Early on in this film, one of our main characters, a shoe-salesman by the name of Richard still reeling from his separation from his wife and trying to deal with his closed-off sons, bemoans to his co-worker, "I don't want to have to do this, this living. I just walk around. I want to be swept off my feet, you know? I want my children to have magical powers. I am prepared for amazing things. I can handle it." Here then does writer/director/star Miranda July begin to turn our heads and show us how to look at the world with new child-like eyes in this remarkable little movie.
Having read nothing but glowing reviews since it's early buzz at Sundance where it received the Jury Prize, I was expecting a sweet little indie about people trying to connect to each other in an increasingly erratic and overloaded society. That's exactly what I got, but there was so much more. July is a poet, her scenes unfold effortlessly like an excited whisper shushing us into the lives of her cast of lonely souls. While several story lines play out, strolling past each other more so than interconnecting, the camera zooms around the inhabitants of Richard's small neighborhood illuminating moments of daring and bravado, innocence and shame, confusion and longing.
July plays Christine, a part-time cab driver for the elderly and aspiring performance artist. Her passengers sit up front as she chauffeurs them around, she and the old man she regularly picks up from the rest home talk about each other's lives, they share, they notice things around them (the goldfish!) that others are too busy to see. When Christine accompanies her charge to the shoe store, she is drawn to Richard after he talks her into buying a pair of pink vinyl flats to ease the pain caused by her low ankles. After Richard leaves work, setting off down the street for his car, Christine joins him in a walk towards the end of the block that turns into a metaphor for relationships and she shares a lifetime with him before they reach their destinations. But Richard, while he may be waiting for "amazing things to happen", becomes suddenly fearful and he pushes Christine away in bewilderment. He's a man perplexed by life and struggling to reach through the silence of his boys. John Hawkes, a notable cult actor who's been in countless films and television shows, gives such a wonderful and haunted performance here. His sharp and beakish features give him a hollowed, haggard look, but his eyes are wide and lit up, staring back at us with hopeful equanimity and searching for magic in his surroundings.
We're introduced to the other adults orbiting Richard's and Christine's daily existence, but midway through the film July starts to delve into the routines and discoveries of the children connected to this neighborhood. The film shifts its focus and now we witness sex, family, technology, and the concept of togetherness through their eyes. The teenagers have a sobering, almost clinical approach to their sexuality, and in one startling scene, the two local girls solicit Richard's oldest son into judging their oral talents. Yet, it's the youngest children who make the biggest impression. Brandon Ratcliff as Richard's youngest, Robby, and Carlie Westerman as their neighbors' daughter give two luminous performances, the type where only children can impart so much truth in a single expression. It's the world of consumerism and the internet filtered through their perceptions that July is most interested in, casting a pall of dread in several scenes, but also allowing a hopefulness for the future to flow from their gaze as they survey the adults clanging quarters, seeking acceptance, and bustling through their misery all around them.
A truly poetic film without a hint of pretension, I applaud July as a singular new voice in independent cinema and one that I'll be watching closely. I'm anticipating her next film already.
Having read nothing but glowing reviews since it's early buzz at Sundance where it received the Jury Prize, I was expecting a sweet little indie about people trying to connect to each other in an increasingly erratic and overloaded society. That's exactly what I got, but there was so much more. July is a poet, her scenes unfold effortlessly like an excited whisper shushing us into the lives of her cast of lonely souls. While several story lines play out, strolling past each other more so than interconnecting, the camera zooms around the inhabitants of Richard's small neighborhood illuminating moments of daring and bravado, innocence and shame, confusion and longing.
July plays Christine, a part-time cab driver for the elderly and aspiring performance artist. Her passengers sit up front as she chauffeurs them around, she and the old man she regularly picks up from the rest home talk about each other's lives, they share, they notice things around them (the goldfish!) that others are too busy to see. When Christine accompanies her charge to the shoe store, she is drawn to Richard after he talks her into buying a pair of pink vinyl flats to ease the pain caused by her low ankles. After Richard leaves work, setting off down the street for his car, Christine joins him in a walk towards the end of the block that turns into a metaphor for relationships and she shares a lifetime with him before they reach their destinations. But Richard, while he may be waiting for "amazing things to happen", becomes suddenly fearful and he pushes Christine away in bewilderment. He's a man perplexed by life and struggling to reach through the silence of his boys. John Hawkes, a notable cult actor who's been in countless films and television shows, gives such a wonderful and haunted performance here. His sharp and beakish features give him a hollowed, haggard look, but his eyes are wide and lit up, staring back at us with hopeful equanimity and searching for magic in his surroundings.
We're introduced to the other adults orbiting Richard's and Christine's daily existence, but midway through the film July starts to delve into the routines and discoveries of the children connected to this neighborhood. The film shifts its focus and now we witness sex, family, technology, and the concept of togetherness through their eyes. The teenagers have a sobering, almost clinical approach to their sexuality, and in one startling scene, the two local girls solicit Richard's oldest son into judging their oral talents. Yet, it's the youngest children who make the biggest impression. Brandon Ratcliff as Richard's youngest, Robby, and Carlie Westerman as their neighbors' daughter give two luminous performances, the type where only children can impart so much truth in a single expression. It's the world of consumerism and the internet filtered through their perceptions that July is most interested in, casting a pall of dread in several scenes, but also allowing a hopefulness for the future to flow from their gaze as they survey the adults clanging quarters, seeking acceptance, and bustling through their misery all around them.
A truly poetic film without a hint of pretension, I applaud July as a singular new voice in independent cinema and one that I'll be watching closely. I'm anticipating her next film already.
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