Michael J. Fox: "Still"

I can't watch more than twenty consecutive minutes of TV; I fall asleep. So Marc and I aren't done with the Michael J. Fox documentary.

But the reason I'm watching--despite the fact that I'm mostly uninterested in the Fox filmography--is the title. "Still," as an adjective: It's something that Fox cannot be. His condition means that he is always moving; there is a twitch in his finger, or in his face. "Still," as an adverb: Despite his condition, Fox is *still* working. (In fact, recent jobs, including this documentary, and including Fox's villainous turn in "The Good Wife," seem so much more captivating than any Robert Zemeckis project.)

Many documentaries feel staged, because they are staged. But "Still" manages to capture moments that feel "real." There is a scene where Tracy Pollan is trying to help her spouse keep up with text messages. Fox says, "Tell my cousin, The beach awaits!" And Pollan says, "No. We're not writing that. I love you, and I can't wait to see you." In another scene, Pollan sits with her spouse in a doctor's office--and she quietly edits his inaccurate self-portrait, as he describes various symptoms. It's touching to see that we're all basically the same person--whether we are obscure stay-at-home copy editors, or we are Tracy Pollan.

Another thought: Fox seems to be wading through a river of shit that is just slightly deeper than the river most of us are confronting, on any given day. But Fox seems to refuse self-pity, and he has a gift for mocking himself. This makes him tremendously charming; you want to spend ninety minutes, or two hours, in his company.

I really like this movie.

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