Theater People!

ACTRESS (B+) - In this stylized documentary, director Robert Greene ("Fake It So Real") embeds himself into the personal life of Brandy Burre as her loveless marriage falls apart and she plots a return to acting while raising two small children.

Burre's only notable entry on her resume is a regular role as a political fixer on HBO's "The Wire" about 10 years ago in seasons three and four. But it's not her IMDb profile that matters here; it's the intimate look at a woman on the brink of 40 having a career/life meltdown. Greene takes liberties with the nonfiction form, scoring his film beautifully and presenting artsy shots and languorous slow-motion takes. It's often quite lovely to look at. Some might be put off by a few obviously staged scenes, particularly the one in which Burre, dressed like Donna Reed, stands at the kitchen sink and artfully lets drop a glass, which she then kneels over as if it were a wounded bird.

But once you get past the set-up -- it takes a while to generate empathy for this woman of privilege trapped in a suburb in upstate New York -- a cadence kicks in, and the story draws you in like a good soap opera does. Her mostly mute husband, who runs a restaurant and bar, has obviously checked out of the relationship. Burre has her yoga body back and craves attention, both physical and emotional, but she gets nothing. Instead, her eye strays, as Greene casually alludes to in an early scene that is lovely and poetic.

Burre opens herself up -- to the extent that we can believe actors are capable of that while a camera is rolling. Listing her as playing "herself" is accurate; she is playing the role of Brandy Burre.

We see her struggle with the tedious tasks required of a mother of two kids under the age of seven. She complains to the camera about her general ennui and dissatisfaction. She starts to network, looking to get back in the game.

It's all visually arresting, and it's knitted together with a fascinating soundtrack, dominated by the 1990s Chicago indie band Rachel's moody strings, notably quiet songs from the sophomore effort "Music for Egon Schiele." A nugget from Harry Belafonte, "Waly Waly," drives home the theme -- love is "bright as a jewel when first new" but "fades away like morning dew."

It can be difficult to connect with a woman who seems to ache more for the stage than her little nest and who openly yearns for recognition. But despite the sheen slathered on her life, Burre still manages to come across as achingly human.

BONUS TRACK
Rachel's, "Music for Egon Schiele":