Things I Don’t Understand (2011, David Spaltro)

Spaltro tries to do a lot with Things I Don’t Understand.

The film starts with confrontational narration from protagonist Molly Ryman. The first twenty minutes feel like an extended trailer rather than the film itself, establishing Ryman as an unlikable, insincere egotist.

It turns out there’s a logic to the first person exposition, but it isn’t revealed until the end (which is a little late). The narration fades after the first half hour and Things finally gets moving.

At the core of the film is the relationship between Ryman and Grace Folsom. Folsom’s in a hospice with bone cancer; Ryman makes her acquaintance. The whole “dying person makes selfish person better” genre is a little tired, but Things makes it work. Folsom’s performance is stunning. Spaltro delays Ryman’s sense of altruism so far past the expected mark, when the character finally does grow, it’s no longer in the trite zone.

And then Spaltro keeps the story going… to a questionable finish. He gives Aaron Mathias, as Ryman’s tormented love interest, a lot to do and Mathias flops.

Spaltro’s a fine director. Gus Sacks’s photography is excellent too. Great sound design.

There is some outstanding work in the supporting cast. Hugo Dillon, Nabil Vinas, Mike Britt and Lynn Justinger are all fantastic. Lisa Eichhorn has a small part as Ryman’s therapist; they’re quite good together.

Sadly, the ending is terribly paced (the film’s both too long and too short), but Things achieves some significant successes. Folsom and Ryman (and Spaltro) excel.

1/4

CREDITS

Written, edited and directed by David Spaltro; director of photography, Gus Sacks; music by Vita Tanga; production designer, Emmeline Wilks-Dupoise; produced by Grant DeSimone, Jason Shahinfar and Lee Gillentine.

Starring Molly Ryman (Violet Kubelick), Aaron Mathias (Parker McNeil), Grace Folsom (Sara), Hugo Dillon (Remy), Meissa Hampton (Gabby), Eleanor Wilson (Darla), Lynn Justinger (Zooey), Mike Britt (Big Felix), Nabil Vinas (Joe), Tracy Toth (Lisa) and Lisa Eichhorn (Dr. Blankenship).


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King of the Hill (1993, Steven Soderbergh)

Two major things about Soderbergh’s approach to a memoir adaptation. They’re somewhat connected, so I might not manage to separate them out. King of the Hill has no frame, it has no narration. It has no context. It does not feel, at all, like a “true” story because there’s no attempt to classify itself as a true story. It drops the viewer right in, gives he or she a subtitle notating the setting and time and nothing else. Soderbergh creates, at times, a stylistic euphoria–starts right at the beginning doing it even, maybe the third or fourth scene–and the approach makes King of the Hill different. Even though it’s based on a memoir, by never involving “reality,” Soderbergh makes the plot’s conclusion unsure. Anything could happen.

As innocuous as the story might sometimes get–since Jesse Bradford’s protagonist is so self-sufficient it’s hard to remember he’s thirteen–Soderbergh infuses the film with a constant danger. Sometimes the danger is age-appropriate, sometimes it’s a lot bigger. Around the midway point, I had to remind myself Soderbergh was not telling a story about his youth. I had to remind myself Soderbergh wasn’t alive during the film’s time period, it wasn’t based on his childhood–the film envelops the viewer. Soderbergh immediately establishes his characters and then everything else is experienced at Bradford’s pace. Characters enter and leave the story, with the entire story through Bradford’s perspective. The viewer occasionally gets other things, very brief glimpses from other character’s perspectives, but the whole show is Bradford, which might be why he’s never been able to follow it up.

The other performances are excellent too, with Adrien Brody in the film’s flashiest role. Soderbergh’s cinematic storytelling here is accomplished, there’s no other word. He incites the viewer to figure things out by a character’s presence, not to be cute, but because a successful King of the Hill viewer is a participatory viewer. It might by with the film did so terribly. Also good are Cameron Boyd as Bradford’s brother; Amber Benson as his friend–I find I’m not enumerating the adults as much, which is because of the way the film portrays them. It’s difficult to put them, having just watched the film, in an easy to discuss context. Spalding Gray is quite good in his small part as is Kristin Griffith in her two scenes.

The film’s character relationships are complicated and hard to unravel. Soderbergh manages moments of severe gravity with silence from the characters and Cliff Martinez’s delicate score. Martinez and Soderbergh seem to take some of the tone–and the music’s effect on the tone–from Badlands, which is an odd influence for a movie about a kid–King of the Hill is not a kid’s movie at all. It isn’t a feel good movie. It’s a sometimes unsettling film about survival and self-sufficience. Without ever using the word “depression,” Soderbergh has made one of the best films about the Great Depression.

It’s kind of like Maugham with kids (and in America and during the Great Depression).