Chiding foibles gently or not so gently, comedy may illuminate man the social individual as forcibly as tragedy. Or, equally with its reverse-mask twin, it may make bearable the otherwise overwhelming: Freud's self-directed gallows humor, our black humor, has come out of traditionally marginalized groups, Jews and African-Americans. Not infrequently, the two genres appear together, to critical and public perplexity, as in Shakespeare's “problem” or “bitter” comedies and, for today, in debated aspects of Michael Radford's The Merchant of Venice.

My screening companion's more favorable than not opinion of tonight’s film and, particularly, outbursts of laughter from a nearby couple, made me wonder about my own entirely negative reaction. So it was reinforcement when, in the elevator, the man and woman explained that the guffaws had been at, not with, Imaginary Heroes and several times volunteered the word, “dishonest.” I would have said, “trivializing,” but either will do.

Extremely young writer/director Dan Harris refers to “the tragedies of Aeschylus [which] begin with a single action, a single mistake -- the ‘original sin’” that shapes all that follows. The objection here is not to that pretentiousness, for, after all, youth ought to be ambitious. Rather, the flaw in this case lies in two separate-related aspects: indecision as to direction, resulting in an indigestible omelette of sitcom humor and real tragic possibility; and the (sadly common) failure to grasp the deadly serious cancer that eats away at America.

To seventeen-year-old Tim Travis’ (Emile Hirsch) ironic bland narrator’s voice, the superman swimming prowess of older brother Matt (Kip Pardue) is laid out, along with that athlete’s hatred of self and sport, culminating in his bedroom suicide. Dad Ben’s (Jeff Daniels, not so miscast as others thought) jock-pushiness seems a likely cause, together with the eighteen-year drying up of feeling between the parents. Chain-smoking mom Sandy (Sigourney Weaver) wants to confide in Tim as a buddy, takes refuge in weary sarcasm, and wages her one-sided battle with husband- but not manless Marge Dwyer next door (Dierdre O’Connell). Sis Penny (Michelle Williams) returning from college only dutifully at Christmas, centerpiece Tim pals around with Marge’s son (Ryan Donowho) and waffles about love and sex with sort of girlfriend Steph (Suzanne Santo).

Each in his or her own way, the living Travises deal with the dead son’s presence, but hints drop like lead that present alienation has roots in long-ago. Mother discovers, and gets busted for, pot and comes near to accepting a wacky suicidal toy-boy lover (Jay Paulson). Father’s facial stubble neither grows nor shortens while he leaves his job, drinks and ingests a pharmacopoeia of pills, glowers and maintains favorite son Matt’s bedroom and place at the table. Tim and Kyle drink-and-drive, pop Ecstasy and other goodies (even Viagra that Tim naïvely steals), party, gaze at the eternal uncaring heavens, and joke about war injuries when doing court-mandated community service.

Filmed in Glen Ridge, New Jersey, this is suburbia of several-hundred-thousand-dollar Victorian houses and manicured lawns -- mother says that, not trailer trash, they need to tighten belts -- where kids booze to wash down drugs, fall down flights of steps (offering to do it again for the camcorder), commit suicide (successfully only twice) and are unhappy and messed up. Adultery among their parents, with an occasional illegitimacy here and there, pseudo-liberalism, automobile accidents and serious illnesses, feuds and family skeletons, lovelessness and self-pity, run-ins with authorities -- all in a day’s upper-middle-class life.

Unthinkably, this harrowing reality receives no more than surface treatment. Humor in the face of such a situation is not per se unacceptable, but the film’s cavalier trivialization is unforgivable. The deep dark secret will out -- the Director’s Statement “seed mistake” -- to be resolved with a forced, tearful three-second embrace. Ben’s disturbing notebook self-portrait and unreadable notations -- handled better even in unremarkable The Shining and Spider--blossom as life-affirming music and final bruised revelation. Reconciled, coupled off (or again), they all walk brightly toward the future. But don’t you believe it: each unhappy in its own fashion, families do not so easily triumph. 

(Released by Sony Pictures Classics and rated "R" for substance abuse, sexual content, language and some violence.)