O, so many caveats, people, before I can write about Andrew Bujalski's latest. Which I liked. I think.
May as well start from the top. While your pal the cinetrix was delighted to discover that for the first time ever the sxsw film festival coincided with spring break, as it grew nigh, my enthusiasm, shall we say, waned. Thinking about sxsw made me feel old. Maybe it's living [and teaching] in a small university town that dampened my enthusiasm for a slate of flicks that skewed toward the problems of the twenty-something set. [In fairness, some of the movies were about old people. And pets. And artists. And poor people. And bugs. And war. Still, there were easily a dozen movies made by and for all the young dudes.]
A lot of them had already been written about by the filmmakers' generational compeers in the online press, too, which brings me to the second caveat. Ordinarily, I have no problem reading reams of information about a film before I see it. I like reading well-written film criticism as prose. And, as I mentioned, I live in the sticks, so short of going to a festival, I'm not going to have an opportunity to catch up with most of what's being written about for ages. [Yes, that includes VOD darling Alexander the Last. IFC on-demand doesn't appear to be an option in my cable package.] I was particularly interested in reading the coverage of Beeswax because I've had a rooting interest in Andrew's work ever since I met him when he screened Funny Ha Ha here in the fall of 2004.
At this point I should skip ahead to the Beeswax post-screening Q&A for a sec. I'd run into Gabe and Paula from ATLFF beforehand and ended up sitting with them at the Paramount. As we listened to Bujalski affably coordinate the answering of the various questions posed to him and the cast, I leaned over to Gabe, who also met the director early on, and observed how in his element Andrew seemed. It's true. He has his shtick--a term I do not use pejoratively--down. It was truly a delight to witness. Less so to hear/read secondhand.
Which brings me back to what's already been written about Bujalski and this film. The more I read, the more an inescapable echolalia drowns out my own impressions. It stands to reason that Andrew's answers to the same set of questions--about shooting in Austin, the super-charismatic qualities of the Hatcher sisters who star, casting other directors as actors--asked ad nauseam wouldn't change. They shouldn't. He's not Andy Kaufman, after all. But it does mean that my reluctance to add my voice to the fray grows exponentially each time I encounter a recast familiar phrase. [It's a shame because I'm fairly confident that my friends from Boston who see the film will wonder along with me whether Bujalski lifted the "contested vintage store" story some critics have been so quick to belittle or dismiss from something that really happened to people we know while he still lived there. But I no longer have the energy to keep reading in the hopes someone asks.]
Here's what I can say about Beeswax. [My notes are gnomic, even to me, which doesn't help.] As far as plot, flaky Lauren might go teach in Africa. Her twin sister Jeannie runs a vintage shop inexplicably named Storyville that she co-owns with her estranged business partner Amanda. It looks like Amanda, who's pregnant, might end up suing Jeannie for full ownership, so Jeannie turns for advice, and comfort, to her sort of boyfriend Merrill, who is studying for the bar. Suspense is generated when Jeannie has to ask a stranger for help retrieving her chair from the trunk and when Lauren and Merrill lounge--clothed--on Jeannie's bed. Misunderstandings unfold; confrontations are deferred and then explode, somewhat. When Jeannie rolls out the door ahead of Lauren on the way to get migas for
breakfast, the movie does not end as much as stop. As Lauren says, "It's not official, but it's still exciting."
Here's what's never mentioned in the movie. Jeannie's disability. What appears to be their mother's lesbian relationship with a woman played by sxsw's own Janet Pierson. Here's what's mentioned in every review. How Jeannie's disability is never mentioned in the movie.
Here's how it looks. Mostly like the collages Tilly Hatcher made for the credits. Cool dusky blues and vintage golden greens. Ochre. Thistle.
Here's how it feels. The sound of late-summer insects undergirds the hazy, limpid action. Humidity curls and frizzes hair. Same-but-different bodies allow us to look, comfortable already with the degree of attention that defines twinness and beauty and disability. Crooked smiles. Crease-like dimples. Muscled arms. Intense eye contact.