A Little White Lie
Written and directed by Michael Maren
Starring: Michael Shannon, Kate Hudson, Don Johnson
Runtime: 101 min.
Rating: R
In theaters, digital and on demand March 3

by “Doc” Hunter Bush, Podcast Czar and staff writer

I am a bit bewildered by A Little White Lie, but not in the ways this mistaken-identity film aims for. The film, adapted from a novel and directed by first-time feature director Michael Maren, is described as a romantic comedy; while those elements are somewhere in the meandering story, they’re never emphasized effectively.

Based on the novel Shriver by Chris Belden, the film stars Michael Shannon as a guy named Shriver–a New York City janitor–who is invited to speak at a west coast college campus’ annual literary conference because they believe he is the reclusive author of the polarizing novel Goat Time, by a man who is also named Shriver. Instead of playing up the mistaken identity angle, Janitor-Shriver immediately tells conference organizer Simone (Kate Hudson) the truth, but since she is desperate to keep the annual event going, she opts to have him perpetuate the lie to avoid controversy and embarrassment.

Once at the conference, he refuses to be cool or to keep a low profile. He almost immediately tells a reporter that he is in fact not the writer. He insults two members of the conference’s inner circle, and we have no idea why. He asks Blythe (Aja Naomi King) if she has ever considered writing her poetry from a man’s perspective, which she understandably rankles against, becoming confrontational and suspicious toward him. He insults Sophie (Peyton List), a sculptor who is also Blythe’s partner, by saying that her medium (cake) is “odd.” She justifiably calls out what seems like bigotry from him–he has been exposed to the works of two queer women and had nothing to offer aside from “Why can’t you make it something I would like?”

Blythe disappears after an impromptu late-night party in Janitor-Shriver’s room, instigated by the classics-quoting, Canadian tuxedo-clad T. Wasserman (Don Johnson). Janitor-Shriver becomes the prime suspect because Goat Time includes allusions to the murder of the main character’s ex-wife. This information doesn’t receive much ado for the audience; Janitor-Shriver just mutters something along the lines of “oh, really” and never really treats it like a big deal, despite a suspicious Sophie calling in an investigator (Jimmi Simpson) to get to the bottom of things.

Eventually, after showing an affinity for poetry and off-hand, even wry humor, Janitor-Shriver decides that he is, in fact, Writer-Shriver . . . just in time for a man claiming to be the real Writer-Shriver (Zack Braff) to show up. When I say that none of these scenarios or revelations are treated like a big deal, what I mean is that this movie is described as a romantic comedy. The romance feels completely perfunctory, but that’s nothing special: I could throw a rock at my movie collection and hit a dozen comedies with relatively useless romantic subplots. They still function as comedies, though, because they take a scenario and emphasize the comedy in it. Janitor-Shriver pretending to be an author who may have killed his ex-wife and confessed to the crime through his work? That could be funny. Him deciding that he is the author, only for someone else to show up making the same claim? That could be funny. But neither thing is inherently funny.

Inherently, those two scenarios could be anything: a John Grisham-esque thriller where the art circle are analyzing microfiche for clues, a Kafkaesque nightmare of confused identity and occulted legal repercussions, or even a romantic comedy. All of those things take direction. The film and filmmaker have to steer things to where they want them to go. That’s why there are so many “When you really think about the events of (some comedy film) it’s really a horror film” posts that get reposted across the web all the time. It isn’t just that there are many different ways to view events, but most people wouldn’t have considered those alternative angles because other films are doing their job.

As an example, Groundhog Day (1993), a film which also features Michael Shannon, takes a much crazier scenario (a man repeating the same day over and over with no idea how or why) and continually steers it toward comedy, leaning just enough into the existential horror of things for contrast to make the comedy work even better. A Little White Lie never takes the reins, so events just kind of happen.

Michael Shannon’s choice to play Janitor-Shriver as awkward–not really making eye contact, muttering a lot of his dialogue–would be fine if everyone else was dialed up a few notches higher on the caricature scale. Kate Hudson, for one, plays things far too straight–more Gossip (2000) than Glass Onion (2022). Simone could conceivably be frazzled from trying to keep a lid on things while also coordinating an entire conference and then potentially lovestruck with Janitor-Shriver–because I guess that’s a thing. Which isn’t to say that the two don’t have chemistry, but there’s no moment that shows sparks flying between the two. Janitor-Shriver simply thinks Simone is better looking than Mark Boone Junior, who plays his only real friend back in New York. Simone in turn likes that Janitor-Shriver reads some of her writing and is very complimentary. I don’t really think either of these things constitute real “romance,” but that is admittedly a judgment call.

A Little White Lie suffers from a very common problem in first films: lack of a clear voice. Everything I’ve pointed out above is just an example of mediocre-to-bad filmmaking that makes it feel like the production lacked a deft hand. It’s a romantic comedy where the romance is undeveloped and the comedy at times feels actively avoided. The cast’s performances aren’t calibrated to any specific tone or style or to play well off of each other, so, while there are winning moments and interactions, the movie doesn’t know what to do with them. I can’t even tell what the POV of the story is. What is the script saying by juxtaposing the working class Janitor-Shriver with the comparatively frivolous personalities of the California aspiring artist community? Not much.

For a brief moment, I thought this film might borrow from Being There (1979), a film also based on a novel with a similar fish-out-of-water setup. In Being There, a socially insulated gardener is suddenly thrust into the world of politics where his non sequiturs about plant care are viewed as elegant and insightful political metaphors. When Janitor-Shriver asks if Blythe has considered writing from a male perspective or calls Sophie’s choice to sculpt in cake “odd,” those would have been opportunities for them or someone else to see some koan of logic within these critiques, but no one does.

The greatest sin of A Little White Lie is that it made me doubt Michael Shannon, who I sincerely view as one of the best actors around. Here, he’s completely unengaged as an actor, and gives an unengaging performance as a result. I worried: Has the man known as “Big Chicago” lost a step after decades of under-the-radar dynamite performances? Thankfully, I immediately watched George and Tammy (a six-episode miniseries on the lives of George Jones and Tammy Wynette on Showtime), which not only gets my heartiest endorsement, but features top-tier acting from Shannon.

A Little White Lie features brief shining moments–the camaraderie between T. Wasserman and Janitor-Shriver; the performance of Da’Vine Joy Randolph as Delta, a fellow conference attendee and author–that get drowned out in a muddled mix of other moments and characters. Maybe the book is better? Just watch George and Tammy. You’ll thank me.