In the new film The Guys, a New York writer is paired with a mourning fire chief with the estimable assignment of composing eulogies for several of his men lost in the devastation of September 11. Written by journalist Anne Nelson and based on her stage play, one of the first artistic responses to the tragedy, the film is intimate, sad, profound and simple.

The film opens two weeks following the World Trade Center disaster, and the New York here is indeed shell-shocked. Missing person flyers adorn every inch of the subway tunnels. Memorials crowd the sidewalks in lower Manhattan. New Yorkers wander the city like zombies who've had every emotion drained from their bodies.

Joan (Sigourney Weaver) is an established writer who, living on the Upper West Side with her children, has a comfortable life. She, like every other American, is at a loss for words and expression, shaken, numb but functional and changed. She accepts a writing gig working with Nick (Anthony LaPaglia), a downtown fire chief who is almost incapacitated with grief and shame over the loss of several of his men. Her job - to write the eulogies for the lost men, to be read by Nick at their funerals.

Taking place almost exclusively in Joan's apartment, the film employs a simple storytelling structure that is most powerful, with Nick recounting anecdotes and memories of each of the men, while Joan probes, questions and writes. Of course, her writer's distance gives way to some genuine soul-searching and she finds that, in this case, however powerful words might be, they just might not be enough.

In lesser hands the film could have felt routine, maybe even mechanical, obvious or maudlin. But in the hands of director Jim Simpson, Weaver and especially LaPaglia, who wears his mask of grief so accessibly on the surface, the film becomes a pure, transcendent actor's movie, with both obviously relishing the opportunity to respond creatively to the real-life tragedy and create a work of substance and longevity.

Largely, they succeed. There are moments when their performances ring so emotional and piercing that the film becomes undeniably affecting. Of course, it helps that we have built in cultural touch points that are so recent and sensitive, which load the drama with a sense of profundity of which it's aware and respectful. There are no easy answers in this film or explanations for the whys and hows of such a terrible event could possibly transpire. There's no antidote to the pain. There's no escape from the memory that floods your mind each morning after you wake up to realize, "It really happened."

But what is here are two actors playing their hearts out, obviously moved by the material. Both Weaver and LaPaglia created these roles together on stage, and their pointed communication and generosity of spirit together is apparent. In the middle of the sadness, there's one curiously light moment, where Joan fancifully imagines Nick teaching her to tango, that suggests a light romantic chemistry, a sort of necessary departure from the darkness, a moment of hope amidst the unbearable. It turns out to be a hoax, and rightfully so.

The Guys, with its hopeful approach to honoring those lost while coming to grips with the unknowable, is a great example of how art and film can be meaningful, true and cathartic. It's a pure and moving experience.