Sean Durkin's debut feature Martha Marcy May Marlene was quite the event at the Sundance Film Festival this past January, picking up lots of hype and media coverage. Most of the praise was heaped upon its star, the younger sister of Mary-Kate and Ashley, one Ms. Elizabeth Olsen. You may have heard of her by now. I saw the film a little over a week ago, thought about it, mulled over it, and now here are my feelings.
Martha Marcy May Marlene, from here on out to be referred to as MMMM, is a familiar story that manages to fight against cliches and tell its story seriously and calmly. This may frustrate some, as it did me for one particular reason: it's questionable, numerously repeated elliptical editing structure. Far too often Durkin, in choosing to tell his story in a nonlinear fashion, relies on a series of juxtaposed images and situations that attempt to spell out what the viewer already knows. Martha, having been rescued and housed by her sister and her sister's lover (played by Sarah Paulson and Hugh Dancy respectfully), often experiences flashbacks to her time spent immersed in a country setting inhabited by a family of lost children and a dominant male father figure (played by the ever creepy, soon to be typecast John Hawkes). Since her family doesn't know about her experiences there, they tend to think she's gone loco; as most victims won't speak with their families about their tragic experiences while they're still trying to recuperate, Durkin gets this part right. We understand Martha's pain and her family's frustration with her buried secrets.
Thus there is no need to show Martha, not quite a feral child found crawling out of the woods, jumping into bed while her sister has sex, nor do we need the clueless awkwardness that comes from Martha baring it all while taking a dip in a nearby lake. Are these events believable? In theory, yes, but it often feels like Durkin is only focused on the re-indoctrination of Martha into society. Three moments work in this matter, one being very brief (involving the wetting of one's self), while another (a house party freak out that seems to have been scored by Wendy Carlos coming off a Shining rush) turns frighteningly poignant. The third involves a mirage sitting near a lake that cannot be described, only seen.
The film works primarily because of the performances. Olsen adds layers to a role that could have been cringe-inducing, and Paulson and Dancy, rather than portraying their characters as upper-class, prissy debutantes, ground themselves into being wise and realistic (upon her return, is Martha a girl with newfound intelligence or a hippie taking on issues of class with dear old sis?) Hawkes is fine for what he is required to do, but his most memorable scene occurs fairly early on when he sings a song for (or is it to?) Martha. Here the image appears soft and cloudy, and as Durkin focuses closely on Olsen's face, the song in the background becomes almost dream-like. The song is pretty beautiful too.
Serving as neither the be-all-end-all depiction of rural cults in the cinema nor as a disrespectful sensationalized weepfest, MMMM is a solid film about running away from your past. Martha had done it once before (disconnecting from her blood relatives) and became trapped. When she is saved, her horrific past haunts her dreams and her every waking moment. I found the film to effectively utilize a heightened sense of paranoia — not much transpires throughout, but paranoia always keeps you questioning "what if?"
Due to the crazy picketers birthed from the Phelps clan in the Westboro Baptist Church, Kevin Smith's new film Red State unfortunately is a case where we won't have to ask "what if?" Notorious for showing up near dead soldiers' and dead celebrities' funerals with "God Hates Fags" signs (they relate pretty much every death to God's anger and disapproval with the growing acceptance of homosexuality), the Church members, all related, misconstrue the Bible for their own hateful agenda. Red State, another 2011 Sundance entry, looks at a fictional family even more extreme — not only do they protest, but this group kidnaps and murders innocent people during their Church services. Irony of ironies: when Smith premiered the film, the Westboro Baptist Church was outside the theater protesting.
The film is admirable for taking a real life, factual matter and turning it into, what else, a horror film. It's just sad to report that it's not a very good one. The three horny teenage boys that start off the film, Don Juans in training really, are given dialogue that too often feels like Smith trying to retain his ear to the youth of America. They are not great kids, and one even has the displeasure of having to sport a mullet, for he is the clueless Southern boy (but of course). I don't blame these characters. I blame the education system. The discussion their teacher leads early on in a classroom scene proves that she too is a victim of awkward sounding Smithsonian dialogue.
Stephen Root, a memorable, often peculiar actor gives a performance I can't fault him for. His character's backstory is only provided to convenience the plot (are you saying that police officers in small towns can be gay too? What?!), and he is discarded quite too soon. Actually, he's discarded of quite too late. John Goodman shows up thirty-eight minutes into the film, providing him with a Marge Gunderson, Fargo-like delayed entrance; his character is the moral high ground of the story, serving not his superiors but the goodness of human nature. Goodman's performance, perhaps purposefully, doesn't mesh with the others. With a great speaking voice and eerie facial expressions, Michael Parks, playing the head of the demonic clan, is the only person that really milks the material for all its worth, and the performance deserves to be in a better movie.
Red State may in fact be titled so for its overabundance of firearms on display. The church's basement gun collection is enough to send Dick Cheney running for the hills. A third of the film is a shoot-out reminiscent of the opening of The Devil's Rejects, and similar to that film, innocent men and women are offed in horrific ways. When in doubt, always wipe out domestic terrorists, but first be sure to confirm who they are.
Basically taking place over a twenty-four hour period, this dark and drearily shot low budget disappointment has but a few virtues. I enjoyed the all too brief medium close-ups whenever someone started moving or running frantically (the camera appears attached to the actors hip and looking upwards, giving a stylistically shaky sense of disillusionment). Separating the cast's characters in the end credits via the classifications of Sex, Religion, and Politics is also a whimsical creative choice. On the other hand, the plugging of Smith's podcast as the credits continue to roll is not. And finally, something must be said for actress Kerry Bishé. She is given, rightly or wrongly, the most complex characterization in the film, and she almost makes you care for her. That this is ridiculous given her character's ass-backwards humanistic standards has to say something for her performance. I also found her to be quite the looker. I debated whether or not to include that last observation, but Red State is a film so desperate for commendation, I thought I might as well throw it something.
The film is admirable for taking a real life, factual matter and turning it into, what else, a horror film. It's just sad to report that it's not a very good one. The three horny teenage boys that start off the film, Don Juans in training really, are given dialogue that too often feels like Smith trying to retain his ear to the youth of America. They are not great kids, and one even has the displeasure of having to sport a mullet, for he is the clueless Southern boy (but of course). I don't blame these characters. I blame the education system. The discussion their teacher leads early on in a classroom scene proves that she too is a victim of awkward sounding Smithsonian dialogue.
Stephen Root, a memorable, often peculiar actor gives a performance I can't fault him for. His character's backstory is only provided to convenience the plot (are you saying that police officers in small towns can be gay too? What?!), and he is discarded quite too soon. Actually, he's discarded of quite too late. John Goodman shows up thirty-eight minutes into the film, providing him with a Marge Gunderson, Fargo-like delayed entrance; his character is the moral high ground of the story, serving not his superiors but the goodness of human nature. Goodman's performance, perhaps purposefully, doesn't mesh with the others. With a great speaking voice and eerie facial expressions, Michael Parks, playing the head of the demonic clan, is the only person that really milks the material for all its worth, and the performance deserves to be in a better movie.
Red State may in fact be titled so for its overabundance of firearms on display. The church's basement gun collection is enough to send Dick Cheney running for the hills. A third of the film is a shoot-out reminiscent of the opening of The Devil's Rejects, and similar to that film, innocent men and women are offed in horrific ways. When in doubt, always wipe out domestic terrorists, but first be sure to confirm who they are.
Basically taking place over a twenty-four hour period, this dark and drearily shot low budget disappointment has but a few virtues. I enjoyed the all too brief medium close-ups whenever someone started moving or running frantically (the camera appears attached to the actors hip and looking upwards, giving a stylistically shaky sense of disillusionment). Separating the cast's characters in the end credits via the classifications of Sex, Religion, and Politics is also a whimsical creative choice. On the other hand, the plugging of Smith's podcast as the credits continue to roll is not. And finally, something must be said for actress Kerry Bishé. She is given, rightly or wrongly, the most complex characterization in the film, and she almost makes you care for her. That this is ridiculous given her character's ass-backwards humanistic standards has to say something for her performance. I also found her to be quite the looker. I debated whether or not to include that last observation, but Red State is a film so desperate for commendation, I thought I might as well throw it something.
Martha Marcy May Marlene: Recommended Red State: Not Recommended
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