A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Sunday, October 6, 2019

Wendy and Lucy (Kelly Reichardt, 2008)


Wendy and Lucy (Kelly Reichardt, 2008)

Cast: Michelle Williams, Wally Dalton, Will Patton, John Robinson, Ayanna Berkshire, Larry Fessenden. Screenplay: Jonathan Raymond, Kelly Reichardt, based on a story by Jonathan Raymond. Cinematography: Sam Levy. Production design: Ryan Warren Smith. Film editing: Kelly Reichardt. Music: Smokey Hormel, Will Oldham.

"People who can't afford dog food shouldn't have dogs," says the store clerk who has just nabbed Wendy for shoplifting a can of dog food for Lucy, who is tied up outside the store. The clerk is an insufferable young ass, sucking up to his boss, who from the look on his face is somewhat inclined to let Wendy pay for the dog food and go. But under the assault of smarmy platitudes from the clerk, he calls the police instead. Hours later, Wendy is set free and returns to the store to find Lucy gone. And so the central plot of the film, which recalls the search for the stolen bike in Bicycle Thieves (Vittorio De Sica, 1948), is set in motion. But to go back to the store clerk's remark, it's worth considering at face value: Lucy is in fact a luxury for someone as impoverished as Wendy, whose devotion to the dog complicates an already desperate existence. Lucy is by no means as essential to Wendy's survival as the bicycle is to Antonio's in the De Sica classic. Wendy is a dreamer, who thinks that she'll find gainful work in Alaska, and has set out from Indiana in her aging Honda Accord, with only a few hundred dollars, some meager possessions, and her beloved Lucy. But when the Honda breaks down in Oregon (the city is unnamed but the film was made in Portland), achieving that dream becomes infinitely more difficult. At the end, Wendy has neither car nor dog, but she persists, hopping a freight that may take her to her dream destination -- or not. It's a fable of hope and folly that leaves us to ponder the unknown, which is this small film's great strength. Like Bicycle Thieves, it makes a social comment about the need for safety nets and about the Catch-22s that plague the lives of the poor. The security guard who befriends Wendy, an old man who works 8-to-8 standing outside a strip mall to keep people from sleeping in their cars in the parking lot, observes that you can't get a job without an address, and you can't get an address without a job that allows you to pay for an address. But mostly it's a story about how dreams keep people going while also forcing them to pay the price for dreaming and not succumbing to despair. Michelle Williams is, as always, a marvel, a chameleon actress who seemingly can play anything.