It’s no fault of Sarah Silverman‘s that her latest movie, I Smile Back, is so thematically, narratively and artistically clueless. The movie’s about her character, housewife and mother Laney Brooks, battling chronic depression, though, upon further reflection, the film is better described as a chronic depression simulator, a bridge-to-nowhere of a story that subjects us to grotesque acts of domestic horror without providing any worthwhile insight into its subject’s tragic condition as consolation. Silverman’s great—this may be the best she’s ever been on the big screen—but the truth remains that this is borderline sadistic cinema that lacks empathy and will ruin your day, if not your entire week.

Director Adam Salky and writers Amy Koppelman and Paige Dylan (who adapted Koppelman’s own novel) put Silverman in an incredibly precarious position, asking her to lay it all on the line as an actor on every level. Valiantly, she holds up her end of the bargain, committing herself to every disturbing scenario thrown her way. Silverman’s the real deal—comedy may be her forte according to current public opinion, but as she hinted at in Sarah Polley‘s Take This Waltz, she can win audiences over as a dramatic lead just as well as she can as a stretchy-faced tomboy comedienne.

The big letdown here is that there isn’t enough dimension to Laney or her story, which means all the horrible things we watch her go through—sex addiction, drug and alcohol dependence, a self-destructive case of habitual lying—are in service of no larger meaning. In short, there doesn’t seem to be a point to all the torment.

The narrative is skeletal, essentially charting Laney’s downward spiral as her demons overtake her being and consequently push her family away. Her life falls apart in slow motion as she cheats on her husband (Josh Charles, a great onscreen partner) multiple times and emotionally traumatizes their two young children via random, unspeakable acts. Chronic depression is ugly, serious business that can lead to far worse things than what we see here, but the filmmakers are needlessly cruel to Laney in that they don’t give her the benefit of a complex personality; other than her bout with depression, the only thing that defines her is that she’s an upper-middle class soccer-mom cliché.

If you adjust the lens a bit and look at I Smile Back from a moment to moment perspective, it actually works on a few levels. The actors are pretty great across the board (even the kids) and Silverman and Charles are immediately convincing as a couple. Eric Lin’s cinematography is evocative and sumptuous and Tamara Meem’s editing fits the material well, reflecting Laney’s clouded mental state with disorienting skips back and forth in time. What’s frustrating is that there’s good stuff in there; with a greater sense of cohesion and a bit more narrative context, the movie might have been decent. It’s like opening up a puzzle set only to find a third of the pieces missing.

The story purposefully holds back all but a few bite-sized details about Laney’s sordid past (parental abandonment is a prime factor), but it’s hard to guess what the filmmakers’ intent was. Surely we’d empathize and identify with her more if we could understand more clearly the path that led her to such a self-destructive place. It’s just too hard to invest in Laney’s journey, which is a shame considering how much Silverman’s busting her ass. The ending feels…arbitrary. To be honest, you could cut the story off at any point of the movie’s gauntlet of crash-and-burns and the film’s emotional impact would be the same: negligible.

Mr. Nobody is proof that just having all the right ingredients does not automatically make it a great dish. This film contains an intriguing plot, spectacular visuals, solid acting performances, more ambition than you can shake a stick at, and yet the results are not half as good as it sounds. Or at least not nearly as good as it sounds. In any case, one cannot help but wonder if not living up to the film’s potential is the very reason why it took so long (four years from its Venice Film Festival premiere) to get a proper U.S. distribution.

At the heart of the story is the unimaginable decision that a young boy must make between which parent to live with after they divorce. From there Mr. Nobody spirals off (out of control) into several parallel timelines that form based upon which decision he could have made. The film experiments with concepts of the butterfly effect by exploring the possible outcomes in a nonlinear fashion. In fact, it begins by showing the protagonist named Nemo (Jared Leto) dying in different ways before jumping all the way back to an elderly (117-years-old to be exact) version of him, who is considered to be the last man who will die of old age because everyone else on earth has benefited from stem cell treatments.

It is easy to get lost when the film jumps around between all of the different scenarios and timelines that the character is involved with. Nothing short of multiple viewings or detailed infographic of the film’s structure will help. But most of the major themes the film wanted to get across were made clear—most notably Nemo’s various love interests (Sarah Polley, Diane Kruger, Linh Dan Pham, and Juno Temple) in different stages of his life. The problem is aside from Polley, the emotional attachment to any of the characters is not actually felt.

Throughout the film I kept trying to figure out if I am supposed to take the film completely seriously or not at all. Perhaps the correct answer is somewhere in the middle. One just does not expect to see unicorns and other playful things intertwined with such a serious coming-of-age narrative and thought-provoking framework. This amalgamation of genres is admittedly fun and even adds some character to the film, but at times it makes the already confusing film even more baffling.

You will likely be reminded of several films while watching Mr. Nobody, the very first that comes to mind is Cloud Atlas—both were released around the same time and contain interlinking storylines spanning across several decades of time, including the distant future. Moments when the character thinks they are with one partner but then quickly revealed to be with another will remind you of Vanilla Sky. There are multiple Fight Club-esque moments aside from simply sharing Jared Leto and the Pixies song “Where is My Mind”. You could even draw some comparisons to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with its visually bizarre self-aware dream sequences. The list of influences could go on and on. While Mr. Nobody is reminiscent of all those films, it is unfortunately not as effective as any one of them.

Jaco Van Dormael’s film is stunning to look at and if nothing else makes the film a decent visual experience for the viewer. The CGI is handled well in film’s depiction of our futuristic world in 2092, mostly consisting of sterile white environments. By far the most impressive visual achievement was the makeup transformation that Leto had to undergo while playing the 117-year-old version of himself. It was scary just how realistic it looked.

Mr. Nobody ends up being one exhausting ride with constant leaps back and forth between multiple timelines, never slowing down enough to allow the audience to become attached to any of the characters on screen. Not helping matters is the fact that the film goes on for nearly two and a half hours. You certainly cannot fault Mr. Nobody‘s efforts to be an ambitious film, and it is easy to admire it just for that reason, but those efforts alone are not enough to save the impenetrable and messy final product.

“Every family has a story.” Canadian actor and director Sarah Polley (Away From Her, Take This Waltz) lost her mom, Diane, to cancer in 1990. In Stories We Tell, her quietly spectacular documentary, she sits with her family and friends and asks them to “tell the whole story [about Diane], from start to finish.” The stories that result are lovingly nostalgic, but gradually, fascinatingly, they begin to clash and contradict one another. Polley’s goal isn’t to piece together a definitive portrait of her mother.“…the truth about the past is often ephemeral and difficult to pin down” says Polley in the film. Stories We Tell isn’t concerned with the truth—its focus is on exploring the phenomenon of storytelling. Why do we tell stories? Why do we need them? Most importantly, how does our perspective on events affect our memory of them?

Polley plays detective in the film, interrogating and cajoling clues out of her subjects about the ‘true’ history of Diane and her family, though no one’s story stands out as definitive (Polley played it fair in the editing room). Through the process of interrogation, a dark family secret is uncovered that turns the entire film—and the family—on its head. This is where the film gets really good. It’s like watching a hybrid documentary/soap opera—there are surprises, mysteries, revelations, and even a twist or two (one of the most shocking moments comes after the credits start rolling). It’s thrilling, with emotional highs and lows that are intensified by the fact that we’re watching real people—a real family—have their world shaken and turned upside-down.

Of all the voices we hear, the most dominant belongs to Polley’s British-born father, Michael, who narrates the film, telling his version of Diane’s story by reciting his eloquently written memoirs. His voice is enchanting, richly textured with classic English charm, and lends a surprising sense of magic to the film. Polley makes the brilliant decision to film Michael recording the voice-overs in a sound studio as she directs him from behind a mixing board “Dad, can you just go back over that one line?” These segments are touching and feel distinct, as Michael isn’t being questioned like the other subjects. Seeing Polley gaze at her father with gentle love and adoration is guaranteed to elicit fuzzy feelings.

The talking heads are filmed á la the standard documentary style, sat on a couch or chair. Polley constantly reminds us that there’s a production going on, showing her siblings asking her how they look on camera (“Is this a good angle for me?”), and allowing them to break the fourth wall. “Who cares about our stupid family?” says Polley’s sister. Beautifully staged Super 8 reenactments of key events in her family’s history add warm nostalgia to the equation.

Diane’s memory permeates every minute of the film, and the family speaks in great detail about the woman that she was, but I’ll let you discover all that on your own. This act of discovery is crucial to the experience—peeling back the multiple layers of Stories We Tell is exhilarating. The surprises hidden within are jaw-droppers, which is why I danced around nearly every plot point in this review—the less you know about the story going into it, the further your jaw will drop. Reflecting on Stories We Tell, I think of my family and our stories. I can’t put my finger on exactly why we tell them or why we love them so much, but after experiencing Polley’s film, I’m sure of two things—stories are important, and every one of us is an unreliable narrator.

Director Sarah Polley took time to sit with us at the San Francisco International Film Festival to talk about her critically acclaimed, hyper-personal documentary, Stories We Tell, in which she excavates her late mother, Diane’s life story by interviewing friends and family.

When the film first screened, I remember you being hesitant to do interviews, wanting the film to speak for itself. It must have been nerve-racking putting your family’s history out there for the world to see. How scared were you to share the film with people?
It was terrifying. I can’t say I’ve ever been that stressed out by sharing anything. I was exposing not only myself, but my family, and you don’t know what kind of criticisms are going to fall down on people and what you’ll expose them to.

It’s now been half a year since you’ve shared the film—how has the experience been?
It’s been great, actually. It’s been the richest experience I’ve ever had in terms of promoting a film, which usually…you kind of end up with your roster of answers and you’re basically being asked the same questions. With this film, I find I’m constantly surprised by people’s responses and the questions I’m getting. Everyone seems to have seen a different film. It’s a real privilege to get to open up a story like this, look at the idea of storytelling, and hear [people’s] various responses and the stories that come out of that.

One of the subjects in the film talks about different circles of stories centered on your mother, emanating out—second hand stories, third hand, fourth. Now that people have seen the film, there’s this gigantic fifth circle that have their own stories to tell. What have the responses been like?
That’s what’s been really interesting—there seem to be so many people who have stories like this in their own lives or know people who have stories. For me it’s strange because, in a way, the audience, the critics, the people who write or talk about the film become this strange extension of the film because the story is still changing and getting mutated and misinterpreted and getting analyzed differently by everyone. It’s sort of a continuation of the project of the film to look at the noise of all those voices.

Your father, Michael Polley, narrates the film, reading his memoirs. He has an amazing voice!
A big part of me wanting to make the film was wanting to record him reading his writing and the stories he was creating out of [the events in the film] having happened and the fact that this information having crashed on most people would have created a lot of negative feelings ended up giving him this sort of opening to look very candidly and eloquently at his own life.

You film your dad reading his memoirs in a sound studio, and you also have a camera on yourself behind the mixing board, directing him. Where did the idea come from to show this interaction?
I didn’t even think I was going to use that footage, but it became really important all of a sudden that I be in the film as a character of a filmmaker and we see the construction of the film. Because the film is about storytelling and the way stories come out of a particular set of events, to show the construction of this story from the filmmaker’s perspective seemed to be really important.

The film revolves around your mother, but by its conclusion, she remains an enigmatic figure.
I learned a ton about my mom, but the truth is, she’s not here to speak for herself—she will remain enigmatic to an extent. We’re never going to really know the way she would phrase her thoughts and feelings about these events, she does remain elusive. I definitely wanted to paint a clear picture of her based on everybody’s recollections, but I think I knew going in I was never going to ‘get her’ [or] get some accurate sense of who exactly she was.

Everybody in the film gets a fair say.
That was the idea, that everybody would have their chance to have their voice included, even if it wasn’t their full version. Everybody’s version would be respected.

The film touches on delicate subjects. Were there times where you thought that a certain element of the story would make the film flow better, but you didn’t want to include it because it was too personal?
There [were a lot] of situations like that, but it was helpful that I have relationships with everybody in the film because I had a very strong internal barometer for what would be ok and what wouldn’t be ok. I don’t think I lied about anybody and I tried not to manipulate, but certainly some things were kept in and other things were not kept in, based on wanting to make sure I was as humane as possible in the process, which I think is something we shouldn’t ignore as filmmakers.

Would you ever consider making another film like this one?
I’d love to make another documentary at some point. I obviously wouldn’t make another one about my family. I think it would be hard for me to make a documentary now because it would be hard to make a straight-ahead film, but I don’t think I could make a film as complicated as this either (laughs). But, I would love to make another documentary because I respect the medium so much.

One of my favorite things about film festivals is being able to interact with and pick the brains of the talented filmmakers behind great films you’ve just discovered. Yesterday, I got to do just that, with two incredible filmmakers. Stories We Tell (Sarah Polley) and The Patience Stone (Atiq Rahimi) are such fascinating, brilliant films that it was an honor and privilege to mine knowledge from the artists behind them. Both films are intensely personal works that shouldn’t be missed by anyone.

Stay tuned to Way Too Indie for the interviews, which we’ll be posting as the films’ release dates approach. In the meantime, here are my impressions of the films from SFIFF.

Stories We Tell

One of the beauties of Stories We Tell is uncovering its secrets as the film unfolds. I could reveal the secrets that await in Polley’s documentary, but that would be cruel. It’s integral that you go into the film cold, knowing little to nothing of the journey Polley has plotted out for us—it will all be worth it, trust me. All you need to know is this—so far, this is hands down my favorite film at SFIFF, which is already one of the best festivals I’ve attended. Now, mark your calendars for May 17th and go see the film.

If you need more convincing…read on. But let me be clear—my recommendation is that you experience the film in the moment, free of expectations.

Stories We Tell is a collection of recollections—stories—about Polley’s late mother, Diane. She interviews her colorful family and people who were close to Diane, and asks them to detail the family’s history, with the late matriarch as the focal point. Polley takes us on a journey to find the ‘true’ Diane, through multiple, unique memories. The families’ stories vary wildly and make you wonder—whose story is correct?

What makes Stories We Tell so special is that most documentaries are on an obsessive search for the truth while Polley instead poses the question—does the truth really exist? One thing is for sure—stories don’t exist until we create them. They’re born from an individual with a unique perspective. Polley’s mother was a different person to everyone she met—she was Mom to some, a friend to some, a lover to others. Which is the true Diane?

There are huge revelations to discover once you dive deep into the film that completely flip things upside down. Stories We Tell is a touching, one-of-a-kind work of art that is as universal as it is personal.

In the coming weeks we will have our full review plus an interview with director Sarah Polley here on Way Too Indie.

The Patience Stone

In an adaptation of director Atiq Rahimi’s novel of the same title, the beautiful Golshifteh Farahani (Body of Lies) plays an Afghani wife and mother whose husband has been left in a vegetable state after a bullet wound to the neck. She is on the brink of exhaustion, struggling to care for her family without the aid of her husband. As she buckles under the stresses of poverty, female oppression, and a war-torn Afghanistan, she begins to express her inner thoughts to her comatose husband, thoughts that she’d never dared vocalize before.

The Patience Stone’s title refers to a well-known Persian folktale, Syngue Sabour, about a stone into which you dump your frustrations, secrets, and woes until it eventually shatters. As Farahani’s expressions of agony to her husband slowly transform into expressions of desire and sexual frustration, she begins to free herself of the constraints imposed on her by Muslim culture.

Rahimi’s camera is weightless and adaptable, always placed strategically to convey the emotion of the scene. DP Thierry Arborgast uses color and light in almost magical ways, creating a lush atmosphere that sinks deep into your mind instantly. The scenes that take place outside of the husband’s room aren’t as effective as the powerful moments that transpire inside it. This is an important, beautiful story of liberation and individuality that may be too plodding for some, but rewards those who wait.

Take This Waltz plays out more like a fantasy than the traditional romantic comedy it is based upon. This sophomore feature from director Sarah Polley contains an outcome that leaves you with something to chew on, but it’s attempts in quirkiness results in awkwardness. It brilliantly showed how the grass is not as green as you may think, however, in that big achievement it tripped on small things along the way.

On this particular day, everything seems to be falling in place for Margot (Michelle Williams). While on a writing assignment for a tour guide brochure, Margot has a run in with a man named Daniel (Luke Kirby). On her flight back home the two happen to not only have the same flight, but actually sit next to one another. The two openly flirt with each other in the time they spend in the air.

Margot mentions that she has a fear of connections in airports; because there is too much rushing, not knowing, and concern if you are going to make it your flight. She admits she does not like to be between things. Or the very thought of wondering if she is going to miss things. Even though she is just talking about terminals in airports, there is an obvious metaphor between relationships in her life.

After the plane lands they share a taxi only to find out he lives right across the street from her. Just when things could not get any better for the two, we find out that she has been holding back something very important. She explains that she is married to which he replies, “That’s too bad”, as he walks across the street to his house.

The very next scene we see her waking up next to her husband Lou Rubin (Seth Rogen). The two indulge in pillow talk, like most people who are in a serious relationship do. When his entire family comes over for a visit she is very engaged with everyone, especially with his sister Geraldine (Sarah Silverman). We see no reason as to why she would want leave her happy marriage with Lou, yet we see her watching across the street in search for Daniel.

All along you wonder (and for good reason if you go back to the airport metaphor) if Margot is just tired of the routine in her life with Lou. Geraldine validates the suspicion while talking to Margot and some friends about how depressing marriage life can be when you start to think about trading it all in for something new. Someone wisely states that, “New things get old”, but that seemed to go in one ear and out the other of Margot. Which is a shame because that simple line is the most important line of the film. It is also the best scene, the display of naked female bodies, both of younger and older, to bluntly represent new and old.

The beginning of Take This Waltz does not try to distance itself from a typical romantic comedy. It is not until the third act that the film ditches the contrived plot to something a bit substantial. One thing they nailed though was the ending, which mostly makes up for the dreadful start.

On more than one occasion the dialog felt off. In times when characters were in awkward parts in conversation the dialog felt forced in an unnatural way. It was like they were trying too hard at times to be awkward and quirky. Luke Kirby seemed like he was reading his lines out loud instead of acting them out. Even the talented Michelle Williams felt off at times. But aside from that, she played the part of a happily married woman who was deeply confused and depressed well.

Take This Waltz had flashes of greatness but they vanished when outlandish coincidences and bizarre dialog arise. Therefore, the film felt very inconsistent; going back and forth between oddly executed conversations, to spot-on pillow talk, making it difficult not to have mixed feelings for it. A line in the film nearly sums up my thoughts on the film as a whole, “Life has a big gap in it. You don’t try to fill it like a fucking lunatic.”