Reality in the raw

There's a certain appeal to Sean Baker's films that one could almost call "street-level." The fact that he tends to pick stories that are largely centered around the American underclass is part of that, but there's also his tendency to pick non- or new actors to fill his roles so that they feel natural in their environment. In his latest offering, Red Rocket, he cast one actor (Brittney Rodriguez) after seeing her walking her dog on the street, followed by him pulling over and asking if she'd like to do an audition. That's about as "street-level", literally, as it gets and it's that kind of unusual approach that gives his films an emotional authenticity that makes them so compelling, even if the situations that his characters end up in don't leave his audiences walking away feeling like something good has happened. Most people don't make it out of poverty and the tough situations that it creates, after all.

Red Rocket is the story of Mikey Saber (Simon Rex) returning to his hometown of Texas City after his porn career has ground to a halt and trying to generate some fast cash so he can find an opportunity to get back in the swing of things. That involves crashing at his ex-but-still-current wife's mother's home, becoming a dealer for one of the local under-the-table weed distributors, and getting involved with a cashier at the local donut shop whom he thinks he can turn into a star and use to ride back into the San Fernando Valley as a (re)conquering hero (but not, as his ex-wife, Lexi (Bree Elrod) points out, a "suitcase pimp" aka a male porn star making a living off a female talent.) Along the way, Mikey sponges off anyone who will offer a hand, including Lexi's neighbor, Lonnie (Ethan Darbone), whom he knew as a child and who still looks up to Mikey as a good guy to hang out with. Mikey, of course, is not a good guy, but is instead someone obsessed with his previous status as someone able to escape the confines of Texas City and the shadow (and fumes) of its massive refinery and whom can't stand the fact that he- a star -is stuck living with these regular people once again.

In the same way that his previous work, The Florida Project, dealt squarely with the lives of people living on the fringes of the Magic Kingdom and forced audiences to take a look inside the daily grind of their lives, Baker isn't afraid to step right into topics that are bound to make some viewers uncomfortable. Above and beyond his acknowledgment of the reality of sex as a fact of daily life, professionally and otherwise, he's willing to tread some sensitive ground when his protagonist, Mikey, essentially seduces a teenager into a career that she may not be interested in or prepared for, but which will make Mikey a lot of money and we're left with a mild feeling of tragedy when he realizes that his reach exceeded his grasp; not least because he makes the mistake of constantly trying to prove that he is more capable than everyone else around him until they decide to take advantage of that situation. In that respect, it's almost possible to feel like Mikey is correct in that he doesn't belong in this small town with all these other small people who aren't as, uh, gifted. But we also can't escape the fact that he's willing to sacrifice everyone else, to one degree or another, to his own self-interest. Baker and cinematographer, Drew Daniels, frequently highlight this contrast in a series of little moments, such as when Mikey is sure that he's sold Strawberry (Suzanna Son) on his scheme and we see him swaying from side to side on his battered bicycle on the way home in a moment of ecstasy that's just as intense as any orgasm. It's not a good thing that Mikey has done, but it's a little triumph that makes his world light again.

There are several great performances here; not least Rex's as the irrepressible Mikey, but especially Son as Strawberry, who is playfully magnetic every time she appears on screen. She responds to Mikey's expansion of her horizons with a growing self-confidence, leading us to believe that she understands more than she lets on, despite still being a prospective victim in this whole scenario. It's a role both understated and physically flamboyant, which presents Son as something of a natural and yet another of Baker's significant finds (He recruited her outside a theater in LA and didn't call her for a job for two years.) Another highlight is Judy Hill as Leondria, the local drug kingpin, who is fully aware of just who and what Mikey is from the moment he returns to town. Like him, she's more than willing to take advantage of another talented outlet for her business, but is also more than willing to cut him loose in favor of the residents (and regular customers) who are still interested in calling Texas City home, rather than discard it (and them) as trash in their wake. Leondria adds yet another key moment of hilarious normalcy when she insists on a family meeting to sort out the problems between her abrasive daughter, June (Rodriguez) and disinterested son, Ernesto (Marlon Lambert.) But possibly most affecting was Darbone (another newcomer; spotted as a waiter in a Nederland, Texas restaurant by Baker) as Lonnie, the neighbor kid whom Lexi used to babysit for and who naively believes that Mikey is someone to admire. At one point, Lexi asks that he keep Mikey from getting into trouble which he earnestly agrees to, not knowing that the situation will become quite reversed, as all of us anticipate much earlier.

Just as with The Florida Project, we can look at this film as an example of how there are often no happy endings, deserved or otherwise, but there are still real and interesting stories to tell in those situations. This film was in contention for the Palm d'Or at Cannes and it's not difficult to see why. While it does feel like it drags a little bit in the middle, as we wonder just how long it's going to take for Mikey to execute his master plan, the journey to get there is still wholly worthwhile. Highly recommended.

Blah blah blah

I'm a Joaquin Phoenix fan, not only because it's clear that emotional engagement with his characters is a tool that he possesses and is willing to put to regular use, but also because he does so in a manner that lacks artifice. As Tricia said last night, he seems "normal" when he's acting, even when in the roles of larger-than-life people like Johnny Cash or fantastical creations like The Joker. Consequently, I was interested in seeing C'mon C'mon, even though the trailer I'd seen indicated that it seemed to lack a little heft in the story department. A radio journalist trying to make contact with the tempestuous son of his estranged sister sounds very "introspective 70s." That era of filmmaking did lead to the creation of some excellent characters and the films that they carried, but it also led to some material that was a bit of a slog to get through unless you're instantly a fan of Hallmark Channel-style stories. Good characters can cover for quite a bit, though, and it's long been my assertion that Jaws, often reviled for introducing the blockbuster summer movie phenomenon, is actually a great film because of the characters that lift it above being a schlock horror film (that Robert Shaw thought it was and which, ironically, would give him the role for which he is forever remembered.) In that respect, C'mon C'mon does the same thing. It's a character study of multiple characters and just how they react to their uncontrollable emotions and follow those emotions into eventually understanding each other. The story is secondary to what these people are doing and saying on the screen, in the moment.

The framing device that writer-director, Mike Mills, uses is an interesting one. On the one hand, it could seem trite that Johnny's (Phoenix) current job is interviewing children to both absorb and convey their views on the world at the same time that he suddenly has to do the same thing on a more personal level with his nephew, Jesse (Woody Norman, in his first major role in film.) But in a more "meta" sense, it seems like something that serves what the plot is trying to convey and is one of those jobs that most people don't think about unless they're being directly entertained or informed by the output. It is, in a sense, subliminal, just like many of the emotional cues and hang-ups that all of the characters in this film have, to one degree or another. This is a film about the language of expression, which often has little to do with words, but which words make understandable and foundational for those whom haven't yet acknowledged their own emotional language deficiencies, which is usually everyone, fictional and actual. It's a topic and approach that many will interpret differently, but which almost everyone will relate to: the difficulty of getting someone(s) else to understand what you mean and why you're feeling as you do, but often without the ability to truly (or comfortably) express it.

In that respect, we're all often 9-year-old Jesse, no matter what age we are at present. Phoenix does well with this, as he has the whiny, imposed-upon reaction to being suddenly responsible for this emotional time bomb who is now wholly within his care. It doesn't help that Jesse is both unusually perceptive and fond of expressing his concerns in oblique ways, such as pretending to be an orphan, which is a regular pantomime he's worked out with his mother, Viv (Gaby Hoffman.) Further complicating the issue is Jesse's awareness of his father Paul's (Scoot McNairy) struggle with mental illness and Jesse's concern that his emotional behavior might be signs of a similar problem. Having to convey that one's emotions are normal while still living under the strain of how to guide and advise on them is the struggle of every good parent at one time or another, if not constantly. Again, these are real characters that Mills has created and they don't veer away from that realism at any point.

The other nice touches of the production also demonstrate what a complete vision this is. The choice to film in black-and-white is smart. There are no distractions of color, either from action or lighting. Everything remains focused on the characters and their emotions, which provide the real color of the story. Similarly, using Mozart's Requiem as Jesse's choice of when to be "loud" (on Saturdays) was interesting, as the music is normally used in film to convey a sense of doom and/or majesty, but in this case was more a reaction to the overall moroseness and fear that Jesse was feeling about his father and about himself. Contrary to its frequent use, the Requiem was never meant to be a funeral dirge, but rather an acknowledgement of life that was lived fully, on top of the grief that those listening would know at its passing. It's also a choral piece, demonstrating that we are all singing this song together and trying to be heard within it. Which brings us to the title.

Johnny, in trying to explain his work and also hint at his detachment from his own emotions tied up in his mother's prolonged death, introduces the expression "Blah, blah, blah" to Jesse, who quickly catches on to the fact that it's a way to avoid communicating what one doesn't feel like revealing or confronting. Johnny makes a living listening to other people talk, so he tries to convince others (and himself) that hearing him talk is just a waste of time. But Jesse finally confronts him with his own reluctance to say what's on his mind; to join the chorus, as it were. "From the mouths of babes" and all that. Just like last time, this is a film that doesn't have a complicated story, but it does have one of depth that makes it wholly worthwhile, as long as one is willing to listen.