Rudderless

William H. Macy makes his debut as the director of a theatrical feature with "Rudderless," which he also co-wrote and in which he takes a small on-screen role.

A high-flying ad executive named Sam (Billy Crudup) sees his entire world shattered when a sudden tragedy leaves him grieving the death of his son, Josh (Miles Heizer). Bewildered and feeling he has nowhere to turn, Sam retreats to a boat, and a pile of booze bottles.

But when his ex-wife leaves him some of their son's belongings, Sam unearths a stack of homemade CDs. These turn out to be his son's demos, and the songs offer Sam a way to get into his son's head, and build a bridge to him, despite the tragedy. Soon, Sam is listening to the small collection of music all day at work and strumming and singing them on his boat by night.

Naturally, there's a local cafe built around an open mike (the place is called Trill); naturally, there's a local boy named Quentin (Anton Yelchin) working a dead-end job at a donut place who hears Sam sing one of the songs at the cafe and then decides that he must befriend Sam (even though he's a middle-aged curmudgeon and something of a drunk to boot). Soon, Quentin has built a band around the reluctant Sam, and their music... or rather, Josh's music... makes them local celebrities. But the long shadow of loss threatens everything when Josh's former girlfriend, a traumatized young woman named Kate (Selena Gomez) hears their band.

Crudup is charming; Yeltsin, always a sweet presence on screen, unleashes his inner geek, to some good comic effect. The pairing swerves from uncertain friendship to fatherly mentorship, and the dramatic tension is sometimes strained by clich�. Still, the film ventures into some fresh, challenging, and even charged territory, where it makes a case for empathy and forgiveness.

Laurence Fishburne also plays a relatively small role as the owner of a music shop. His character's function is a little unclear -- is he an advocate for Quentin? Is he there for comic relief? -- until late in the film, but he brightens things up, as do band members Ben Kweller and Ryan Dean.

The principle challenge of a movie like this is, of course, the songs. Lost gems, promising talent gone too soon, catharsis, healing, etc.; it all hinges on the idea that the songs are not just good, they're exceptional. Simon Steadman and Charlton Pettus wrote most of "Josh"'s songs, and they're not amazing. But they are solid enough, and they do contain some dark lyrical strands that make sense as the movie's story unfolds in its particular, bittersweet way.

Can music heal a broken heart, soothe the sting of incomprehensible events, or give a beat-down guy a second chance? In the movies, it can do all that and more. This isn't an especially believable movie, partly because it comes across as formulaic despite the novel spin it brings its warmed-over material. But it does have heart, and so do its stars.