pools, The Villages is reminiscent of nothing so much as “The Stepford Wives” or “The Truman Show.” Sure enough, its superficial perfection gives way to uncanny oddities—local news broadcasts that ignore the surrounding world; facades of cracked stucco and brick painted onto buildings in imitation of some sundrenched paradise; a room full of women all inexplicably named Elaine—and, eventually, the morbid realities of advanced age. “You’re gonna die, end of story,” begins the pitch of a funeral services saleswoman, addressing an audience of uncomfortable buyers at a Ruby Tuesday’s. “What if your passing took place right now, at the restaurant?” she says. “It does happen.”
Death and loss color the experiences of the retirees we follow. Dennis, a loner living out of his van, dreams of charming his way into a relationship with a wealthy woman, but all he gets is a warning from the cops for vagrancy. “I’m just about ready to call it quits,” he tells a friend, the darkness of that prospect washing over him. And in the movie’s most peculiar storyline, married couple Anne and Reggie struggle with Reggie’s increasing dependency on drugs and outré “meditation” practices. On their anniversary, he ditches Anne to be by himself; the next scene finds her pushing a full cart through a liquor store, reminding herself of her wedding vows.
If the retirees’ own comments suggest disillusionment in the twilight of their lives, the movie’s look and feel exacerbate the feeling. Lance Oppenheim fills his feature debut with exquisitely composed images and a score that sounds simultaneously like it comes from 1950 and 2050. The effect is engrossing but unsettling. It’s also suspiciously well-constructed, for a documentary. “Some Kind of Heaven” at times feels too neatly arranged—not scripted or staged, but rather edited to impose a finer shape on its events. The distractingly clean story beats and manicured settings remind us that these retirees are seeking real fulfillment in a place that exists a few steps removed from reality.
Still, “Some Kind of Heaven” offers glimpses of hope. Barbara finds satisfaction not in any one club meeting, but in the pursuit of new experiences. Anne and Reggie, largely through Anne’s superhuman patience, move past their marital troubles. Dennis, meanwhile, finds a woman to live with, but the stability she gives him comes at the expense of his old philandering lifestyle. “Comfort or freedom,” he muses toward the movie’s end. “You can’t have it both ways.” We feel his disappointment in the realization, but there’s at least a measure of peace in finally being able to articulate a lesson learned, by fits and starts, over the course of a lifetime.
Originally published in The Harvard Press on 1/22/2021.