Dale Dickey continues to be one of the most compelling actresses working today. Her face is a painting, with every line telling a story about loss, pain, and perseverance. Simply holding on her visage in close-up often communicates more than words can say, and writer-director Max Walker-Silverman makes canny use of this quality in his debut feature, the gentle and tender A Love Song. A quiet rumination on finding connection and beauty in the smallest of things, this is a film that celebrates the sadness of life and finds hope in it.
Dickey plays Faye, a widow who goes through an unassuming daily routine at a remote campsite as she waits for word from her childhood sweetheart. Every day, she pulls in her catch from the lake just a few steps from her camper door, makes a pot of coffee, and enjoys her meal as the soft waves lap at the shore. She is waiting for Lito (Wes Studi), a widower himself, and when he finally arrives for a visit — summoned by a letter from Faye — the grieving pair spend the night reminiscing about their school days, talking about life, and searching for a balm for their loneliness. To say that this brief synopsis is what the movie is all about isn’t quite accurate, though; the film immerses the viewer in the rhythms of Faye’s life and the interesting people she meets along the way. Studi is, as always, a strong presence who carries the laconic dialogue just as meaningfully as Dickey does. But Lito isn’t the answer for Faye, and he isn’t the answer for the film, either. He is one in a sea of connections; a fond memory, perhaps a source of heartache or regret, but not the happily ever after or the missing puzzle piece she was hoping for.
A Love Song focuses on bright spots in the wilderness and small moments of satisfaction. The film opens on images of wildflowers growing through cracks in parched earth. With a measured turn of her wrist, Faye finds the song she needs on her beaten-up radio. She waits a moment to take it in, then smiles contentedly. She later tells Lito, “Give that dial a swirl. Always plays the perfect song, even if in the moment you ain’t sure why.” Life doesn’t always have to make sense; films don’t always have to have driving narratives. Sometimes we can just be, and there’s beauty and peace in that knowledge.
The pace of the film matches the soft pace of Faye’s life, but — just like Faye’s radio — Walker-Silverman and Affonso Gonçalves’ editing always seems to set the perfect tempo, sometimes surprising the viewer with unexpected, if relative, rapidity. Alfonso Herrera Salcedo’s cinematography drinks in the mountain views and Faye’s patient, forlorn face as natural treasures equally worthy of admiration. One shot in particular frames Faye in a breathtaking semi-profile as she deals with an emotional blow. Offbeat humor punctuates the film, drawing a bemused glance or a wry grin from Faye, eliciting the same from the viewer. Dickey draws you in, nearly forcing you to mirror her expressions as you take in her captivating performance.
A Love Song is a gentle ode to the beauty in the world and in its leading actress. There’s not a single moment of artifice or untruth in this film; merely quiet meditations on the connections we make and the memories we hold onto as we navigate life. Lito’s last words to Faye are, “We’re gonna be okay.” A Love Song makes you believe him.
