Whatever your opinion of mumblecore, the indie subgenre that Jay and Mark Duplass helped invent, there is no doubt that the Duplass brothers, a writing and directing team, have sophisticated radar trained on the undercurrents of contemporary relationships.
The shallow, crabby characters in their second feature film, Baghead are uncomfortably recognizable. Beyond chewing over their own insecurities, these smart, self-absorbed people have little to say.
The Duplass radar made the brothers’ first feature, The Puffy Chair, a cult hit, and it functions just as efficiently in “Baghead,” a comedy-horror spoof that superficially resembles The Blair Witch Project.
The four main characters — Chad (Steve Zissis), Michelle (Greta Gerwig), Matt (Ross Partridge) and Catherine (Elise Muller) — are actors and writers on the fringes of Hollywood whose relationships are complicated by sexual signals they exchange but are loath to acknowledge. That’s the way it often is with mumblecore characters, urbane slackers whose inhibitions keep them on edge.
Chad, who suggests a chubby younger cousin of Jim Belushi, is besotted with Michelle, who resembles a younger, prettier cousin of Ellen De Generes. Michelle hankers for Matt, a rangy, obnoxiously smug rogue, whose on-again, off-again 11-year relationship with Catherine (Ms. Muller is a Deborah Kara Ungerlook-alike) has reached a critical turning point. It turns out that all of these characters had hooked up on the free dating site Devil Called Love.com.
When the cow-eyed Chad pesters Michelle to describe her feelings for him, she replies that he is like a best friend and brother rolled into one. As he moves in to kiss her, she turns her cheek. He is crushed but keeps silent. To ease her discomfort, Michelle stays drunk much of the time.
After Catherine idly asks Matt to rate a part of her body on a scale of 1 to 10 and he gives it an 8.3, she peevishly responds that that was the wrong answer. Sounding patently insincere and a little contemptuous, Matt revises his rating to 11, which Catherine sullenly accepts. Whatever they may decide about their future, the scene lets you know that these two vain, self-centered people will be stuck in this dynamic for the foreseeable future.
Such is the festering group psychology that the four bring with them when they impulsively decide to visit a cabin in the woods to create their own quickie digital movie. The catalyst for their excursion is a wretched no-budget movie, “We Are Naked,” that they see at an underground film festival. In “Baghead” ’s most satirical scene, the egomaniacal no-talent director of “We Are Naked” boasts that it was made for under $1,000.
At their first brainstorming session, the four get drunk and decide to make a relationship movie, but the project stalls for lack of ideas. In the middle of the night, Michelle stumbles woozily out of bed to be sick outdoors and sees what appears to be a man with a bag over his head. The next morning she thinks it was a nightmare. The baghead image inspires them to cook up a horror film about a killer with a paper bag over his head.
The suppressed anxieties, longings and jealousies among the four inform the practical jokes they play on one another as the weekend drags on. First one, then another, then a third member of the foursome disappear, leaving ambiguous signs of abduction. The car they drove into the woods is also vandalized. Each disappearance is signaled by a tinkle of wind chimes.
“Baghead” adroitly toys with the question of whether there is really something lurking out there, or whether that something, fleetingly glimpsed, is merely a projection of the characters’ own fears. As their nerves fray and they turn on one another, the film becomes an examination of the fragility of friendship.
The semi-improvised performances, which seem so natural that it is tempting to confuse the actors with their characters, bring “Baghead” into the realm of group therapy observed through one-way glass.
No comments:
Post a Comment