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Writer-director John Sayles weaves together the beauty, grime, and history of Florida in
Sunshine State. The rumbling approach of real estate developers on a sleepy island sets the leisurely paced plot in motion. Sayles takes his time introducing his characters, gradually revealing how their lives intertwine, and, as always, teases magnificent performances out of his actors. Edie Falco is quietly brilliant as Marly, running an old-guard motel as progress marches on, and regarding the men in her life with a wry practicality. Mary Steenburgen gifts a small role with marvelous, spoiled humanity in a deft comic turn, and Angela Bassett slowly unfurls her character's depth with the elegance of a true pro.
Sunshine State is a simple story, but never clichéd, possessing a glow worth basking in.
--Ali Davis
From The New Yorker
The writer-director John Sayles will never be a natural filmmaker: he doesn't love and trust the camera enough. But this leisurely, ruminative movie about real-estate mischief and transiency in Florida has some of the most witty and large-spirited writing he's ever done for the movies and some of the best acting he's ever coaxed out of his performers. The movie chronicles the attempt of developers to take over a couple of decrepit beach towns north of Jacksonville and the ambiguous response of the locals-some fighting, some selling out. Edie Falco has the best role of her career as Marly, one of those Americans who possess more intelligence than they can use in an unsatisfactory job. Marly looks for men and makes bitter jokes that her listeners don't always understand. Angela Bassett is a failed actress who returns to the black middle-class beach town she left when she became pregnant at fifteen. The good talk swirls around these two, and the talkers include Alan King, Ralph Waite, Jane Alexander, Bill Cobbs, Mary Alice, Timothy Hutton, and Mary Steenburgen. It's a shrugging, life-goes-on movie about a state in which people pull things up by the roots, including themselves, and move forward. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker