Character-actor-turned-director Stanley Tucci’s latest is based on a true story from the 1940s about New York City residents Joseph Mitchell and Joe Gould.  These two were far from your average Joes – Mitchell was a popular columnist for the New Yorker, while Gould was a legendary bum who prowled around Greenwich Village.  Tucci’s fantastic film is based on two articles that Mitchell wrote for his magazine.  The first,  “Professor Seagull,” was published in 1942, and the second, “Joe Gould’s Secret,” came out twenty-two years later, long after Gould had died and Mitchell had discovered his “secret.”

Tucci (The Impostors) plays Mitchell, an elegant writer that can barely sputter out a complete thought during face-to-face interaction with other humans.  He’s happily married to a photographer (a dark-haired Hope Davis, Mumford) and has two precocious daughters.  One day, while eating lunch at a coffee shop, Mitchell crosses paths with the homeless Gould (Ian Holm, eXistenZ), a crazy, disheveled, mumbling, foul-mouthed, arm-flapping, name-dropping Harvard graduate/exhibitionist that claims he’s a direct descendant of William the Conqueror and is able to communicate with seagulls. Gould, like Hannibal Lecter, can pinpoint Mitchell’s birthplace from hearing one simple phrase.

Gould is also working on a book called “The Oral History of the World” (or sometimes, just the “O.H.”), a tale about the overheard conversations of anonymous, everyday people that will someday show the world what went wrong with society. Gould has been working on the book for years that, to date, dwarfs the Holy Bible in terms of sheer volume.  Needless to say, Mitchell is intrigued by Gould and begins to spend time with him so he can write an article championing his cause.  When he asks Gould for samples of his work, he is told that the bulk of Gould's masterpiece is currently being stored in the basement of a house on a Long Island duck and chicken farm.

When the New Yorker piece runs, Gould becomes a cult hero, receiving contributions to his “fund,” and also gaining a mysterious benefactor.  He is finally granted membership to a snooty Greenwich poetry society that he used to be kicked out of on a regular basis.  But he also continues to bother the patient Mitchell, who Gould begins to refer to as his biographer.  Mitchell just wants to move onto his next subject, but Gould won’t let him.

Gould’s character brings to mind Henry Fool from Hal Hartley’s 1998 film of the same name.  A dreamer like Gould, Fool also wrote his life's work in dime-store composition books and believed that the finished product would shake up the world.  Holm’s performance is beyond words.  He doesn’t look a lick like himself (his Gould more resembles Bob Hoskins in Cousin Bette) and he perfectly ends every one of Gould’s rambling sentences by incoherently trailing off, like Mike Myers doing an impression of Rolling Stone Ron Wood.

Tucci's direction here is much better than The Impostors, which was obviously a bit of a lighter film.  As a result, Gould is much more focused and perfectly captures the look and feel of World War II New York City.  Gould was photographed by Maryse Alberti (Velvet Goldmine, Happiness) and scored by Evan Lurie (Trees Lounge).  The film co-stars Steve Martin (Bowfinger), Susan Sarandon (Cradle Will Rock) and Patricia Clarkson (The Green Mile).

Perhaps the most interesting thing about the story is the fact that Mitchell continued to go to his New Yorker office every day after publishing “Joe Gould's Secret” in 1964.  He wrote for years and years, but was never printed again, claiming he was working on some big piece that remained shrouded in mystery. Nobody ever found out what it was, and Mitchell died in 1996.

1:48 - for adult language and brief nudity