All the sheep are black

Hader and Wiig anchor a stellar cast that elevates ‘The Skeleton Twins’

It doesn’t really matter that Bill Hader is from Tulsa. Everybody starts somewhere. But like many notable Tulsa-born actors before him, Hader was forced westward, where the work is. After joining the famed Second City troupe in Los Angeles, a natural boot-camp for up and coming comedians, he caught the attention of “Saturday Night Live” producer Lorne Michaels and quickly landed a feature performing gig on SNL in 2005. That’s when things really took off.

Known in the last decade for some of that show’s funnier characters, most notably the club-kid/Weekend Update correspondent, Stefon, Hader made a name for himself with a raft of spot-on celebrity impersonations and a series of hilarious supporting turns for television, including work on “South Park” (where he also served as a writer and producer), “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!”, “Xavier: Renegade Angel” and “The Mindy Project” as Mindy Kaling’s borderline psychotic ex-boyfriend, Tom. His appearances in films, including “Tropic Thunder,” “Superbad” and “Pineapple Express” (a personal favorite, despite its brevity) were invariable stand-outs—and those are just a few entries in the prolific actor’s dense resume. After leaving SNL in 2012, Hader picked up a well-earned American Comedy Award for his efforts.     

In writer/director Craig Johnson’s sophomore (but by no means sophomoric) feature film "The Skeleton Twins," Hader takes a left turn, reuniting with fellow SNL alum Kristin Wiig in his first dramatic, starring role. The results prove that there’s more to the guy than mere rubber-faced absurdity.

Hader is Milo, a struggling gay actor in Hollywood who, in a pique of depression, cranks up the stereo, pounds some booze and pills, and settles in for what he intends to be the last warm bath of his life. Fortunately for him a neighbor acts on the noise before he can bleed out.

Milo’s sister, Maggie (Wiig), whom he hasn’t seen in ten years, is just about to swallow her own bottle of pills when she gets the call about her brother’s suicide attempt. She brings him back from L.A. to her home in upstate New York, where she lives a seemingly more well-adjusted life with her sweet-but-dim husband, Lance (Luke Wilson). The formerly inseparable siblings get to know each other again.

Milo begins stalking Rich, his ex-lover and ex-English teacher (Ty Burell of “Modern Family”), while Maggie, (clearly) disaffected by married life surreptitiously takes birth control pills to subvert Lance’s attempts to get her pregnant, and temper the consequences of her occasional infidelities. Both are hiding their worst from each other (and everyone else), not wanting to upset the cold comforts of their reunion. But as their veils are pulled back they are forced to face their many and varied dysfunctions, to reclaim the happiness that they haven’t felt since they were kids.

While the tradition of comedic actors turning to drama is long, the easiest comparison to Hader’s turn to the dramatic would be Jim Carrey in 1998’s “The Truman Show”—though what Hader brings to the role of Milo is far more nuanced and raw than Carrey’s mixture of over-emoted sadness and Jimmy Stewart-esque, wide-eyed hope. Milo’s love for Maggie (and conversely, Rich) is tempered by his bubbling desperation to become the person he always imagined he’d be, and Hader’s inner turmoil manifests itself in ways that feel completely genuine—even as the script, by director Craig Johnson and co-writer Mark Heyman (“Black Swan”) occasionally veers between its characters’ darkness and feel-good affirmations somewhat inelegantly (the finale feels particularly rushed). Those tonal shifts can feel vaguely jarring, but they never derail the story, which, while sporting its fair share of familiar dramedy tropes, is still smartly-written enough to throw us a few curveballs. The narrative aesthetic of mumblecore pioneers Mark and Jay Duplass (who produced here) is apparent within the film’s themes of arrested development and fear of adulthood’s requisite responsibilities.   

While the cinematography (by Reed Morano, “Kill Your Darlings”) is appropriately cinematic (which saves a scene like the “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” sequence from feeling like it should be in an episode of “The New Girl”), and Johnson’s direction is adept, it’s Hader and Wiig’s performances, bolstered by Luke Wilson’s scene-stealing straight-man (both figuratively and literally) turn as Lance that elevate the film to something more than the sum of its parts. Wiig and Hader’s chemistry is palpable and effortlessly sincere—both funny and damaged—underscoring emotional arcs that they render with great wit and tangible despair. Wilson is the perfect foil to them, his aww-shucks affability often punctuating and sometimes creating the film’s biggest laughs. Ty Burell also shines in a smaller, but equally complex role that will make you forget “Modern Family.” Hopefully. 

"The Skeleton Twins," despite its few and minor tonal missteps, is a deeply enjoyable film, suffused with easy charm and thoughtfully executed intellect. It’s certainly a vehicle for Wiig and Hader to branch out into more challenging character work, and they deliver with revelatory performances—in Hader’s case, a career-defining one.