The dichotomy is familiar. On one hand we have the bloated studio movies packed with special effects and propped up with multi-million dollar marketing budgets. In the smaller, less publicized corner are the artier indie films from the festival circuit that too often fall under the weight of their own pretensions. The Visitor manages to be that rare movie boasting the best of both worlds while simultaneously avoiding the genre-specific pitfalls.

At first blush The Visitor looks to sit squarely in the indie camp. The story follows Walter Vale, a middle-aged bespectacled economics professor who happens to be a widower. Still mourning his wife’s death, he attends an academic conference in New York City where he finds a young couple illegally inhabiting the seldom used apartment he keeps there. After some initial shock, Tarek (Haaz Sleiman) and Zainab (Danai Jekesai Gurira)–a young Syrian and his Senegalese girlfriend–realize that they’ve been renting the place illegally, thanks to some mysterious huckster, and they pack up to leave. Walter takes compassion on them and invites them to stay. Drama ensues.

Just hearing the description you might wonder if a dryer, duller movie could possibly be made. But director Tom McCarthy (The Station Agent) heads off boredom at the pass, never allowing it to show up. The relationships explored are genuinely meaty, but there’s a lightness about this film as well. There are plenty of well-earned laughs to be had as Walter learns to play the drums from Tarek and slowly tries to ingratiate himself with reserved Zainab. The film is sufficiently deep, but also fun enough to hold your interest. Visually, this character piece finds a way, through well-imagined cinematography, to feel large and substantial without sacrificing nuance.

The most treacherous but ultimately rewarding segment of the film deals with a scrape between Tarek and U.S. immigration officials. Amazingly, the relationships continue to lead, and the movie never devolves into an anti-Bush screed. And just when you think the Hollywood influence might rear its head, the beautifully unsullied ending arrives. The final fifteen minutes are neither sappy nor too hip for their own good.
There are several noteworthy performances here, and Richard Jenkins particularly owns the screen. But the real show stealer here is the story, which constantly walks the line between too much and not enough without ever slipping up.