Review By: Stephen Snart
StephenSnart@TheCinemaSource.com

In the opening image of The Hawk is Dying we see Paul Giamatti bald-headed, bearded, bespectacled and dressed in a frumpy, oversized polo shirt. This is clearly a version of Giamatti we’ve seen before. In fact, he’s attired almost identically to the way he was in last summer’s Lady in the Water. Furthermore, his character’s interior in The Hawk is Dying is not far removed from Cleveland Heap either. To be blunt, it is almost impossible to view The Hawk is Dying without associating it with the M. Night Shymalan box office disaster. In some ways, The Hawk is Dying plays like a prequel but in more persistent ways it exists as a much darker, more depressing, less magical and all around more peculiar film.

George Gattling (Giamatti) spends his days dealing with angry customers at his auto-upholstery business and his nights warding off orders from his obese sister, Precious (Rusty Schwimmer). His few moments of happiness come from entertaining his autistic nephew Fred (Michael Pitt), a 20-year-old who can barely speak; their favorite pastime involving dabbling in amateur falconry.

George also pays occasional visits to Betty (Michelle Williams), a doctor’s daughter slumming it as poor, white trash. She’s keenly interested in psychology and attempts to have George serve as a subject for her mental probing. But nothing can pique his interest the way that the wild hawks patrolling the Gainesville skies do.

Aided by Fred, George has been capturing a series of hawks and attempting to tame them. His most recent hawk died in his closet after he refused to feed it water. “Birds of prey don’t drink water,” George growls in defense. Against the advice of others, George and Fred capture another hawk and George throws himself completely into making this attempt successful. A friend advises him that he shouldn’t eat until the hawk eats or sleep until the hawk sleeps and George takes it to heart. I was unclear exactly how many hawks he had cycled through previously, but whatever the number it seemed like enough.

As it is, George is incapable of holding a conversation with anyone without quickly shifting into the subject of his hawk habits. But when tragedy strikes, George spirals further out of control, refusing to go anywhere without being tied to his hawk. Whether it’s driving in cars, camping behind convenience stores or even visiting a mortuary, wherever he goes, the hawk follows on string and arm guard.

With that plot progression, director Julian Goldberger raises the question, how long can a movie featuring an off-kilter Giamatti running around with a frenzied hawk on his shoulder exist before devolving into self-parody? The answer is, surprisingly