Scant months apart, two films were made in white, upscale Glen Ridge, New Jersey, by young writer-directors, and the working out of sudden, totally unexpected death in the family is the core of each. But striking as that is, all similarity ends there. Professedly seeking the “single mistake -- the ‘original sin’” of classic Aeschylean tragedy, Dan Harris’ recent Imaginary Heroes falls on its face, in no small part due to jarring comic treatment, and fatuous happy resolution, of serious suburban issues.

Whereas that movie covers too much through younger son Tim’s voice-over, Josh Sternfeld’s feature début as writer and director, Sundance Film Festival Screenwriter’s Lab pick Winter Solstice, is verbally sparse and relies, instead, on nuance of speech (and silence) and gesture. “All the characters . . . are not all that talkative, and yet what they do say is very meaningful and conveys a lot,” as in the mature scene in Jim Winters’ (Anthony LaPaglia) pickup where, after the familiar fumbling loss for words, new arrival Molly Ripken (Allison Janney) intuits and “answers” that, no, she is not married; or the unspoken empathy between brothers as younger Pete Winters (Mark Webber) senses that Sunshine State-bound Gabe (Aaron Stanford) “don’t know anything about Florida, do you?”

More because it is in their character than society’s boys-don’t-cry ethic, and because maturing sons may indeed clash with fathers, the three Winters men keep it close to the vest as far as communicating with one another, as well as with girlfriends and other women, teachers and coworkers. Though the subject is ignored by Pete -- why, by the way, does he wear a hearing aid? -- sidestepped by his father and older brother in garage and cellar, and only once clarified in words (in the pickup), the auto-accident death of a beloved wife and mother informs their every moment.

That love is held inside, swaddled in layers of conflicting feelings, is conveyed by visual technique, too. What at first may seem grainy and not sharp, is actually Harlan Bosmajian’s use of 1970s preflashing technique, in which negatives receive controlled light before shooting, so that blacks in particular are softened and reveal vague detail as to the eye in everyday experience. With an unusual amount of what are basically vignettes, very short scenes in which characters are alone or silent with one another, often walking (for once not inside automobiles), the images point to thoughts that lie too deep for tears.

Five years it has been now since mother’s death, too quick even for farewells, while the three males maintain routine appearances, throttle emotion by not talking about the absence, and yearn for they know not what. Pete is bright but way underachieving in school; Gabe puts in extra hours at a menial job (rather than with Dad), has a lovely girlfriend in Stacey (Michelle Monaghan), but silently plans to leave and perhaps find himself; neighbors try to fix him up with dates, but the attractive widower (the actor is forty-five) devotes his time to home, sons and business.

He owns and operates Terra Firma Landscaping, loves his outdoors work, and one day offers a hand truck to a woman moving boxes into a nearby house. She, Molly, loves making copper jewelry, which doesn’t pay the bills, and, between jobs as a paralegal, has accepted friends’ three-month house-sitting offer, “a change of address” during which to read and sort out priorities. To thank Jim, she invites him and the sons to dinner. Not out of easy jealousy, but because they do their own things, the boys don’t show up, and over an experimental chicken with Moroccan sauce, he more shyly than she, the two adults get along well.

There are nice touches to growth and good-byes here, such as Jim’s bicycling by on-purpose-by-accident and not having a pen to write down Molly’s phone number, or disappearing Stacey’s bicycling reappearance and tiny wave to Gabe, or the men’s early-morning embraces after an evening’s mutual “I’m sorry.” Apart from one puzzling intrusion of lyrics, music is sparse pleasantly acoustic guitar, avoiding the easy tone-setting of period pop.

Spring will come after the healing period of winter discontent and hurt. Some bud back to life, others set out to find it. Overtly, not much happens, but then, life is made up of the small, the unsaid. There is reawakening here, only that and nothing more, the future uncertain but open. 

(Released by Paramount Classics and rated "R" for language.)