5/28/15: Paved With Good Intentions

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Bottled Up, cinema, dramas, drug addiction, drug smuggling, dysfunctional family, enabling, Enid Zentelis, environmentalists, film reviews, films, Fredric Lehne, independent films, indie films, Jamie Harrold, Josh Hamilton, Marin Ireland, Melissa Leo, mother-daughter relationships, Movies, Nelson Landrieu, parent-child relationships, pill addiction, romances, Sam Retzer, Tibor Feldman, Tim Boland, writer-director

In an era when so many films seem to fulfill no greater need than increasing some conglomerate’s bottom line, it’s always refreshing to run across movies that actually have something to say, regardless of whether they have the expense account to say it loudly enough to get noticed. As someone who wearies of the “bigger, louder, dumber” mantra that rules the multiplex, I make a point to seek out the quieter, more modest choices whenever possible. After all: which type of film could really use more support…the billion-dollar tentpole flick or the indie that was probably made for a third of the former’s catering budget?

This, of course, ends up being quite the over-simplification but it helps put us in the proper mind to discuss writer-director Enid Zentelis’ Bottled Up (2013). Zentelis’ drug addiction drama, the follow-up to her debut, Evergreen (2004), is just the aforementioned kind of modest indie drama that normally fits my sensibilities like a glove. It’s the kind of film that I normally have no problem championing, usually over the top of something with a much larger advertising budget. In this case, however, I find myself in a bit of a pickle: you see, Bottled Up has its heart in the right place but the film is so fundamentally awkward that it’s difficult to ever become fully invested. That being said, I’ll gladly take a dozen well-intentioned films like this over much of the soulless superhero drivel and remakes that currently glut the multiplexes.

At its heart, Bottled Up is the story of Fay (Melissa Leo) and her adult daughter, Sylvie (Marin Ireland). Sylvie is a pill addict, supposedly the result of a car accident that screwed up her back, while her mother officially holds the title of “world-class enabler.” While Fay is a hard-working, responsible and caring individual, Sylvie is a complete wreck: manic, an habitual liar, an unrepentant thief and constantly in search of her next fix, Sylvie is like a human-shaped albatross perpetually affixed to her poor mother’s neck. Despite being “in control” of her daughter’s pain pills, Fay really isn’t in control of anything: whenever Sylvie feels like it, she just steals more money or hocks more shit, keeping her sleazy dealer, Jerry (Jamie Harrold), on speed-dial the whole while.

Just when things seem to be at their bleakest for Fay, she strikes up a friendship with Becket (Josh Hamilton), the spacey environmental activist who works at the local organic grocery store. Becket recycles, he composts, he takes samples of the local lake water and sends them to the government for testing and, most importantly, he seems to be swooning over Fay. Despite some obvious chemistry between the activist and the mom, however, Fay actually has different plans for Becket: believing that all Sylvie needs to “fix” her is the love of a good man, Fay does her damnedest to set the two up, despite her daughter’s near pathological desire to fuck it all up. As Fay keeps trying to “weld” Becket and Sylvie together, despite their overwhelmingly awkward interactions, she must also fight down her own growing feelings for the sensitive treehugger.

As is often the case, balance becomes a problem: how does one live their own life when they’re also living someone else’s? Fay continues to negotiate this precarious tightrope act, all while the local doctors get wise to Sylvie’s abuse issues and begin to make life even more difficult for the put-upon mother. Add one all-too-eager drug dealer, a spontaneous trip to Canada and growing self-awareness to the mix and you have yourself the recipe for some cathartic, if painful, personal growth. Will Fay finally discover who she really is or will Sylvie’s addiction wind up destroying everyone around her?

All of the elements are in place for Bottled Up to do exactly what it seems to set out to do. Yet, for various reasons, the film ends up feeling oddly flat and rather awkward. All of the principals – Melissa Leo, Marin Ireland and Josh Hamilton – have been responsible for some excellent performances in the past (Leo, in particular). Here, however, none of them seem to gel together, making much of the romantic angle feel forced and, at times, a little creepy. The ways in which Fay tries to push Becket and Sylvie together have a kind of whimsical “meet-cute” feel, at first, but quickly give way to something more awkward and cringe-worthy. Likewise Becket’s romancing of Fay: while it sometimes hits genuinely “sweet” moments, it all too often feels forced and out-of-place.

While Leo manages to get several very nice scenes and emotional moments (despite being saddled with an unfortunate haircut that spends the majority of the film obscuring her face), Ireland’s performance is almost uniformly awkward and strange. I get that Sylvie is a drug addict, many of whom are known to be rather squirrely individuals. Ireland’s performance is so erratic and wild, however, that it’s often difficult to figure out what which of the traits are the character’s and which are the actor’s. At numerous points, a sly look from Sylvie would seem to telegraph something only to amount to nothing: at a certain point, I was positive that Sylvie was trying to make Becket sick although, as I think about it later, it really wouldn’t make sense, under that context.

For his part, Hamilton plays Becket with such a blase, befuddled sense of inattention that, like with Ireland’s performance, it becomes a bit of a question as to what’s intended and what’s not. While the world is full of oblivious, tunnel-visioned individuals, surely none of them could be as absolutely blind to their immediate surroundings as Becket is: it’s not so much that he seems to be obsessed with the lake as that he seems to be willfully ignoring the highly dysfunctional mother-daughter team before him.

Part of the problem with the film’s overall impact is the disparity between some of the obviously whimsical elements and the more grim, overall feel. The score, courtesy of Tim Boland and Sam Retzer, is what I like to call “indie quirky” and the film features such magical-realist elements as Fay’s workplace, the bizarrely esoteric Mailboxes and Thangs (where one can mail a package, buy a donut and get a nipple piercing, all in the same visit). At times, Bottled Up seems one quirky character or cleverly placed indie tune away from the same patch of land where Wes Anderson normally builds his brand of particularly baroque architecture.

These lighthearted touches, however, end up sitting uncomfortably next to the film’s more unrelentingly dark, rather hopeless tone. Despite any of its issues, Bottled Up manages to be rather on-the-nose when it comes to depicting the humiliating, pointless and painful lives that addicts (and their families) suffer through: while the film never wallows in the shit-and-piss ugliness of something like Trainspotting (1996) or Requiem for a Dream (2000), there’s also nothing wholesome, cute or heartwarming about Fay and Sylvie’s relationship. More than anything, there’s a thick air of hopeless defeat that hangs over the characters: it feels as if we’ve entered Fay and Sylvie’s story at the very end, after both parties have, for all intents and purposes, given up. You always need a rock bottom in any recovery story, of course, but the constant emotional back-and-forth feels schizophrenic rather than organic.

Despite the aforementioned problems and the constant sense of awkward distance, there was still a lot to like here. While she doesn’t always hit the mark, Leo turns in another typically sturdy performance: Fay’s character does go through an arc, over the course of the story, and Leo is an assured pro at letting this comes across organically, rather than conveniently. I also really liked the film’s more loopy elements and wish Zentelis had opted to center more of the story there: there’s endless, virtually unexploited potential in the Mailboxes and Thangs concept, alone, not to mention Fay’s tentative steps into the world of conservationism. I also liked the concept of Jerry, the drug dealer, even if the actual character ended up being under-used and seemed to exit the film all too quickly. While the film is about Fay and Sylvie’s struggles, it also works best when it grounds them within the surrounding community.

At the end of the day, Bottled Up is a film with the very best intentions which, as I’ve stated earlier, certainly isn’t lost on me. Even if the various elements never cohere, it’s quite plain that Zentelis does have plenty of good insights into addiction, co-dependence and dysfunctional relationships. There are moments in the film that ring absolutely true and the final resolution is the kind of hopeful break in the storm clouds that really drives a film like this home. Bottled Up is an ode to addicts and the people who love them, even at the expense of their own individuality. I might not agree with how Zentelis said it, but I’ll damned if I can find much fault with what she had to say.

10/11/14 (Part One): Getting the Cold Shoulder From Mother Nature

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31 Days of Halloween, Alaska, Arctic setting, auteur theory, cinema, co-writers, Connie Britton, environmental-themed horror, environmentalism, favorite films, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, global warming, horror, horror film, horror films, indie films, isolation, James Le Gros, Jamie Harrold, Joanne Shenandoah, John Carpenter, Kevin Corrigan, Larry Fessenden, Movies, oil riggers, Pato Hoffmann, Robert Leaver, Ron Perlman, The Last Winter, The Thing, writer-director-producer-actor, Zach Gilford

There’s something about the desolate wasteland of an Arctic landscape that just makes for a good horror story. Lovecraft knew it…Carpenter knew it…hell, Jack London knew it, if you think about it. The combination of harsh living conditions, relentless weather, isolation and vast, untouched frontier is the perfect setting for putting humanity under the microscope and seeing what squirms around. The infinite, stark surroundings could hide anything from ancient, alien civilizations to rampaging monsters to serial killers or it could just be the perfect location to allow festering paranoia, jealousy, anger and fear to bubble to the surface and turn humans, ourselves, into our own kind of monster.

Over the years, a handful of films have used the unforgiving Arctic climes as incubators for their particular brand of terror, most notably John Carpenter’s The Thing (1980), which is sort of the grand-daddy for this little sub-genre, which is fitting considering that Howard Hawks’ The Thing From Another World (1951) is the great-grand-daddy of frigid fright films. Filmmakers have used the cold wastelands as homes for cannibals, aliens, mutated creatures, ghosts…even Frankenstein’s monster took up residency there, for a while. When done right, I don’t think that there’s anything quite as frightening as a cold-bound horror film unless it’s a space-bound one: chalk it up to the isolation factor or the notion that either location seems to feature a lot of “rocks” that we haven’t looked under, leading to plenty of unknown squirmy things just waiting to pop out and say hi.

Veteran writer-producer-actor-director and all-around Renaissance man Larry Fessenden has had quite the career. As an actor, he’s one of those quirky characters that you might not recognize by name but you’ll definitely recognize by sight: he’s been in everything from mainstream films like Scorsese’s Bringing Out the Dead (1999) to indie films like Jarmusch’s Broken Flowers (2005) to genre films like Session 9 (2001). He’s produced outstanding movies like I Sell the Dead (2008), The House of the Devil (2009)and Stake Land (2010) and has directed and written six full length films, thus far, as well as a slew of shorts, videos and a segment in the “Fear Itself” TV series. Over the years, I’ve found Fessenden to be one of the most uncompromising, talented and just flat-out cool voices in independent cinema, the kind of filmmaker like Ben Wheatley or Nicholas Winding Refn who sells me on a film by name alone. To paraphrase that old Field of Dreams (1989) chestnut: if Fessenden films it, I’ll be there. His entry in the frozen-wasteland sweepstakes, 2006’s The Last Winter, stands as another high point in an already exceptional filmography: it’s not quite The Thing but it’s one mighty impressive film, nonetheless, and easily one of my favorites.

The Last Winter begins by informing us that North Industries will begin to drill for oil in a previously untapped part of Alaska, due to the loosening of environmental restrictions. To that end, Ed Pollack (Ron Perlman) shows up at North’s drilling camp in order to check on their progress. Despite having an expert team, including Abby (Connie Britton), Motor (Kevin Corrigan), Maxwell (Zach Gilford), Lee (Pato Hoffmann) and Dawn (Joanne Shenandoah), the drilling site has hit a bit of a snag: conditions in the area aren’t cold enough to drill and support their heavy equipment, thanks to unseasonably warmth weather. Environmental impact expert James Hoffman (James Le Gros) and his assistant, Elliot (Jamie Harrold), want Ed and his team to put the brakes on their operation but there are deadlines involved and lots of money to be made, so Ed doesn’t pay the “hippie” much attention.

The situation goes from bad to worse, however, when Maxwell begins to act strange: he fancies that he hears strange sounds out in the freezing wasteland and seems to be able to see ghostly visions that might or might not be herds of phantom elk stampeding through the landscape. He goes out one night to investigate an isolated test well and doesn’t return: the rest of the group frantically hunt for Maxwell but turn up empty-handed. When Maxwell comes wandering back into camp sometime later, however, relief turns into more worry: the young man is different now, more distant and decidedly more strange. He begins to tell everyone that they’re grave-robbers, stealing the “dead bodies” of animals and plants that have been dead for millions of years. At some point, he warns them, the oil will get tired of being taken advantage of. At some point, it won’t passively wait to be taken from the ground: it will rise up, on its own, and come to pass horrible judgment on the masses of humanity for their environmental crimes.

The rest of the group, including the decidedly green Hoffman, think that Maxwell must have a screw loose. When unexpected things keep happening at the camp site, however, the team is faced with a truly terrifying prospect: perhaps Maxwell is right and Mother Earth really is rising up to take revenge on her human parasites. As the frozen wasteland and whatever it hides begins to claim more victims, paranoia and fear run rampant through the camp. Will any of the team make it back to civilization or will the stunningly beautiful and harsh frozen landscape become their final resting place?

One of the many criticisms that are often hurled at horror films is their relative lack of relevance to our daily lives: a mask-wearing psycho may mean something to us in a figurative sense but it doesn’t mean a whole lot on a personal sense, unless one happens to actually live in Haddonfield or Springwood. Fessenden’s film corrects this complaint by actually being about something: both overtly and covertly, The Last Winter is a treatise on the effects of global warming on this big globe of ours. The issue, of course, is a divisive one, having morphed from a scientific concern into a political one thanks to the best efforts of lobbyists and activists on both sides. Fessenden is not interesting in the political ramifications of the issue, however, unless in the most general way (“tree-huggers vs average Joes”). On the contrary, he tackles the issue as a purely scientific fact: Hoffman tests the temperatures, they’re warmer than they used to be, the ice is obviously thinner than it was and it’s affecting how they can transport their equipment. That’s pretty much it. In a way, The Last Winter isn’t so much a cautionary tale (“If we don’t stop now, this will be our fate”) as it is a resolved one (“It’s already too late, so let’s see what happens next”).

Along with this more involved storyline, Fessenden and co-writer Robert Leaver have come up with a pretty solid little script, full of some nice characterizations and snappy dialogue. Carpenter’s The Thing taught us that the ensemble cast is key in something like this and Fessenden stacks his deck pretty high: Perlman, Le Gros, Britton and Corrigan are all exceptional character actors and each of them brings their A-games to the film. Perlman, in particular, is in great form: I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a bad performance from the guy, to be honest, but there’s something about the character of Ed that lets Perlman flex a few different acting muscles this time around. Ed tows the company line, sure, but he’s not a sleazy, uber-villain like Paul Reiser’s Carter Burke from Aliens (1986): he genuinely cares about his crew although he’s got his own set of orders to follow. There’s also a nice romantic triangle established between Ed, James and Abby which allows for a little more intimate emotions than we normally get from the genre great.

Craftwise, The Last Winter is a pretty stunning production: the cinematography is flawless and handily establishes just how minuscule and insignificant these humans are against their stark, white landscape. While this isn’t really an effects-heavy film, it manages to pull off its setpieces with suitable aplomb: the climatic encounter features a pretty interesting creature design which, although nothing compared to Bottin’s landmark effects work from The Thing, is still miles above similar-budgeted genre fare. The score and sound design help play an integral part in the production, amping up tension at every corner and the film’s editing (courtesy of Fessenden) is unfussy and suits the material to a tee. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention the ending, which manages to reference another environmental “horror” film, Peter Weir’s The Last Wave (1977), and provides a suitably powerful, if appropriately vague, conclusion to the narrative.

I first saw The Last Winter when it was originally released and fell in love with it almost immediately. Indeed, it nearly serves as a textbook for my personal notions of how to make a successful horror film: find a nicely evocative location, populate your film with some interesting, three-dimensional characters, keep the tension high and don’t treat your audience like morons. Fessenden has managed to make a career out of following these simple rules, which will always give him a special place in my heart. If you love frozen horror films, environmentally themed genre movies or just enjoy a good movie, in general, The Last Winter should fit the bill nicely. As humans, we may argue and disagree with just everything our fellow humans say and do but we should all be able to recognize quality when we see it. Under any set of guidelines, The Last Winter is quality entertainment, indeed.