When tragedy strikes, the people involved are left with some choices to make. Central among these choices is the matter of how to respond to what has happened.

We can respond the healthy way by acknowledging what has occurred, pursuing healing and moving forward, or we can choose to deny what has occurred on some level and return to life as we had known it before.

However, we are incapable of living out this latter choice in its fullness. Our brains just won’t let us. On some level, we will always be seeking to heal the wound that was torn open by whatever it was that happened. The longer we go without acknowledging what has happened, the more foreboding and inaccessible the truth becomes, and the more the wound festers.

The Door in the Floor is filled with festering human wounds longing to experience healing. In this tale of loss — loss of life, loss of innocence, loss of faith — the only thing forbidden is the truth.

The tragedy that haunts the heart of the story is the death of teenagers Tommy and Timmy Cole in an auto accident. Tommy and Timmy were the sons of Ted (Jeff Bridges) and Marion Cole (Kim Basinger). The specific details of the accident are not disclosed until the end of the film because the details are off-limits for discussion.

When Ted does finally disclose them, he does so by relaying the events of that night in a third-person story format. Marion turns to stone at the very mention of it, going mute and stiff for hours at a time. But while the Coles hide from the reality of what happened, they are forever surrounded by their lost sons. Pictures of the boys line the halls of their posh Hamptons home, and the daughter they’ve had to replace the boys, Ruth (Elle Fanning, precocious younger sister of Dakota), is demonstrably obsessed with their memory.

As the film begins, we learn that the Cole marriage is on the outs. Ted, a successful author of children’s books but failed author of adult literature, is frustrated by Marion’s inability to move on from their sons’ deaths. But while Ted may have “moved on,” he is certainly not in a good place. Having lost his faith, he has become controlling and manipulative. His hobby is sketching local women in increasingly degrading poses, his current project being Mrs. Evelyn Vaughn (Mimi Rogers, boldly doing stark full-frontal nudity at 48).

It is into this volatile climate that Ted hires a young prep school student and wannabe-writer named Eddie O’Hare (earnest newcomer Jon Foster) to be his personal assistant for the summer.

Eddie almost is the exact age and likeness of the Coles’ oldest son. He is awed and honored to be working for Ted, whom he esteems greatly as an author and is eager to learn from.

But it doesn’t take long for Eddie to notice that all is not well in paradise. Visibly speaking there’s the “shrine,” as the photo-lined walls are referred to by Ruth’s nanny (obviously Ted and Marion are more than a little out of it, as they’ve hired wild-child Bijou Phillips as their nanny). But more troubling than the shrine is the thick fog of mystery that surrounds it.

Eddie soon finds himself head over heels in lust with Marion. Desperate and confused, Marion soon initiates a sexual relationship with Eddie that is partially inspired by his likeness to her dead son.

From here things only get more and more twisted, with the film playing out like a hybrid of In the Bedroom and the music video for “Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne.

And while we know that Ted definitely knows, the question becomes how long has he known? And furthermore, is this why Eddie was hired in the first place? What other hidden truths have yet to be revealed? Will Ted and Marion reconcile themselves to what really happened, or will they keep dressing their wounds with faulty bandages?

Based on the first third of John Irving’s novel A Widow For One Year, The Door in the Floor is the second feature by writer/director Tod Williams, who previously brought us the acclaimed sleeper hit The Adventures of Sebastian Cole. In his two films thus far, Williams has established himself to be a master of nuanced character development and lucid, life-like narratives. He also is skilled in creating atmosphere and ambiance; he is a kindred spirit to Sofia Coppola. This film is cloaked in mystery and vague dread, with a beating, broken heart pounding away beneath the smoke screen of its characters’ denial.

Jeff Bridges is very, very good here. While Bridges has amassed for himself many fans over the years (due in no small part to that beloved character known as The Dude), I have been rather hesitant in jumping on the Bridges bandwagon. But his work in this film has made a believer out of me. He has emerged from decades of acting as one of cinema’s most original and potent presences, with a coiled and authentic energy hiding under the laid-back, snarky exterior. The Oscar talk for his performance here is justified.

Also award-worthy here is Kim Basinger, who turns in a stunningly bold and fearless performance as a woman who, while beautiful and serene on the outside, has a vast wasteland where her heart should be. Marion is a black hole of need, shock and frustration, and Basinger takes the character to all the darkest corners of her soul. There might not be a more emotionally honest portrayal of sexual brokenness this year than when, while on top of Eddie mid-coitus, Marion stares tearfully into the eyes of her dead son in the picture hanging on the bedroom wall.

The title of the film is taken from one of the children’s stories Ted has written. In the story, the characters are warned away from ever entering the door in the floor, because of what lies beneath the door. But as this ultimately affirming film profoundly illustrates, the more you hide from your secrets, the bigger and uglier their power becomes and the more consumed you become by them.

E-mail: jleroy@kent.edu