Unintentional Diptych #1: Grey Gardens (1975) & Dogtooth (2009)

Aside from the obvious—sequestered filial oddity; country estates; and cats, too many to count in Grey Gardens and a very memorable one in Dogtooth—these two films complement each other in a very particular way that warrants mention: Both are presented so plainly and with so little outside frame of reference that the decidedly strange goings-on of each house begin to feel normal. That the direct cinema approach of Grey Gardens entails no voice-over narration on the part of documentarians Albert and David Maysles allows the two Edies to tell things their own way, and their bizarre worldviews—which seem, at least in part, a result of their relative isolation from anyone but each other—take on a consistent internal logic. So, too, do the just-as-strange habits and beliefs of the nameless Greek family in Dogtooth, who bark like dogs to scare off potential cats, rattle off wildly inaccurate definitions of common words (zombie = a small yellow flower; motorway = a strong wind), and listen to Frank Sinatra under the impression that the man singing in a language they don’t understand is their grandfather. What’s more, the father acts as translator and informs his children that the lyrics to “Fly Me to the Moon” are about honoring thy mother and thy father, sans the religious connotation. Family above all else indeed and, what’s more, the two films’ bizarre closed systems function well enough until intrusions from the strange, hostile outside world put them in jeopardy. This comes in the form of newspaper articles lamenting the disrepair of the titular estate in Grey Gardens and—egads—pop culture in Dogtooth.

Clues by which to glean the latent meaning of these two films are few and far between, and herein lies the ultimate intrigue (and fun): Each is so wonderfully off-putting as to not require a satisfying, catch-all explanation. They function as puzzles whose final pieces must be supplied by the viewer; there aren’t answers so much as there are guesses. Were this not the case, the effect of the two films would be lessened rather than enhanced. To call them oblique is an understatement but, in their own way, both Grey Gardens and Dogtooth act as fitful reminders of the inherent danger—and, in the latter, humor—of narrowing the lens through which we view the world. That only one of them is fictional (and thank god it’s Dogtooth) somehow adds an encouraging note to an unintentional diptych that is otherwise as disturbing as it is dispiriting. - Michael Nordine HTN

"The New Year" Review

Brett Haley’s The New Year is a modest little number in just about every way, from its meager budget (just under 10k) to its understated performances to its graceful handling of material that could have so easily devolved into maudlin made-for-TV schlock. Which is what makes it such a pleasant surprise. Why is it that so many young writer/directors feel a burning urge to amp up the drama and conflict in their stories to implausible degrees, producing work that shows filmmaking talent but lacks real world maturity? To his credit, Haley isn’t interested in those stylistic and emotional pyrotechnics. He is more concerned with telling an honest story, trusting that his audiences will respond to the sincerity of his cause.

The story is driven by Sunny (Trieste Kelly Dunn), a smart, pretty young woman who puts higher education—and, in turn, her boundlessly bright future—on hold in order to return to her hometown of Pensacola, Florida, in order to take care of her ailing father (a wonderfully restrained Marc Peterson). Sunny is clearly destined for bigger and better things, yet she accepts her role as caretaker and part-time worker at a local bowling alley without bitching or moaning. Her relationship with her boyfriend Neal (Kevin Wheatley) is respectful, unflashy, without any overt friction. A reconnection with her high school rival, Isaac (Ryan Hunter), injects hints of actual passion into the proceedings, yet Haley once again keeps this conflict measured and believable. If you’re looking for a violent love triangle showdown, you’ve come to the wrong theater.

As effective as Haley’s filmmaking craft is, The New Year belongs to Trieste Kelly Dunn, who delivers a performance that rightfully calls to mind Ashley Judd’s star-making turn in Ruby in Paradise. Dunn doesn’t overplay her character; instead, she imbues her with a quiet dignity that helps the audience to further appreciate her decision to put her life on hold in order to be with her father. Not many actual young people, especially those with such limitless futures, would accept this role with such grace, yet Sunny is different. Even when she slips up and commits a morally ambiguous act (kissing one boy while dating another? shame!), one can’t help but admire her. This performance, combined with her appearance in Aaron Katz’s Cold Weather, pretty much confirms Dunn’s status as one of American independent cinema’s brightest young actors. If these two roles don’t directly lead to meatier parts in bigger productions, then aspiring actors everywhere might as well quit and take a job at their local bowling alley, because this is as good as calling cards get.

At the 2010 Sarasota Film Festival, where The New Year first screened publicly in April, it surprised everyone by walking away with the festival’s Audience Award for Best Narrative Feature. It was a surprise because at large regional festivals like Sarasota, tiny movies never win this award (it usually goes to a more high profile picture with legitimate movie stars). But this wasn’t an instance of a local film stealing the prize—it’s set in Pensacola, after all. If anything, this overwhelmingly positive response proved that Haley’s hunch was correct, that many viewers out there still want to watch movies about real people struggling to live real lives, doing as good as they can with what little they have. Though, having said that, maybe people were swayed for the typical reason. Maybe they did vote for the legitimate movie star on display, after all. — Michael Tully