Rating: B-
Dir: Cody Clarke.
Star: Allison Sonson, Cody Clarke.
Given my frequently expressed and strongly-held aversion to found footage, any film-maker who sends me work consisting of that is either brave or dumb. But Clarke has a big advantage. This isn’t a “group of friends exploring an abandoned asylum for their YouTube channel”. Indeed, it’s not horror at all. Instead, it’s mostly drama, with some comedy attached – though more funny peculiar than funny ha-ha. It consists of a series of tapes sent by aspiring actress Marissa Peterson (Sonson), in response to a posting for a role. Initially, she misunderstands the requirements, forcing her to send further submissions. But, after a certain point, she leans into the whole process and decides, in effect, to submit an entire feature film’s worth of content.
This leads to a whole range of scenes, from her reading old poems she wrote, to very frank discussions of a sexual nature [Sidenote: It’s just adorable when Americans use the word “cunt.” They should probably leave it to Aussies and us Brits] Then Marissa discovers, much to her dismay, she still hasn’t fully read the posting, leading to a complete disintegration in her final reel. Maybe there’s a happy ending. Or maybe there’s not. You decide. Because you are basically watching one person unravel, in their apartment, over the course of a single night. On paper, this is the kind of thing which could easily be no more than self-important wank, Art with a capital A. Yet, it’s surprisingly…
Well, “good” might not quite be the word, particularly in conventional terms. “Engaging” isn’t either, since there are times when it’s difficult to watch. I may be forced to go with the much-maligned “interesting”. Often used as a polite cop-out reaction for artistic failures, that isn’t the case here, though I will freely admit your mileage may vary. My wife swept in, watched ten seconds of commentary about tinned peaches, and swept out with a trademark derisive snort. That’s a valid reaction too. But this is Clarke’s thirtieth micro-budget feature film, including things like Ramekin – about a college girl terrorized by a small baking dish – and Attack of the Giant Blurry Finger. Everything here is quite deliberate. He also makes shark movies, such as Invisible Shark and Stock Shark. I may have found my next rabbit-hole.
Mad props to Sonson, who basically has to carry the whole film, since nobody else appears on screen until Clarke arrives, right at the end. Rather than being improvised, every line was scripted by Clarke: it sounds thoroughly natural, so credit both to him, and Sonson for its delivery. My reactions to Marissa swung wildly over the course of proceedings. I went from sympathy to liking – at times it felt like we were on a date – to concern, to fear in that final reel. For she sells lines like “I will kill everyone that you have ever known. I will fuck them with a fucking gun,” with a degree of conviction Liam Neeson would respect. The moral here, folks, is: always read the fine print. It is very meta, and those involved in the industry may appreciate it more. I was left happy to be on the outside.