Head trip: Alex Nimrod in ‘All Alone Together’

Here’s a quick round up of July’s indie films. Apologies for the delay.

ALL ALONE TOGETHER ***1/2 (105 minutes)
In an excellent, absolute ripper psychological horror thriller, a diffident young filmmaker reluctantly riding the wave caused by the positive buzz over his first film becomes progressively unhinged, displaying odd behaviours that suggest the dark visions in his film stem from something deep within.

Brimming with ideas and a fistful of intriguing and sometimes ingenious storytelling ticks, the story, tightly directed by Maximus Jenkins, crackles with sharp dialogue exchanges between filmmaker Lincoln Arreto (Alex Nimrod, who also tapped the screenplay) and his various friends and colleagues as they try coping with an artist for whom reality slowly becomes an increasingly slippery concept.

Along with having the feel and drive of a top short story by Stephen King, the film’s escalating pitch is accompanied by some well-judged wit, the best being an awkward publicity interview in which the film-vs-movie debate is given a good going over.

The film also boasts a cleverly devised meta component about whether the film-within-the-film can be read as a topical commentary about mental illness, just as the film itself can. It’s a construct that’s as thoughtful as it is delicious.

Nimrod’s mesmeric central turn anchors a raft of terrific ensemble performances that feel and sound more authentic and convincing than what’s often offered up in studio fare.

According to notes provided, All Alone Together is “a no-budget passion project made by college students”. Neither of these is apparent, thanks largely to the quality of the storytelling and the above-par performances. 

It’s some accomplishment, one that prompts wonder as to what this obviously talented lot could get up to if they were given a dollar or two.

UNDERGROUND ORANGE *** (85 minutes)
Thanks to a grand lack of situational awareness, a Californian wanderer (writer/director Michael Taylor Jackson) falls victim to an opportunistic snatch’n’dash in Buenos Aires and finds himself adrift without money, valid identification or a change of clothes.

After a brief hotel room interlude with an overly friendly German businessman, he falls in with a group of bargain-basement anti-establishment types who give him food, shelter and friendship, a kindness he repays by agreeing to participate in their dodgy political play.

Fixated on Henry Kissinger, they argue with him about politics, art and the ethics of revolution while they contemplate an ambitious kidnapping scheme. 

Produced by Godfrey Reggio (of Koyaanisqatsi legend) on an obviously healthy budget in the city, the piece is strong for most of its run, thanks largely to very good performances, though it drifts off in the third act.

Despite its contemporary setting, the film has an old-school Zabriskie Point vibe along with a neat deconstruction about the ethics of robbing banks.

FLESH OF THE UNFORGIVEN ** (88 minutes)
Here’s an ambitious horror film composed of two very uneven halves. 

On the upside we have a troubled middle-aged couple (writer/director Joe Hollow & Debbie Rochon) who try finding solace in a remote abode (it’s always a secluded cabin in the woods, isn’t it?)

He’s a blocked writer under deadline pressure while his wife is still seeking forgiveness for sexual indiscretion and self harm.

The scenes between these two are very well directed and nuanced, with punchy dialogue and believable nuance as they try coping with their tangled emotional dilemma.

Regrettably, the enterprise is derailed by lashings of rank horror-movie excess, all triggered by the arrival of a video cassette with vile content, handily accompanied by a note claiming it is meant to provide inspiration for the blocked writer.

Portals open up between the couple’s reality and a supposedly horrific netherworld populated by an over-dressed “Death Dealer”, a scantily-clad demoness with a highly irritating cackle and lashing of low-brow horror shlock, including some far-from-shocking scenes of male appendage detachment.

The two competing parts simply don’t mesh well, despite good performances in the first half, especially from Rochon.

The premise involving guilt and fear is a good one, but is muted and mangled by gruesome theatrics and overkill. 

It feels very much like the judicious application of the “less is more” rule was called for. Hitchcock proved again and again how subtlety and suggestion can heighten tension and horror far more effectively than graphic gross outs.

For more info on the film, go here.

FOIBLES * (85 minutes)
A common premise in independent film involves two people engaged in an elongated discourse in which discuss their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their whatever. 

A common flaw in independent film is for the piece to be full of signs the enterprise was probably two or three polishes away from proper completion.

Foibles is a prime example of those two notions colliding in a noble effort that likely would have benefitted from more…well…effort.

On the verge of topping himself, Jordan (John Karna) is interrupted by ex-girlfriend Gabrielle (Carina Conti), who has dropped by to borrow $10,000 to help her out of a drink driving charge.

Still deeply in love, Jordan offers to help on condition that she straighten herself out by drinking herself sober. 

Openly admitted in the film it how absurd and contradictory it sounds, an impression Jordan fails to make much sense of.

Yet that is but one of the issues hobbling writer/director Ryan Oksenberg’s attempt at an energetic two-hander comedy-drama in which the perils of young love, the value of therapy and the scourge of alcohol abuse are confronted.

The two leads deliver hearty performances, to be sure, only their passionate toil is not matched by material that is all over the shop, often making little emotional sense, is largely incoherent and, at worst, is simply implausible.

To wit: the scene involving Gabrielle and a bottle of lighter fluid should have been red flagged before the camera rolled.

The act of vomiting plays too big a role in the proceedings that could have done with a lot less spew and a lot more emotional consistency.