Screenwriter Ian McDonald’s savvy script for this true crime thriller made the 2017 Top 10 Hollywood “Black List” of as-yet unproduced motion picture screenplays. I’m amazed it took this long to get turned into a film, and impressed by the skill with which Anna Kendrick did so: definitely one of the best, most assured directorial debuts in recent memory.
Dating Game host Ed Burke (Tony Hale) and contestant Sheryl Bradshaw (Anna Kendrick) have no idea that one of her three potential suitors is a serial killer. |
It was a simpler time. No background checks were conducted; contestants — of both sexes — were chosen solely on the basis of appearance and personality. (The mind doth boggle ... and a 5-minute clip from that episode is viewable via YouTube.)
Kendrick and McDonald structure their film cleverly, opening with a 1977 prologue that takes place in the wide open spaces of Wyoming. A sweetly bashful young woman named Sarah (Kelley Jakle) has allowed herself to be driven to this remote spot, in order to be photographed by Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto).
He frames her, lovingly, for several shots ... and everything feels wrong. His smile and words of encouragement are too smarmy; his posture is coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. Poor Sarah is oblivious.
The inevitable is awful, and although Kendrick and cinematographer Zach Kuperstein don’t dwell on it exploitatively, the sequence continues long enough to reveal the horrible way that the actual Alcala cruelly toyed with some of his victims, like a cat torturing a mouse.
We then leap to 1978 Hollywood, where aspiring actress Sheryl Bradshaw (Kendrick) is auditioning for a bargain-basement role offered by a pair of slimy casting directors (Matty Finochio and Geoff Gustafson). The encounter is embarrassing and dehumanizing; Kendrick’s frozen smile and wounded gaze speak volumes.
As becomes clear, when Sheryl later commiserates with neighbor and best (only?) friend Terry (Pete Holmes), she has been struggling with this goal for awhile, with no success. She even has an agent, who eventually gets Sheryl booked onto The Dating Game: a great way to get noticed, she’s promised.
Sheryl’s prep and participation in this sexist excuse for daytime entertainment becomes this film’s narrative center: a single-day experience periodically interrupted as the film jumps back and forth in time, to track a few of Rodney’s other ... um ... activities.
The first leap is to San Gabriel, California, in 1979, when he picks up embittered teenage runaway Amy (Autum Best, in a very impressive film debut). Having fled a dysfunctional home life, she recklessly accepts Rodney’s offer of a ride, and his seemingly shy desire to photograph her amid the nearby low mountains.
Despite her youth, Amy possesses a bit of street-smart wariness; her sideways glances at Rodney are mildly mocking. But he’s a far better “actor,” and the atmosphere, and Zovatto’s performance, are totally creepy; Kendrick maintains an unsettling degree of perverse unease.
Additional time jumps include a brief stint in 1977, where — while working as a photojournalist for The Los Angeles Times — Rodney is questioned by police, during a routine investigation that later penetrates his cool façade; and 1971 New York, when he helps the bubbly, self-assured Charlie (Kathryn Gallagher) move into her apartment.
Unlike Sarah, Amy and even Sheryl, Charlie isn’t the slightest bit vulnerable; she’s totally in command of her life. But also too trusting...
The Dating Game sequences become longer, as the film proceeds. The assignment is way beyond Sheryl’s comfort zone, particularly when forced into a slightly more revealing dress, and confronted by the unapologetically condescending and misogynistic show host, Ed Burke (Tony Hale). He becomes this story’s visible jerk: a passive-aggressive, sexist pig who delights in belittling the female contestants. Hale makes him absolutely deplorable.
Burke is a fictitious character; the actual Dating Game host and radio DJ, Jim Lange, was enormously popular and (as far as we know) a genuinely nice guy ... although the obligatory kisses he exchanged with each bachelorette would be an ick factor these days.
McDonald also concocted Laura (Nicolette Robinson), a woman who recognizes Rodney at a key moment, and remembers him as the guy last seen before her best friend was murdered. Laura is a composite of the many people who tried to raise the alarm about Alcala over the years, but were rebuffed by a system that simply wasn’t equipped to believe in such monsters.
Robinson’s performance is powerful, and runs an impressive emotional gamut.
Even so, Kendrick remains the stand-out, and her performance as Sheryl is a master class in subtlety. The jovial face and sunny attitude that she usually shows the world — magnified by Kendrick’s radiant, toothy smile — often is at odds with her wary or disappointed body posture and frozen gaze. People keep letting her down.
And there’s no concealing Sheryl’s distaste, as she allows herself to be transformed into a perky Dating Gamecontestant, armed solely with vacuous questions for her three unseen potential suitors. A spontaneous decision to “break script” supplies this film’s most satisfying moment, but it’s fleeting; by this point, we’re horrified and worn numb by the casual ease with which Alcala continues to wreak havoc.
Kendrick draws excellent performances from everybody, and you’ll not hear a wrong note from McDonald’s narrative and dialogue. Granted, this isn’t exactly what went down, from 1968 to ’79, but too many details are uncomfortably accurate ... and, thanks to the way Zovatto inhabits his role, we can readily imagine what Kendrick makes a point of notshowing.
Unlike most films of this nature, which emphasize the killer, Kendrick and McDonald focus on — and make us identify with — the victims. That’s a telling distinction, which grants a voice to those lost, and the impact on people who cared about them.
It’s another detail that highlights this film’s power. Bravo to all involved.
This charming independent drama has been released without fanfare, with no publicity, and no reviews by significant print or media outlets.
After an initial misunderstanding, Eric (Beau Bridges, right) quickly apologizes and does his best to make amends with the understably wary Oscar (Miguel Gabriel). |
The result, a quietly compelling ode to the power of mentorship, deserves much better exposure than it’s likely to receive.
The setting is present-day Jasper’s Cove, a small coastal California fishing community. (The 18-day shoot actually took place in and around Morro Bay; locals will recognize famous landmarks such as Morro Rock and the Piedras Blancas Light Station.)
The community is struggling, due to the local waters having been overfished. Veteran fisherman such as Frank Flynn (the always engaging Davison) and Manny (Jorge-Luis Pallo) have their backs against the financial wall; the latter contemplates selling his beloved boat. Jasper’s Cove has become, as one character later puts it, “a place where fun goes to die.”
But 9-year-old Oscar (Gabriel) is oblivious to all this. Although a newcomer, he has quickly become a ubiquitous wanderer in town and the surrounding area, never seen without a vintage twin-lens reflex film camera slung around his neck, and hanging onto his chest. But the camera is damaged, and cannot be used.
Oscar is mute, due to complications from life-saving surgery when he was younger, which makes him the frequent target of a trio of contemptible adolescent bullies.
Oscar’s mother, Evelyn (Jessica Parker Kennedy), does her best with him; she has taught him to communicate via a series of flash cards bearing common greetings, questions and responses. He’s by no means slow; he can hear and understand perfectly, and seems intelligent for his age. But he’s also shy, self-conscious and easily frightened; he wears vulnerability like a shroud, which makes him an easy target for the aforementioned young thugs.
The recently widowed Evelyn has just moved them to Jasper’s Cove. She works hard, as a single parent trying to hold her little family together, and therefore can’t watch over her son as much as she’d like.
A fleeting misunderstanding brings Oscar to the attention of local repair shop owner Eric Conway (Bridges, 82 years young). Their initial encounter begins horribly, when Eric — a longtime photographer — mistakenly believes that Oscar has stolen the camera from his shop, and snatches it away. The stricken look on Gabriel’s face, as the shattered little boy walks away — absolutely devastated — is almost too much to bear.
But Eric quickly realizes his error, calls Oscar back, and hastily makes amends; the boy, just as quickly relieved and reassured, latches onto the older man like a puppy. Eric examines the camera, explains that he can fix it, and offers his own more-or-less identical vintage camera as a loaner. He loads it with a roll of film, and — with the warm enthusiasm of a born teacher — tells Oscar to choose his compositions wisely, to “make every frame count.”
“It still works fine,” Eric continues, with Bridges’ signature twinkle, “but not much use for it.”
Clearly, he’s also thinking of himself.
As the days pass, their bond grows; Eric explains the joys of “old analog tech,” and the ability of a single photograph to depict an entire story. They spend more time together, including beach walks and (literal) field trips. We eventually learn that Oscar’s camera belonged to his late father, and truly is more precious than words could express, even were he able to do so.
Meanwhile...
Bar owner Dermot Flynn (Ross Partridge), Frank’s son, has been courting outside developers to build a series of condominiums, claiming this will “revitalize” the town (and, not coincidentally, make him a lot of money). Frank, Manny and many of the other townsfolk are horrified by this plan, believing — correctly — that it would destroy their town’s character.
Others, though, recognize that something needs to be done.
To make matters worse, Evelyn and Oscar receive an unexpected visit from her ne’er-do-well brother, Victor (Scotty Tovar). Although the boy is enchanted by this gregarious, glad-handing male family member, we immediately recognize the guy to be Totally Bad News. Tovar excels at Victor’s smarm, hustling nature and deplorable behavior.
Partridge, in contrast, makes Dermot a subtler villain ... which he finds difficult to pull off, in such a close-knit community, where everybody knows everybody else’s business.
Silverman’s modest movie credits aside, he’s also an award-winning stills photographer, with more than four decades’ experience; this shows in the way that he and cinematographer Andrew Jeric compose many of this film’s backdrops and establishing shots. The result — as with the carefully chosen photographs that Oscar takes, as time passes — becomes a tribute to the delicate art of capturing moments.
That said, Bridges and Gabriel carry this story’s heart. Movies have brought us an endless supply of eccentric and/or mildly crusty old coots, but Bridges brings fresh depth to his character. Everybody should have an Eric in their lives.
Gabriel is a revelation. He delivers a powerfully nuanced performance, laden with depth and all manner of emotion, without speaking a word. He’s also a born scene-stealer, even when doing nothing; Jeric’s camera loves him.
Dave Holden’s lyrical, piano-based score is the cherry on top: note-perfect in every scene, and a key part of the film’s often wistful atmosphere.
Although Murphy and Gamache’s story builds to a finale of sorts, a few issues are left unresolved; such is the nature of real life.
This one’s a keeper ... but have plenty of Kleenex handy. You’ll need ’em.
The fact that this film’s title isn’t Three Sisters is telling.
Writer/director Azazel Jacobs opens his story in what feels like the middle of the first act.. Katie (Carrie Coon), Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) and Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) are gathered inside their father’s New York City apartment. He has neared the end of a battle against cancer, and has just entered hospice care.
Nervous exhaustion leads to an unexpectedly tender moment between, clockwise from top, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen), Katie (Carrie Coon) and Rachel (Natasha Lyonne). |
What follows takes place over the course of three volatile days.
Katie, the eldest and most practical, adopts an authoritative, take-charge manner that involves lists, schedules, phone calls, food for each meal, and “behavioral suggestions” that feel more like commands than requests. (She must’ve been hell to grow up with, as a bossy older sister.) Being useful is her way of coping ... but, ironically, she has no control over her teenage daughter back in Brooklyn.
Rachel, a casually sloppy, failure-to-launch stoner who spends all her time sports gambling, does her best to stay out of the way ... and particularly away from Katie’s gaze.
The holistic and somewhat shy Christina, who gamely tries to run interference between the other two, chatters constantly about missing her own young daughter, Mirabelle, back at their West Coast home. She calms herself via yoga, and sings Grateful Dead songs to their father, much to the bewilderment of the other two women. Olsen makes Christina a bit too radiant; we halfway expect to see her surrounded by an aura.
Being thrown together by this tragic end-game is uncomfortable enough; it’s even worse because the apartment is so claustrophobic. Jacobs and cinematographer Sam Levy filmed in an actual apartment — not a film set, with moveable walls — which further enhances the tight closeness. (I wondered, at times, where the heck Levy put his camera!) The film stock is warm and slightly grainy, which adds a sense that we’re eavesdropping via a lengthy and painfully intimate home movie.
The result feels very much like a stage play, and possesses the same dramatic intensity.
The tableau opens up only when Rachel goes outside for a fresh toke ... and to escape Katie’s tight-lipped disapproval. This exasperates the building’s security guard, Victor (Jose Febus), who fields complaints from other tenants unhappy about the smell of smoke. (Not marijuana per se, but any smoke.)
Victor’s amused annoyance notwithstanding, he and Rachel clearly are fond of each other.
The dying man remains an unseen presence in a room at the end of a long hallway; we see only portions of ominous-looking machines bathed in a dim red glow. Jacobs conveys an uneasy sense that, somehow, the room no longer is part of the apartment; stepping through that doorway means going ... somewhere else.
Each woman periodically spends time visiting, in that room, but we only hear about it after the fact; we’re never present with them.
The details and intricacies of what to expect are shared during visits by Angel (Rudy Galvan), a compassionate hospice worker who — from his expressions — isn’t surprised by the brittle dynamic between the three women. He has seen it all before.
Katie and Christina are true sisters; Rachel is their half sister, from their father’s second marriage. An undercurrent of entitlement links the first two, as if they’re somehow better than Rachel, which she senses. The irony is that Katie and Christina have been fleeting visitors at best, over the years, whereas Rachel has shared the apartment with her father during all that time, and has done the work.
She’s most knowledgeable about the situation, but lacks the words to explain what she has endured; she therefore withdraws, in order to protect herself. The resignation on Lyonne’s face is painful, fearing that she’ll always be criticized by Katie, and looked down upon. One such conversation, as Katie confronts Rachel about smoking in the bathroom, takes place with the camera pointed solely at Lyonne, as she endures this diatribe. The subtle nuances of her expressions are marvelous.
No surprise that Rachel so frequently retreats outdoors, bantering with Victor via false cheer and a resigned What the hell? manner, assuming nothing will change.
Except that it must, and that’s the whole point of Jacobs’ story. Grief and the impending arrival of death will force a change. That occurs during a subtle psychological shift when dreading what is inevitable, becomes waiting for it.
Coon plays Katie as a relentless, tightly wound force of nature; like a shark, she always needs to be moving, planning, doing. But we also see, in the actress’ gaze, that she has embraced this role because it’s expected of her. She’s often exhausted, and would like to let go, and relax ... but doesn’t know how. Confronting her own shortcomings won’t be easy.
The sparring, prickly conversations, and attempts at reconciliation are alternately funny, poignant, wincingly judgmental, and quietly tragic. These three should be friends, or at least comfortable allies; it becomes clear that each wishes that could be true. The question is what might occur — who might unexpectedly erupt — in order to establish a genuine bond. Or if that’ll happen at all.
Jovan Adepo has a telling moment as Rachel’s boyfriend Benjy, who confronts Katie and Christina with what we’ve been thinking all along.
Although it sounds like this would be a painfully uncomfortable way to spend 101 minutes, that isn’t true at all. All three actresses are captivating, as are Jacobs’ dialogue and the beats of his storyline. Viewers likely will recognize a part of themselves in at least one of these women, which enriches the film’s intensity.
Much can be learned here, about human nature ... and the need to become better versions of ourselves.