The film revolves around the life of this depressed celibate Adele and her son Henry. They both drive a wounded and frightening journey along the road, while police in the city search for the fleeing convict. Now, mother and son learn that there are mysterious experiences and paths to go through.
'Labor Day' is an example of why, when the world self-destructs, all that will be left is cockroaches, and romance novels. And Keith Richards. Okay, never mind that last one.
The story unfolds with an earnestness so implacable that on the rare occasions when a bit of humor sneaks into the proceedings it feels like an uninvited party guest.
So histrionically abysmal that it makes you realize how lazy and complacent most other movies are in their banal mediocrity. The atrociousness is thrilling. As I left the theater, I felt alive again.
Too often, 'Labor Day' feels like a sternly resolved, self-consciously determined break from that tradition, a filmmaker deciding "I am making a Serious Drama" and steadfastly refusing to allow even a note of levity into the proceedings.
