This article was originally published on SSP Thinks Film by Sam Sewell-Peterson.
Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018/19)
Director: Marielle Heller
Screenwriters: Nicole Holofcener, Jeff Whitty
Starring: Melissa McCarthy, Richard E. Grant, Dolly Wells, Ben Falcone
Marielle Heller’s Can You Ever Forgive Me? skilfully tells a story so strange it feels like it must be true, populated by characters who are often unlikeable yet curiously compelling. The film balances dark humor and pathos to explore loneliness, creative desperation, and the compromises people make when their livelihoods disappear.
Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy) is a once-published biographer whose books no longer sell and whose publisher refuses to fund further projects. Blunt and socially awkward, Lee has little taste for self-promotion. Her brusque manner alienates editors and peers until she meets Jack Hock (Richard E. Grant), a fellow misfit and functioning alcoholic. Their unlikely friendship leads Lee into a criminal scheme: forging letters by famous writers and selling them to collectors and dealers who prize provenance over truth.
While the plot’s escalating con serves as entertaining propulsion, at its heart the film is a tender, if unconventional, love story between two solitary people who need connection—whether they admit it or not. Lee and Jack form a platonic partnership: they are co-dependent in small, human ways. Lee’s affection for her cat provides recurring insight into her character: she prefers animals that will largely leave her alone, an apt metaphor for someone averse to the performance of sociability.
The movie leans toward sympathy for writers and a critique of the publishing industry. Lee’s life—an apartment cluttered and neglected, daily drinking that dulls ambition, and a seeming refusal to help herself—reflects how economic insecurity and an industry that values personality over craft can silence a creative voice. Publishing, the film suggests, often rewards self-promotion and brand-building; writers who lack those instincts and the willingness to market themselves struggle to survive.
Lee’s descent into forgery begins as a desperate attempt to stay relevant and financially afloat, but it quickly becomes an addiction to deceit and recognition. Her facility for mimicry is unsettlingly impressive—she convincingly inhabits the voices of the authors she forges. The visual motif of Lee’s vintage typewriters, each labeled with a name representing a voice she channels, underscores the film’s central tension between authenticity and performance. A wry epilogue about one of Lee’s forged letters appearing in a biography of the original author adds a final note of ironic satisfaction.
On a craft level, the film’s strengths are clear. Marielle Heller’s direction is restrained, allowing character and quiet humor to do the heavy lifting rather than flashy technique. The screenplay by Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty finds warmth and sharpness in dialogue, maintaining a consistent tone that sits somewhere between comedy and melancholy. Production design and period detail ground the story in a believable literary world, and small visual choices, like Lee’s labeled typewriters and the recurring presence of her cat, enrich the portrait of a woman who communicates best through objects and artifacts.
Melissa McCarthy delivers the most subtly nuanced performance of her career. Her portrayal of Lee is layered—acerbic, wounded, and oddly vulnerable. McCarthy’s willingness to deglamorize and inhabit the uncomfortable aspects of the character creates a performance that is both comic and heartbreaking. Richard E. Grant complements her perfectly; his Jack is charmingly self-aware, a foil who softens some of Lee’s edges while revealing his own flaws. Their chemistry carries much of the film’s emotional weight.
Critically, the film does ask audiences to empathize with morally ambiguous characters, and it is unapologetically unsentimental about its protagonists’ shortcomings. That difficulty is part of its strength: it refuses easy redemption and instead offers a clear-eyed look at the messy consequences of desperation.
It is understandable that some viewers and critics felt the film deserved wider awards recognition beyond acting categories. Stories centered on flawed, even unlikeable, people sometimes receive limited recognition from awards bodies, yet the film’s intelligence, performances, and tonal control argue for broader appreciation.
20/24
By Sam Sewell-Peterson
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