In this brave attempt at achieving an ambitious, albeit imperfect psychological drama, David Schwimmer takes a significantly risky decision. At first, the film is like life in trouble replete with hyperactivity- art meets a sad and reflective psyche as in “Fight Club,” but just when it looks to be headed somewhere, it goes for the jarring feel that will most probably put off anyone who is lured in by the Friends actor’s glorious visage on the marketing materials. There’s quite a lot to unpack in the second half of the film that first time director Jack Begert tells in the teaser, which could seem marginally unconnected at first but in no time shifts gears to the movie’s core subject of addiction and its intertwined theme of opioid use along with the negative impact one is bound to feel the rest of their life with. Those who patient enough to endure the first hour and know what happens in the lion’s den will find it quite fulfilling.
Taking into consideration the recent events about Schwimmer’s former co-star Matthew Perry, Begert’s movie has gained an unintentional meta aspect which, quite regrettably, also illustrates its central idea further: the costs people are prepared to bear in a quest for happiness in the present-day United States. Schwimmer plays Martin Solomon, a mid-aged screenwriter close to making his directing debut yet already on the verge of a nervous collapse. In voice-over, Martin souvenirs the time when, as a kid, he participated in a psychological test and was made to stand next to the ‘missing person’ posters of himself, surrounded by milk cartons. He was left unattended for six hours forcing him to ask “Was it total indifference from the universe? Or was I just not worth it?”
Let’s understand Martin he is attempting to create serious art in a place where “how many aspiring actors out of 85? Uber drivers.” Knowing he is a loser with a legacy of 11 seasons of a body swap sitcom, Martin is sure that his feature film will redeem him.
The predominant financier of the film raises the stakes by setting terms most important among them being that the male character has to be feminized (this undoes the film when, in the most bizarre storytelling fashion inspired by Buñuel, Gaby Hoffmann, or Martin for some time, is played completely without explaining the change). Things seem to be looking up again when, after being hungrily captivated by the images of an ideally gorgeous woman in his dreams conjured by Machinic suggestions, Martin walks into a bookstore and literally bumps into her and gets her phone number.
Here again, Hollywood engages in the self aggression it is known for; Martin is a writer who in the center of the hurricane that is the epicentre of creation is struggling to actually create and be communicated with (may I request us to skip the tablets and the dream therapy, he implores the therapist. “Want to go with the traditional communication approach”). There is some feeling of Terry Gilliam’s Brazil here, more so when Martin fights against the new wave feminism censorship that is seeking to erase his original ideas of the screenplay (“In this city, most people would prefer to be labeled a bigot than a pedophile,” he exclaims). At the same time, his wife Jess (Jena Malone), wishes to travel to Costa Rica on a vacation but Martin feels this is not the right time to leave duty on the command post.
The next phase will focus on a development that is unexpected, well, not as unexpected as it may have been had Bertrand Bonello not recently made his presentation Venice competitor The Beast which is quite similar. We can also take as inspiration David Lynch’s Lost Highway, however, it’s more useful to point here to The Place Beyond the Pines directed by Derek Cianfrance as a good example of this classic bait-and-switch structure. Instantly, a new narrative appears where the focus shifts to children characters who are younger, and the middle of the film, Little Death, lowers into a more subdued range after the freneticism of its first part.
This new rhythm is quite challenging; it goes from the licensed stylized world of prescription drugs to the wobbling disturbing street corner. Spearheaded on the film by Darren Aronofsky, it is easy to remember his Requiem for a Dream where Ellen Burstyn performed the role of an elderly housewife addicted to speed leading her to get Oscar nominated.
Begert’s film is for the most part its own beast which makes it rightful for the NEXT Innovator Award at the Sundance Film Festival. His next move will be interesting to watch because the active first half of the film comes from a restless creative mind, while the polished second half of the film is filled with a sense of practicality. Their coming together, somewhere in between, is an unusual sort of alchemy, but one that is probably not geared for the mass audience. Little Death will anyhow be as contentious as Ari Aster’s Beau Is Afraid – while I have no doubt it will be as perversely invigorating in its very specific quirkiness.
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