Rating:
by Derek Smith 3/21/05
In
all the hype of the early 90s independent film movement, it's amazing
that
Hal Hartley's Trust, likely
the best of the bunch, or at the very least my personal favorite, still
remains relatively obscure. Its
uncompromising comic vision turns audience expectations on its
proverbial head, making for an alternatingly bizarre, moving, tender,
and often downright funny filmgoing experience. The opening
sequences introduce
the two protagonists - Maria, the not-so-bright 17-year old
troublemaker who's just been kicked out of school and Matthew, the
18-year old intelligent but anti-social outsider, played to perfect
comic effect by the clearly 30-something Martin Donovan. The film
opens
with a close up of Marie smearing on purple lipstick and repeatedly
asking her father for $5, or as she says it "fiyve dallers".
There is a disjointed dialogue between her and her parents where they
all seem to be talking to each other but not with each other, a trait
which runs throughout the film. When she reveals she has been
once again kicked out of high school and is pregnant, her father calls
her a slut and tells her to get out. After slapping him and
storming
out of the house, he drops dead on the kitchen floor and a catchy rock
song pulsates in
the background leading us into the opening credit. And that
pretty
much sets the tone of the film, where anything and everything can
happen, yet it still usually ends up being something you wouldn't
imagine.
Matthew's
home life is equally dysfunctional. His domineering father is a
suffocating presence leaving Matthew barely able to express himself
without sending him into a tirade. When Matthew and Maria meet,
they are both at rock-bottom and unable to connect to anyone. It
is here where Trust catapults
from mere quirky indie feature territory into something dark,
beautiful, and entirely original. The plot follows the typical
trajectory of us vs. the world relationship films, but with a strange
array of characters, witty, overlapping dialogue, and offbeat
situations, Hartley is able to subvert the cliche's he takes on and
craft a poignant film about alienation, angst, and obviously, trust in
modern America. Some of the material, the abortion protests for
example, may seem a bit stuck-in-the-90s, but the emotions and mental
states of his characters are universally identifiable even in
their exaggerated weirdness.
Trust is certainly not a surreal
film, but the universe where it takes place often feels
otherwordly even when the sets are typical suburban homes and
workplaces. The unique pacing and delivery of the dialogue may be
it's most important and unique asset. Characters often respond to
one another at the very second the other stops or have simultaneous
monologues where they seem to express their personal subconscious
thoughts while somehow carrying on a conversation. Maria and
Matthew exist as two distinct individuals in an environment which
constantly reinforces conformity, obedience, and the sacrifice of one's
principals. It is refreshing to find a film so willing to embrace
the misfits and outsiders who don't fall in line without turning them
into mere trophies of social rebellion. They are, by normal
standards, screw-ups, but are both more human and genuinely likeable
than their more traditional counterparts. Their love for one
another is a small ray of hope in Hartley's unique world, where
everything honest and real is eventually stamped out or carved into
something recognizable. It is a bold film that defies logic and
the rules of screenwriting, making it a bit difficult to articulate
exactly
what makes it so damn likeable.
Cinematic
Reflections