How entertaining could it possibly be to spend an hour an half watching someone die of cancer? This is a question you might want to mull over when considering going to see Two Weeks—and it’s one for which I don’t have a pat answer, I’m afraid.

What I can say is this: Steve Stockman’s feature film debut wholly captures the reality of family dynamics in the face of a terminal illness. It also brilliantly portrays the devastating effects of both sickness and treatment, through one of those absolutely fearless performances that Sally Field turns in every decade or so. Stockman also manages to tell a compelling, compact domestic story in a style far more low-key than is usual for first-time feature helmers—particularly those whose previous experience has largely been in advertising. Think Tony Scott, David Fincher, or Gore Verbinski—and think, Not! Stockman’s got something entirely different in mind, something more personal, character-driven, and satisfying.

Expectations are going to play a major role in determining audience reaction to this film. The trailers kind of push the idea that this is the feel-good poignant dramedy of the decade, kind of a Big Chill meets Steel Magnolias meets On Golden Pond sort of thing. To a degree, that’s accurate. The story revolves around Anita, the final stages of her battle with ovarian cancer, and the gathering of her four somewhat feuding and dysfunctional children to her bedside. As one might expect, there’s humor, there’s conflict, there’s death.

But there’s a lot more here, too. If your memory is really long, you might be better off thinking of Two Weeks as Philadelphia rewritten as a domestic cancer drama and directed by John Sayles—or better yet, thinking of the Robby Benson 1975 TV drama Death Be Not Proud.

Why? Because Two Weeks is depressing? Because the humor doesn’t work? No—the humor does work as gentle tension relief. But Two Weeks is primarily realistic, not amusing. It takes us along, for instance, for visits to Anita’s emesis basin as intestinal obstructions force her to vomit up her own bowel contents. It shows us the literal ins and outs of Portacaths, IV pumps, morphine, Percocet, Vicodin, and Dilaudid. It completely shatters the notion that Sally Field is vain and uncomfortable with growing old.

Now, one might ask: Does this qualify as a recommendation for Two Weeks? Let me try to answer that question using the movie’s story itself. The primary (and semi-autobiographical) character of the film is not Anita, but her oldest son Keith. While he wends his way through life in what he calls a “West-coast Zen” equanimity, his siblings constantly remind him that he’s really in denial. When Anita first gets hooked up to her morphine pump, Keith quips, “Do we each get one?” While he finds the question funny, his siblings and mother know that it’s really not so much of a joke for Keith, who readily admits that he almost never cries. When denial becomes moot, though, Keith is forced to confront reality, and connects with it in very concrete and emotionally wrenching terms.

And this is precisely what Two Weeks is designed to, and will probably do for anyone who has either gone through this kind of death-watch, or has known someone who has—and that’s probably most everyone over thirty-five or so. Particularly for those of us with a history of squeamishness or an aversion to hospitals, it does us the favor of confronting the reality of terminal illness, of connecting us with death in concrete and emotionally wrenching terms.

For those who have never had an experience similar to Keith’s (or Steve Stockman’s), though, Two Weeks may prove a bit too grim. Still, it’s better to know what you’re getting into the first time around, and Stockman provides a good primer for these folks.

For those who are still in denial the about the unpleasantness and inevitability of death, Two Weeks may just be what the doctor ordered.

Two Weeks is rated R “for language, including some sexual references.” This is an exceptionally strong rating for this film. Nothing is talked about or shown that you’re unlikely to encounter in a family in which people aren’t perfect. No, we’re not talking about Ward and June Cleaver’s household—but we’re also not talking Norbit, for heaven’s sake! I wouldn’t mind at all if my teenagers saw this film unsupervised—that is, if I had any.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg attended a press screening of Two Weeks. Please also see Greg’s interview with Steve Stockman.