2/6/15: Scratching the Surface

Tags

Adam Sliwinski, Alain Mayrand, Ava Hughes, body image, Canadian films, cinema, Comforting Skin, Derek Franson, directorial debut, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, foreign films, horror, horror films, isolation, Jane Sowerby, Jenn Griffin, John Tench, loneliness, male-female friendships, mental breakdown, mental illness, Movies, obsession, Paul Jarrett, Phil Granger, psychological horror, Repulsion, self-abuse, self-confidence, set in Canada, tattoo, tattoos, twenty-something angst, Tygh Runyan, Victoria Bidewell, writer-director

If you think about it, it’s been quite the long, strange journey for the art of tattooing. Once denigrated as the mark of the rough-and-tumble, the larcenous and the counter-culture, tattoos used to be one of the fastest ways to earn the disapproving stares and condemnations of “polite” society. Nowadays, however, with everyone from the local barista to the TV meteorologist to the lacrosse team sporting their own skin art, it’s kind of silly to think about how controversial this used to be. In fact, tattoos have become so adopted by the mainstream that not having them has become its own statement of purpose, in the same way that getting them used to be. A brave, new world, indeed!

One of the most fascinating aspects of the current mainstream acceptance of tattoos is the fundamental way in which it repurposes said tattoos. In the past, tattoos were seen as a sign of individuality (we’ll leave out discussions of tribal, gang and organizational markings, lest we’re here all day) and a way for someone to set themselves aside from “normal” society. Nowadays, tattoos have almost the opposite effect, uniting whole masses of people in ways that would have previously been unheard of. For every person who comes to an artist with a detailed layout and design scheme, there are at least a bakers’ dozen behind said person who are probably all going to get variations on the same design. It’s a pretty interesting phenomenon, this transition from the private self to the greater whole: it’s not like we’re seeing the same thing, writ large, all over society and pop culture, right?

First-time writer/director Derek Franson takes this dual nature of tattoos, as both unifier and distancer, and folds it within the framework of a discussion on body image with his debut, Comforting Skin (2011). In a way, it’s a pretty smart observation: we modify our bodies as a way to not only “exert authority” over them, as it were, but also as a way to send a message to the rest of the world. The modifications might be “for us” but they also communicate whatever our intended message is to the masses: even if the message is “Stay away,” we’re still expecting some sort of response. Ah, the modern malaise: the desire to be “connected” vs the inherent need to “know yourself.” As with everything else, we can’t have it all, no matter how much we might want it.

We first meet our erstwhile protagonist, Koffie (Victoria Bidewell), as she awkwardly tries to get a guy’s attention at a crowded dance club. At first glance, she’s kind of a sad sack: shy, plain and self-conscious due to some acne scars, Koffie is the kind of person who’s all but invisible to the “beautiful’ people who always seem to be having so much more fun than the rest of us. Hell, Koffie’s best friend, Synthia (Jane Sowerby), just has to wiggle her finger at a guy and he follows her all the way home like a well-trained puppy: Koffie can’t even get them to maintain eye contact.

More than anything, Koffie is desperately lonely, despite the near constant presence of her other best friend/roommate, Nathan (Tygh Runyan), who also happens to be a sociophobe who relies on Koffie to ease his transition into society. Koffie and Nathan seem to have fun together but a buddy isn’t the same thing as a lover, as we see when she pines around her former beau, Allan (Philip Granger), a shitty gallery owner who left Koffie to “fuck someone sane,” as he cheerfully tells her. Even though Allan seems like the human equivalent of pond scum, Koffie begs to get back together with him: even an abusive relationship is better than none, as far as she’s concerned.

After finding herself in a decidedly low-rent tattoo parlor one night, seemingly by happenstance, Koffie makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to get an “original” design on her shoulder. Despite Nathan’s rather cruel derision, Koffie is over-joyed with her new art and begins to experience the kind of elation and high energy that some folks might experience in…well, in a new relationship. When life continues to beat Koffie down, however, she finds herself despondent and inches away from cutting herself with a box cutter: life has handed Koffie so many lemons that she’s completely buried in sour, yellow fruit.

In a development that might be considered unusual, however, Koffie’s new tattoo appears to move around her body, as if it were some sort of living organism. It also speaks to her in a soothing, convincing tone that sounds suspiciously like her own voice. Although poor Koffie is, at first, suitably horrified, she comes to view the tattoo as a confidant, relying on it for support and advise. In short order, Koffie finds herself much happier and more confident, even as she finds herself increasingly estranged from both Synthia and Nathan. The tattoo seems like a true blue friend, albeit a rather jealous, possessive one. Nothing bad can come from taking life advise from your tattoo, though, right? As the line between reality and insanity blurs, Koffie will either emerge as a bold, new individual or she’ll be completely consumed by something shadowy, seductive…and evil.

Comforting Skin starts strong: there’s something undeniably intriguing about a “living” tattoo and the underlying discussion of body image and abusive relationships seems like a natural fit for this kind of film. For a brief time, the film chugs along impressively, building up a nice melancholy atmosphere and establishing Koffie as an interesting, sympathetic character. As the film goes on, however, it gets gradually more inane, the plot stretching so thin as to spring leaks at every turn. This wouldn’t be such a crucial issue, ultimately, if the characters were stronger but everything sort of collapses in on itself in a slow-motion implosion. As the film gets sillier and the characters become more unpleasant, it becomes harder to stay invested: by the conclusion, I was just about as removed, emotionally, as possible, despite being fairly invested earlier.

Much of the blame, unfortunately, falls on the shoulders of Victoria Bidewell: despite starting strong, with some genuinely powerful, subtle emotional moments, Koffie’s character quickly becomes whiny, melodramatic and almost unbearably tedious. Her one and only function seems to be acquiring a boyfriend, at any cost, and she quickly becomes the female equivalent of TV’s Ted Mosby. Scene after scene revolves around her complaining about her love life, complaining about her family, complaining about Synthia, etc etc…he gets old by about the midpoint and, unfortunately, never gets any better. By the conclusion, I disliked Bidewell’s character so much that I really could have cared less how the situation unfolded: as long as it was eventually over, I was a happy camper.

Bidewell’s co-star, Tygh Runyan, fares just as poorly, coming across as one of the most obnoxious, irritating and self-entitled assholes to co-anchor a film since the glory days of the Farrelly Brothers. The scene where he acts like a complete jerk in the diner is painful to watch and he manages to match Bidewell whine or whine, which is no easy feat. In fact, none of the cast are anything approaching likable or sympathetic, with the possible exception of Ava Hughes’ performance as Koffie’s little sister, Peg: other than that, they all come across as unpleasant, entitled nitwits who relish casual cruelty, “witty” insults and “clever” observations…it all reminded me of The Comedy (2012), in the worst way possible.

The film was also unnecessarily confusing, which seems strange considering how relatively stream-lined the narrative is. Despite that, however, I often find myself a little lost on the specifics: I was 38 minutes into the film before I figured out that Koffie was trying to help Nathan overcome his sociophobia and even longer before I realized that Nathan was a composer…before that, I thought that the pair were some sort of comedy duo or owned some sort of advertising business. There’s also some very confusing business involving the tattoo appearing to “seduce” Synthia, an event which never makes sense, even within the constraints of the film’s (limited) mythology. Everything’s wrapped up in a way that allows for a happy ending, of sorts, yet nothing actually feels resolved. At times, the film threatens to veer into Repulsion (1965) territory but it never quite makes the break from the pulpier aspects of the material.

I really appreciate what Franson and company were trying to do with Comforting Skin, even if I disliked the final product: I still think there’s a helluva film to be made that deals with these exact issues of body image, self-worth and female sexuality, even if this isn’t it. We can always use more films told from a female perspective, especially within the horror genre, which has always been a notorious boys’ club. In many ways, this reminded me of Contracted (2013), although that film was relatively sturdy sailing up until the unfortunate ending. In this case, Franson has a solid starting point but the whole thing unravels well before the final credits have begun to roll. Tattoos may be a “permanent” form of self-expression but this may be one case where laser removal is the only sensible option.

1/14/14: The Hell Inside You

Tags

Cannibal Holocaust, cinema, cinema verite, drug abuse, experimental film, Film, found-footage, gone before their time, Hallucinogens, horror films, James Davidson, Jason Banker, Movies, psychadelics, Sara Anne Jones, the Seven Gates of Hell, Toad Road, tragedies, twenty-something angst

Full disclosure: I am a firm believer in the strange, the unexplained and the supernatural. Personal experience notwithstanding, this world we inhabit is just too big, too impossible, to not contain more secrets than we could ever imagine. Until we’ve truly poked under every rock, swam to the bottom of every sea and followed every deserted dirt trail to its terminus, we cannot, honestly, say that we know anything about the world we inhabit. We can make educated guesses…we can analyze and test until the cows come home…but at the end of the day…we’re never going to be 100% sure of anything. We must simply have faith that what we believe to be true is so…until something comes along to shatter that believe, of course.

I begin my discussion of Toad Road in this way for a very particular reason: more than almost any film I’ve ever seen (certainly on the short list), this film explodes any notion audiences might have of cinematic reality/unreality, establishing not only a world where anything and everything can be possible but a film where anything can be possible. I’ll be honest: with very few exceptions, I had an almost impossible time telling the fiction from the reality in Toad Road. This, friends and neighbors, is the living definition of a nightmare.

The genius of the film – and the film is genius, make no bones about it – lies in the ease with which we (the audience) continually have the rug pulled from beneath our feet. The story, itself, is pure simplicity: a group of disaffected twenty-something layabouts do massive quantities of every drug imaginable, have sex where they feel like it and generally thumb their nose at society. Into this toxic mix pours the town’s goodie-goodie new girl, Sara. Sara hooks up with James, one of the defacto leaders of the clique and proceeds to throw herself wholehearted into their druggie lifestyle. Sara becomes obsessed with stories about Toad Road, a local urban legend that posits that the Seven Gates to Hell are located in the nearby woods. Ultimately, she convinces James to accompany her as she drops a massive quantity of acid and walks Toad Road. As can be expected, things do not go as planned and James learns the very valuable lesson that Hell can be wherever you are.

As I mentioned, pure simplicity and certainly nothing that we haven’t seen before, especially since the film is occasionally shot in a hand-held, found-footage style. The acting is very naturalistic: these all seem like the kind of wastoids we’ve known (and possibly been in the past) and the tone of cheerful hedonism seems completely honest. These early drug/party scenes have an almost verite style to them, recalling the similar grittiness of Larry Clark’s Kids. Again, nothing we haven’t seen before but well done. And then the rug gets pulled from beneath our feet because…

…this is all really happening. That’s right: the drug/party/debauchery stuff looks so real because it’s actually happening. Take a look at the cast list: most of the characters (with the exception of the odd police officer here or anonymous driver there) have the same name as the actors portraying them. Sara is played by Sara Anne Jones; James is played by James Davidson. The character of Uncle Damon in the film? Played by Damon Johansen.

You see, writer/director Jason Banker didn’t audition his actors: he found them online. In a coup rarely seen (the last time I can remember something like this was Cannibal Holocaust, waaay back in the day), Banker blends the real debauchery of the drugging/partying (smoking massive quantities of weed; doing shrooms; getting so drunk that they all run around their apartment pantless, setting each other’s pubic hair on fire) with the manufactured drama of the story itself. The effect on your psyche is pretty stunning: once you realize that part of the film is actually happening, why not allow for the rest of the story to be taking place? Where does reality end and fiction begin?

I’ll be honest: once I realized what the film was doing, I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. In this day and age, films (especially horror films) are way too safe. Gone are the days of danger when you feared that watching Salo or Cannibal Holocaust or Faces of Death would somehow scar you, change you for the worst into some sort of slobbering beast…the Video Nasties era. No matter how well made modern films are, they just don’t possess that sustained sense of dread because modern times are so much different: we’ve seen and done it all, by this point, and modern technology keeps giving us the ability to do even more. Gone are the days of yore when audiences thought the speeding train would careen through the screen and into the theater: we’ve seen Peter Jackson’s Middle Earth, so we know that absolutely anything can be done.

Here’s the trick: once you realize that the partying scenes are real, it makes you question everything else about the film. How much of this was improvised? Written? Were any of the “friends” actually actors (the lead, Sara, was definitely not a professional, despite her amazing performance)? The film deals with pain on many different levels, particularly with the character of Sara: how much of that was real? The climax of the film pulls a few tricks out, here and there, that serve to remind us that at least some of the film is faked (by my count, there were two shots that satisfied the current obsession with “scary faces” in modern horror films but these were brief and altogether unobtrusive) but so much of the movie revolves around the interactions of the group of friends (at least 80%) that it starts to make you wonder about everything. I know that the end was fake because it’s a movie. But what if…

Lest it seem like the only reason to watch Toad Road is for the dizzying combination of truth and lie, let me set your mind at ease: the film is absolutely stunning in every possible way. When the footage is not hand-held, the cinematography is absolutely gorgeous, particularly all of the beautiful snow and winter footage. The sound design is amazing, especially in the scene where they visit a local cave: the sound of wind chimes begins to get louder and louder on the soundtrack until it’s an all-encompassing force, coming from nowhere and yet going everywhere. And that acting…wow…that acting.

Special attention must be paid to the film’s lead and emotional/moral core, Sara. If there is an arc to the story (and there certainly is), it would be Sara’s journey from good girl to lost soul. Her obsession with Toad Road and psychedelics turns her into a completely different character by the film’s end, one stronger and, yet, more vulnerable than she began. There is a moment in the film where Sara explains what each of the Seven Gates of Hell symbolizes and I’ll be honest: I was completely transfixed. The scene could have gone on for 30 seconds or 30 minutes: it was all the same to me. I simply couldn’t take my eyes from the screen, lest I miss one single thing that she said.

And here, of course, is one of the biggest kickers, the fact that proves how truly haunted Toad Road really is: Sara Anne Jones is now dead. She died of a drug overdose shortly after the film was finished, further blurring the line between reality and fantasy: the character of Sara took her journey to its natural conclusion and, so too, would it seem the actual Sara did the same thing.

It’s a tragic epilogue to a brutally sad film, a movie that makes Requiem for a Dream look like a Calgon commercial. The film is brutal and heartbreaking and absolutely brilliant. There are moments that will make you question not only the world around you but the world inside you, as well. These are lost souls, burned-out candle stubs. By the time that James realizes how much of a waste his life is, by the time that he realizes how desperately he and Sara need to get away, it’s already too late.

The actual meaning behind Toad Road may be a little gauzy but I’m pretty sure I got it, anyway: this is one of the single, greatest anti-drug films in the history of cinema. This is a film for anyone who’s ever been there, anyone who ever got out and anyone who’s ever lost someone who couldn’t. It’s a powerful film, one that I won’t forget anytime soon. Aside from the beautiful cinematography, there’s nothing pretty or sweet about this film. The best way that I can sum the whole thing up is to quote that paragon of optimism, Friedrich Nietzsche:

“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Toad Road was the abyss and it looked right through me.

1/5/14: Angst, Ninjas and Nerds

Tags

absurdist, cinema, documentaries, films, foreign films, independent films, Journey to Planet X, L'Age D'or, Lena Dunham, Luis Bunuel, Movies, nerds, Norwegian Ninja, parodies, parody, quirky, sci-fi, silent films, Tiny Furniture, twenty-something angst

Our catching up session continues with the spate of films from this past Sunday. There were a few less films than normal on this day but I think we made up for it with some interesting variety. First up:

I began this particular Sunday the way I usually like to: with an old film. In this case, I picked Luis Bunuel’s follow-up to Un Chien Andalou, L’Age D’or. Despite seeing many of his films (and being a big fan, particularly of The Exterminating Angel), there are still several that I’ve managed to miss over the years: no better time to correct that than the present.

Out of the myriad filmmakers that never made it to the modern age, Bunuel is the one that I often find myself wondering about the most. I wish that he would have had access to modern filmmaking techniques and equipment: I can only imagine that the results would have seemed like some unholy alliance of Jodorowsky and Spike Jonze, pushing film into a realm that we’ve never seen.

As compared to much of Bunuel’s other work, particularly his debut, the absurdist elements in L’Age D’or aren’t quite as pronounced. Don’t get me wrong: this is definitely an absurd film. A woman tries to get a large cow out of her bed; a wagon rides through the middle of a mansion; a giraffe is thrown out of a window. On the whole, however, L’Age D’or is really more about absurd situations than visuals. The plot seems to revolve around a man and woman who only want to make love in public. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you feel about public sex), outside forces constantly strive to keep them separated. The film ends with a surprising left turn, evoking one of the Marquis de Sade’s most famous stories, the basis for Pier Palo Pasolini’s horrifying Salo. It was an odd, downbeat way to end the film but completely unexpected: just what you could always expect from Bunuel.

Back to the land of twenty-something angst. Tiny Furniture is yet another film in a seemingly non-ending stream of films about the terrors of being twenty, out of college and adrift in life. Directed and written by Girls ingenue Lena Dunham, there’s a lot to like in this quirk-athon, particularly the sharp dialogue, but I’m still not sure that I’m its intended audience.

Aura (Lena Dunham) has just graduated from college, broken up with her boyfriend and moved back home. Her mother is a quirky art photographer (complete with a huge studio taking up the bottom-floor of their home) and her sister is, essentially, an over-achieving, bratty Dawn Weiner-clone (played by Dunham’s real-life sister). Into Aura’s restless existence pours her quirky (read: annoying) friend Charlotte and two possible love interests: a whiny, obnoxious youTube “video-artist” and the surly, pill-popping sou chef at the restaurant where Aura serves as “day hostess.” Antics ensue, lessons are learned (or are they?) and sex is had in a large piece of construction pipe.

My big issue with Tiny Furniture is that I found the characters to be so completely, thoroughly unlikable. Aura is a whiny, self-absorbed, spoiled little shit and I really couldn’t take anything about her journey of self-discovery seriously. At any given opportunity, Aura would do the absolute most selfish thing possible, regardless of anyone else (especially her long-suffering mother). Aura’s friends are, likewise, equally privileged and irritating, meaning that we end up spending almost 90 minutes with the kind of people you would actively kick out of your party.

That being said, the script for Tiny Furniture is really quite good, managing to pull off the kind of quirky dialogue that I always felt Juno struggled so hard to make seem natural (sorry, Diablo Cody:I ain’t buyin’ what yer sellin’…). The relationships do seem like they fit, even if all of the people are obnoxious, and I quite liked the visual look of the piece. Unfortunately, this seems like something that will (and could) only be relevant to those in the same place as Aura: young, adrift and positive that the world owes you something. Once Aura is in her thirties, I wonder how she would look back on her 22-year-old self? I’m guessing she wouldn’t like her, either.

This is a highly respectful documentary about two friends (and sci-fi enthusiasts) who make extremely low budget films in their spare time. Sort of like a hopeful, non-pathetic version of American Movie, it’s pretty impossible not to fall in love with these guys. They’re unrepentant nerds who are not only completely comfortable in their own skins but who possess the drive and passion necessary to make uber-independent films.

I’m not going to lie and say that their films will revolutionize the industry. Rather, I’m impressed by their wide-ranging interests (they attempt everything from sci-fi and fantasy flicks to war and action films, triply impressive considering their budgets must hover around $100 a pop) and ability to get the job done. The pair have a fully functional blue-screen studio (which they later convert to the more standard green-screen and appear to have completed several dozen shorts. They even pay their lead actors (but not much, of course).

It’s always a pleasure to witness nice people having fun and doing their thing. Unlike other docs about outsider artists, I left this feeling strangely optimistic and happy: as long as these two guys are out there making crappy, home-made sci-fi epics, the world can’t possibly be so terrible. Now, I’m going to have to try and get my hands on some of their films.

The true, untold story of the freedom-loving Ninjas that helped to keep the country of Norway safe…or not. Norwegian Ninja is an extremely clever bit of revisionist history, positing the idea that one of Norway’s most notorious spies, Arne Treholt, was actually the leader of a secretive ninja group and was framed in order to remove him from the picture. Whether any of this is actually true or not (I’m leaning towards the “not” part but my heart is secretly hoping this all happened), it makes for one massively entertaining film.

Similar in intent to films like Black Dynamite and Hobo with a Shotgun, Norwegian Ninja consciously sets out to ape the late ’70s-early ’80s video dynamic and actually looks like it could have come straight from the land of VHS. The film has a soft, gauzy look that calls to mind foreign films of the era, particularly Scandinavian ones, and the casting fits this look perfectly. This also reminded me, in certain ways, of Will Farrell’s Casa de mi Padre, since there were frequent bursts of head-scratching strangeness that would pop up from time to time. My favorite extended gag involves the herd of gentle forest animals that follow one of the ninjas where-ever he goes: take that, Snow White!

My take-away from this film may seem a bit snide but I mean it with all sincerity: this is Die Hard genetically crossbred with Ikea. Norwegian stoicism and practicality (even in the face of tremendous odds, these Norwegian ninjas don’t break a sweat…because it would be unseemly) collide with cold-war espionage and James Bond-lite action. If the thought of a group of polite, tow-headed Ninjas strikes your fancy, see this immediately. I’m eagerly looking forward to the filmmakers’ next bit of insanity.

 

1/2/14 and 1/3/14: The High Road, the Low Road and Everything in Between

Tags

A Lonely Place to Die, action films, Drinking Buddies, films, found-footage films, horror films, Joe Swanberg, Melissa George, mumblecore, survival, The Tunnel, twenty-something angst

Here’s where I catch up the other half of the double-header from Thursday, as well as the pair of films that were watched on Friday night. Without further ado, here’s the other Thursday film:

A Lonely Place to Die manages a pretty neat hat trick in its first 30 minutes or so, similar to what The Descent did before it and what the iconic Deliverance did before either or them. To whit, viewers are served up a big, rousing slice of survival action intensity before the story takes a U-turn into decidedly darker territory. In Deliverance, we got white-water rapids and gang-raping rednecks. In The Descent, we got nausea-inducing spelunking thrills and cannibal cave monster chills. For ALPTD, we get jaw-dropping mountain-climbing action and some very nasty kidnappers.

A group of friends, led my Melissa George’s Alison, take a trip to get in some extreme mountain-climbing activity. Once atop the sheer, isolated mountain, however, the group makes a disturbing discovery: there’s a breathing pipe sticking out of the ground and they can hear a young girl through the pipe. Freeing the girl, the group must then make their way back down the treacherous slope. On the way, however, they run afoul of the men who buried the girl in the first place. The group must battle the elements, the mountain and a pair of very homicidal kidnappers in order to protect the girls and get home alive.

First and foremost, ALPTD is a top-notch action film. I actually wish more larger-budgeted action films (I’m looking you square in the eye, Expendables series…) would pay the same attention to spatial relations that A Lonely Place to Die does. The action is always clearly delineated, whether it involves rappelling down a steep cliff face or fist-fighting an armed bad guy. The survival action opening is much different than the prolonged chase sequence that constitutes the remainder of the film but they both share the same clean, simple and uncluttered feel. Most modern action films strike me as “too busy” but ALPTD seems much more evenly paced.

As good as the action is, however, the acting is equally noteworthy. Each actor, particularly Melissa George, turns in a completely believable, nuanced performance.  George’s Alison is a well-rounded character, not a stock “woman in peril” or “Lt. Ripley clone” and is a great hero. The kidnappers in the film are probably the most fully-fleshed bad guys since the pair of hitmen in Wheatley’s Kill List. There was actually a moment between one of the kidnappers and the father of the kidnapped girl that may be the most honest moment I’ve seen in films like this. Feeling these characters as actual people makes all the difference and makes the climbers’ individual sacrifices that much more impactful.

Ultimately, this is a film that does very few things wrong. I do wish that the action had remained centered on the mountain, however, since bringing the climax into a town gave it a bit of a “been there, done that” feel, which was kind of disappointing. Nonetheless, this was a minor quibble and did little to diminish my satisfaction after the film was over. If you’re in the mood for a good adrenaline-charged, intelligent thriller and don’t mind a little acrophobia, give this a shot.

Now, on to the Friday double-feature. First up, we have a little horror, followed by a little angst.

I definitely have a love/hate relationship with found-footage horror films. For every good one (usually the primogenitor of whatever series happens to be current), there seem to be an endless horde of pale imitators, usually held together by nothing more than shaky visuals, needlessly “video-esque” effects and filters and ill-defined humanoid creatures rushing around in the dark. There is such a formula to most of these (establish place; walk around; “see something;” split up; see something else; someone disappears; et al) that there seems to be very little room for any kind of originality. Unfortunately, The Tunnel does absolutely nothing to distinguish itself from the rest of the anonymous masses.

In Sydney, a journalist and small film crew descend below the city, into the abandoned access tunnels, to research a story about an upcoming development project. City officials swear that no one lives in the tunnels, which are due to be developed: the journalist has heard otherwise. Heading into the darkness, they find…pretty much the exact same thing that everyone else finds in the most generic of these.

Similar to trying to make a generic, old-fashioned zombie film in the current glut of everything undead, making generic, bare-bones found-footage films under the same conditions is suspect. If you have something new to say, I’m all for hearing it. In fact, the plot behind The Tunnel, while not original, definitely had me hoping for something more: possibly a nice combination of C.H.U.D. and The Blair Witch Project. Alas, I received something that felt closer (in tone, at least) to a poverty-row version of the [REC] remake Quarantine. Yeesh. Not much to recommend this, although completists have seen much worse.

As we age and go through various life-changes, certain aspects of our lives that used to be all-important become decidedly less so. To quote the esteemable philosophers Blink-182: “I guess this is growing up.”

Drinking Buddies, then, is a very specific snapshot of a very specific time in someone’s life. Specifically, the film is about that nebulous post-graduation, pre-settling down period in every twenty-something’s life, that time when all-night drinking with best friends is the only option and paralyzing hangovers are just one of the costs of being young.

Olivia Wilde and Jake Johnson are the best of friends (platonically, we’re frequently told), seemingly attached at the hip. Both work for one of those uber-hip micro-breweries, the kind that always seem to have a more polite kind of fun than the bro-dog major brews. Their lives consist of: goofing around at work; drinking on the job; hanging out and drinking. Lather, rinse, repeat. Both have significant others, although we get the idea pretty early on that these particular relationships won’t be completely stable. And they aren’t. Hearts are broken; partners are swapped and re-swapped like a white elephant gift exchange; and many lessons are learned. Specifically: we all have to grow up sometime, even if we don’t want to.

All in all, I enjoyed the film, although it never really “spoke to me,” per se. I’ve never been the biggest fan of Joe Swanberg’s previous mumblecore epics but I really liked the dialogue in this one: fast, funny and painfully truthful, I never tired of hearing the actors say their lines. Similarly, everyone came across as realistic and, for the most part, relatable characters (director Swanberg even has a hilarious cameo as a ridiculously angry driver). I say “for the most part” because I never did warm to Wilde’s Kate. The dictionary definition of self-absorbed and selfish, Kate does her best to torpedo everyone else’s happiness, wishing only to ease her own sense of loneliness. We may all know people like this but we (hopefully) don’t look up to them and getting stuck with Kate in the drivers’ seat for the majority of the film can be a little like taking a petulant child to the zoo.

When we’re young, the world is all about us and nothing else is ever a factor. As we get older, however, we realize that the reverse is actually true: the world is never about you and always about everyone else. By the end of Drinking Buddies, it seems that everyone understands this truth except Kate. If you think about it, that’s pretty darn sad.