The New Talkies: Generation DIY
IFC Center
How do we connect the dots of a movement that doesn’t exist? So goes the predicament of mumblecore. The oddball term began its tenuous circulation around the time that Andrew Bujalski’s low budget slice-of-life debut, Funny Ha Ha, landed on DVD following a modest theatrical release and critical acclaim in 2005. Endlessly stupefying and basically empty, mumblecore nonetheless provides the uniting catchphrase for IFC Center’s unique retrospective, “The New Talkies: Generation DIY,” which runs August 22 through September 4.
It’s rare that audiences get the opportunity to discover such unvarnished independent talent beyond the realm of film festivals. The series contains a dozen features and a selection of shorts from several ambitious young filmmakers whose interests revolve around the subtle dramas of ordinary people. The productions typify humility simply because they eschew polished, big-budget aesthetics in favor of personable storytelling and credible humanity.
That being said, the conceptual relationships between entries (other than those sharing directors) are vague at best: Minimal plot, unprofessional actors, the use of (mostly) low-fi digital video, and themes involving relationships are meek surface qualities that the participants share, but the styles differ greatly. The ages of the contributing artists range from late twenties to early thirties, so the real common ground is evolving adulthood. These modest accomplishments (and occasional gems) exist as alternatives to the conventional studies in youth anxiety reinvigorated by the Judd Apatow clan with Knocked Up and Superbad. The go-to description in the case of mumblecore is “naturalism,” a close cousin of documentary realism and the rebellious younger brother of Apatow’s classical message-based creations. The furthest thing from escapism, mumblecore cinema (to use the moniker loosely) focuses on the struggle to escape—from mundanity.
The best way to pull the constituents of mumblecore together is to examine its opening centerpiece. Joe Swanberg’s charming comedy Hannah Takes the Stairs marks the Chicago-based filmmaker’s third feature, but his first to land theatrical distribution. The details of its cast, whose dialogue and actions are improvised throughout, offer a roadmap to other movies in the series. Essentially about a woman whose confusion over romantic identification creates a love triangle, Hannah stars Greta Gerwig and a handful of emerging auteurs. Her character’s initial boyfriend, incessant jokester Mike, is amusingly portrayed by Mark Duplass, whose endearing roadtrip yarn, The Puffy Chair (co-directed with brother Jay) screens on August 26-27.
There’s more: After Mike, Hannah drifts into the arms of her sardonic playwright-boss Paul (Bujalski, director of Funny Ha Ha and Mutual Appreciation, showing August 22-23 and August 31-September 1, respectively). A perennial witness to events and another possible suitor, Hannah’s coworker Matt enlivens the events courtesy of Kent Osbourne, while supporting roles go to acknowledged mumblecore contributors Ry Russo Young (Orphans) and Todd Rohal (The Guatemalan Handshake), although neither feature is included in the retrospective.
Familiar faces dominate the series. Swanberg’s first two efforts, the explicit sex drama Kissing on the Mouth (August 24) and a witty Internet romance parable aptly titled LOL (September 2-3) star the director’s close collaborators in addition to Swanberg himself. But lest you consider this casting decision as a result of egotism, it’s important to recognize that Swanberg plays similar roles in his colleagues’ works, Frank Ross’ Hohokam (August 30) and Aaron Katz’s Quiet City, a quaint little drama about a girl adrift in Brooklyn after hours receiving its own weeklong run beginning August 29.
Katz’s first feature, a short but significant documentation of sexual deviance and its aftermath called Dance Party, USA, screens August 28-29 and warrants attention as a thematic footnote to his sophomore triumph. Another impressive study of loneliness and post-relationship despair, Ross’ Quietly On By, contains an opening scene filled with remarkably intense emotional anguish. The home video look enhances its creepy familiarity.
Less a showcase of particular techniques than a collage of talent from a distinct circle of friends, the neatest aspect of “New Talkies” is that it’s virtually devoid of commerciality. Bujalski, whose movies, along with Puffy Chair, are the lone entries that received previous theatrical release and notice in the mainstream media, could be called the sole mumblecore celebrity—but that distinction has more to do with circumstantial exposure than superstar stature.
Incidentally, Bujalski’s work has an incredibly slight touch to it. The only director in the series to shoot on 16mm film, his movies revolve around awkward conversations between the hipster elite (he’s a Harvard grad, after all). Despite carefully arranged character designs and striking black and white photography in Mutual Appreciation, his approach lacks impressionability.
The Duplass brothers’ Puffy Chair, however, offers a good entrance to the movement as its most accessible title. For one thing, there’s a discernible plot (two guys and a girl take a trip to replace a favorite piece of furniture), and enough ongoing laughs to maintain the attention of ADD-prone viewers. Abstract non-narrative projects like Kentucky Audley’s gentle musician portrait, Team Picture (August 30), and Swanberg’s online series Young American Bodies (brief episodes posted on Nerve.com; the first season screens in its entirety on August 25) are exclusively for bold cinefiles or mumblecore devotees. Right now, that’s a tight-knit bunch—but after the series concludes, that might not be the case. Let the nonexistent movement continue.
IFC Center
How do we connect the dots of a movement that doesn’t exist? So goes the predicament of mumblecore. The oddball term began its tenuous circulation around the time that Andrew Bujalski’s low budget slice-of-life debut, Funny Ha Ha, landed on DVD following a modest theatrical release and critical acclaim in 2005. Endlessly stupefying and basically empty, mumblecore nonetheless provides the uniting catchphrase for IFC Center’s unique retrospective, “The New Talkies: Generation DIY,” which runs August 22 through September 4.
It’s rare that audiences get the opportunity to discover such unvarnished independent talent beyond the realm of film festivals. The series contains a dozen features and a selection of shorts from several ambitious young filmmakers whose interests revolve around the subtle dramas of ordinary people. The productions typify humility simply because they eschew polished, big-budget aesthetics in favor of personable storytelling and credible humanity.
That being said, the conceptual relationships between entries (other than those sharing directors) are vague at best: Minimal plot, unprofessional actors, the use of (mostly) low-fi digital video, and themes involving relationships are meek surface qualities that the participants share, but the styles differ greatly. The ages of the contributing artists range from late twenties to early thirties, so the real common ground is evolving adulthood. These modest accomplishments (and occasional gems) exist as alternatives to the conventional studies in youth anxiety reinvigorated by the Judd Apatow clan with Knocked Up and Superbad. The go-to description in the case of mumblecore is “naturalism,” a close cousin of documentary realism and the rebellious younger brother of Apatow’s classical message-based creations. The furthest thing from escapism, mumblecore cinema (to use the moniker loosely) focuses on the struggle to escape—from mundanity.
The best way to pull the constituents of mumblecore together is to examine its opening centerpiece. Joe Swanberg’s charming comedy Hannah Takes the Stairs marks the Chicago-based filmmaker’s third feature, but his first to land theatrical distribution. The details of its cast, whose dialogue and actions are improvised throughout, offer a roadmap to other movies in the series. Essentially about a woman whose confusion over romantic identification creates a love triangle, Hannah stars Greta Gerwig and a handful of emerging auteurs. Her character’s initial boyfriend, incessant jokester Mike, is amusingly portrayed by Mark Duplass, whose endearing roadtrip yarn, The Puffy Chair (co-directed with brother Jay) screens on August 26-27.
There’s more: After Mike, Hannah drifts into the arms of her sardonic playwright-boss Paul (Bujalski, director of Funny Ha Ha and Mutual Appreciation, showing August 22-23 and August 31-September 1, respectively). A perennial witness to events and another possible suitor, Hannah’s coworker Matt enlivens the events courtesy of Kent Osbourne, while supporting roles go to acknowledged mumblecore contributors Ry Russo Young (Orphans) and Todd Rohal (The Guatemalan Handshake), although neither feature is included in the retrospective.
Familiar faces dominate the series. Swanberg’s first two efforts, the explicit sex drama Kissing on the Mouth (August 24) and a witty Internet romance parable aptly titled LOL (September 2-3) star the director’s close collaborators in addition to Swanberg himself. But lest you consider this casting decision as a result of egotism, it’s important to recognize that Swanberg plays similar roles in his colleagues’ works, Frank Ross’ Hohokam (August 30) and Aaron Katz’s Quiet City, a quaint little drama about a girl adrift in Brooklyn after hours receiving its own weeklong run beginning August 29.
Katz’s first feature, a short but significant documentation of sexual deviance and its aftermath called Dance Party, USA, screens August 28-29 and warrants attention as a thematic footnote to his sophomore triumph. Another impressive study of loneliness and post-relationship despair, Ross’ Quietly On By, contains an opening scene filled with remarkably intense emotional anguish. The home video look enhances its creepy familiarity.
Less a showcase of particular techniques than a collage of talent from a distinct circle of friends, the neatest aspect of “New Talkies” is that it’s virtually devoid of commerciality. Bujalski, whose movies, along with Puffy Chair, are the lone entries that received previous theatrical release and notice in the mainstream media, could be called the sole mumblecore celebrity—but that distinction has more to do with circumstantial exposure than superstar stature.
Incidentally, Bujalski’s work has an incredibly slight touch to it. The only director in the series to shoot on 16mm film, his movies revolve around awkward conversations between the hipster elite (he’s a Harvard grad, after all). Despite carefully arranged character designs and striking black and white photography in Mutual Appreciation, his approach lacks impressionability.
The Duplass brothers’ Puffy Chair, however, offers a good entrance to the movement as its most accessible title. For one thing, there’s a discernible plot (two guys and a girl take a trip to replace a favorite piece of furniture), and enough ongoing laughs to maintain the attention of ADD-prone viewers. Abstract non-narrative projects like Kentucky Audley’s gentle musician portrait, Team Picture (August 30), and Swanberg’s online series Young American Bodies (brief episodes posted on Nerve.com; the first season screens in its entirety on August 25) are exclusively for bold cinefiles or mumblecore devotees. Right now, that’s a tight-knit bunch—but after the series concludes, that might not be the case. Let the nonexistent movement continue.
