In 1949 a dark portrait of family life opened on Broadway. Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman stunned audiences with its frank portrayal of the dark-sides of capitalist competition, middle age and the elusive American Dream. Fast forward to 1999 when Sam Mendes turned Alan Balls hit play American Beauty into an eye opening, award winning film. This blockbuster, along with a plethora of Wes Anderson masterpieces starring Bill Murray, continue Miller's tradition of possessing and captivating audiences with those same themes of midlife crises and the fallout of the nuclear family. The latest installment in this grippingly emotional genre is The Weatherman.

Directed by Gore Vibranski, of Pirates of the Caribbean fame, The Weatherman is a modern day Death Of A Salesman, minus the suicide and flute solo interludes, replaced by archery and drive-by fast food throwing. Starring Nicholas Cage and Michael Caine, Vibranski's truly masterful film follows the life of a 40-something television weatherman as he struggles with life's existential dilemmas. A far cry from his days as a regular John Hugh's extra, Cage exemplifies the perfectly American nervous breakdown. In a performance matched only by Caine's depiction of a no-nonsense intellectual of whom Sartré himself would be proud, Cage's finely tuned dramatic skill absolutely shines throughout the whole film.

With its indie film sensibility and marketable highbrow humour, the sophisticated cinematic synthesis of ticket selling gags and introspective scripting may not please all moviegoers. The extended nature of the comedy, though typical of the genre, may leave those expecting obvious humour and an action-packed plot demanding a refund. However, those willing to brave the somewhat drawn out aspects of the film will be rewarded with 19th century-esque glove slapping, entire soliloquies of strung together cuss words and an encyclopedic definition of the “camel toe” as delivered by Michael Caine himself. Not to mention a stunningly witty, moving and intimate look into the life of a failing pursuer of perhaps hopeless American ideals and values.

What makes The Weatherman and all of its contemporaries such artistic successes are the oddly delightful depictions of the American Dream as a lie and, of course, the humanizing of the typical workaholic middle aged man through candid documentation of his particular emotional breakdown. By turning the steadfast stereotype of grown men as unfeeling but nominally successful (and therefore happy) people into emotive and sometimes irrational people is an appealing concept. Much as in real life, nothing is more wholly saddening than seeing a grown man, preferably one who is wearing a suit, reduced to tears. It is this sense of true emotion, executed through both honest and charismatic scripting as well as acting, which proves The Weatherman a thoroughly engaging new edition to the cinematic tradition which precedes it. Bring tissues and prepare to be amazed.