2022 Top Ten List #8 A Love Song

 

Writer/director Max Walker-Silverman

Wes Studi

Dale Dickey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A LOVE SONG                     A-                                                                                             USA  (81 mi)  2022  d: Max Walker-Silverman

I wrote this for this lake where I live; for the mountains where I grew up; for this actor Dale Dickey, who I did not know but admired very much.  I had these images in my head.  I had fallen in love and some people I love were falling out of it.  And maybe that question lay at the heart of it, all the different ways love can touch our lives and enter it, exit it, and re-enter it again.  You think about all these things and drive around and listen to music and look at these mountains out the window.  This is the story that bubbled out of it.                                         —Writer/director/producer/co-editor Max Walker-Silverman from SAGindie interview July 28, 2022, Filmmaker Interview: MAX WALKER-SILVERMAN of A LOVE ...

A surprisingly tender look at aging gracefully, yet there’s an aching loneliness that elevates this film into a different stratosphere, gentle and meditative, reflecting a meandering spirit, while greatly emphasizing a unique emotional sincerity, where some of the most eloquent scenes are wordless, beautifully acted and deeply affecting, placing the always brilliant character actress Dale Dickey into a lead role, one of the hardest working women in show business with well over 100 screen credits to her name, having already made four other movies and worked on two television series since making this film.  Dickey is often depicted as a tough matriarch, as seen in Debra Granik’s 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #3 Winter's Bone, a poetically bleak depiction of an economically challenged rural life, something described as country noir, adapted from a novel by longtime Ozark resident Daniel Woodrell.  Coming in the twilight of her career, this is a film that beautifully re-envisions the Western landscape and is one of the quietest films you’ll ever see, frequently compared to Chloé Zhao’s 2021 #5 Film of the Year Nomadland (2020), as both films follow a middle-aged woman, each trying to encapsulate the essence of their existence through past and present hardships as they move through a remote landscape on their own, yet this film was actually shot before the Oscar-winning NOMADLAND was released.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, Dan Janvey is a co-producer for both features, a creative force behind such diversely lyrical indie films like Benh Zeitlin’s 2012 Top Ten Films of the Year: #1 Beasts of the Southern Wild and Laurie Anderson’s Heart of a Dog (2015), all compassionate films that feel like poetically chosen time capsules.  Exuding a restrained yet surprising simplicity, this film evokes an era when a woman camping alone was safe, with no outside dangers lurking nearby, with others nearby exhibiting a spirit of kindness, always willing to lend a helping hand, as that was part of the communal spirit that defined the open frontier of the American West.  What distinguishes this film is the authenticity of the emotional and natural worlds, each revealing a surprising depth, where narrative clues are revealed slowly and sparingly, yet the film also chooses to subvert reality with absurdly humorous interludes, as quirky characters are interspersed throughout the film that only add flavor to the slowly developing storyline.  Walker-Silverman wrote, directed, produced, and co-edited this first-feature film, giving it a distinctly low-key style, having grown up in Telluride, Colorado, once employed as a cowhand, where his reverence for the land and his familiarity with the nearby mountainous landscape of southwestern Colorado where this film was shot lends credibility to his work, which revolves around the kindness found in the American West, similar to how E. Annie Proulx’s experience of living in the desolate landscapes of rural Wyoming was encapsulated in Ang Lee’s groundbreaking work Brokeback Mountain (2005).  Written with Dickey in mind as his protagonist, purposefully expanding her range into what is arguably her greatest onscreen performance, she is a lone traveler living in her small trailer on a campsite set alongside a tiny, turquoise lake, a solitary figure out in the elements, with the camera following her daily routine of pulling crawdads out of a lone trap and boiling them up, before digging her nose in Audubon guides to help identify the species of flowers, the calls of birds, and the constellations in the stars, while also admiring the luminous sunsets over the lake.  Her dignified presence recalls a similar scene in Peter Bogdanovich’s iconic The Last Picture Show (1971), when an aging Ben Johnson as Sam “the Lion,” alongside another isolated lake in rural Texas, reminds some young whippersnappers in a glorious soliloquy that “I once brought a girl here to swim, more than 20 years ago,” and that “Being crazy about a woman like her is always the right thing to do.”  That sentiment flows through this film as well, which seems to be in conversation with that infamous soliloquy written a half century ago. 

The opening ten-minutes of the film are entirely wordless, with the camera having a love affair with the windswept face of Faye (Dale Dickey), now in her 60’s, weathered with wrinkled lines that represent the passage of years, that unorthodox kind of character rarely given much screen time anymore, evoking a surprising amount of introspective depth and compassion, where her appearance becomes a silent character in an utterly enthralling landscape, beautifully shot on Super 16mm by Alfonso Herrera Salcedo, offering a sense of grandeur to the remote setting, with a lone mountain peak rising in the distance, the highest point on the horizon.  Her days of dining lakeside on a small folding table are interrupted by recurring knocks on the trailer door, always feeling unexpectedly abrupt, followed shortly afterwards by tidying up her hair, wanting to look presentable, only to discover it’s not who she expected, instead seeing the friendly face of the mailman (John Way, who is also an executive producer), not on a horse, but walking alongside his horse, which is draped with bags of mail, usually announcing there is no mail for campsite number 7, but he expresses his greetings just the same, as that’s the cordial thing to do, yet when mail actually does arrive, it is met with eager anticipation.  Curiously, mail is the primary mode of communication, with no cellphones in sight, a throwback to the past, yet the film is set in 2020 (according to the wall calendar), though it has a timelessness about it.  In more of a Coen Brothers reference, another knock on the door reveals a diminutive figure wearing a ten gallon hat (Marty Grace Dennis, also featured prominently in his 2019 short) accompanied by 4 other cowboys who never utter a word (childhood friends of the director), always using her as their lone spokesperson, eliciting the deadpan humor of an Aki Kaurismäki film, as she couldn’t be more formally respectful and polite, lending a near surreal aspect to the scene, huddling together afterwards as they digest what was said as they decide their next course of action, becoming regularly appearing characters that offer a change of pace and folksy humor, never threatening in the least, just neighbors turning to other neighbors in a time of need, a near invisible presence from the surrounding giant expanse of empty land.  In yet another knock on the door, two black women, Jan (Michelle Wilson) and Marie (Benja K. Thomas) from a nearby campsite invite her over for dinner, handing her a handmade invitation, taking her completely by surprise, yet they also exude a spirit of friendship and hospitality, providing breaks from being alone, where each little gesture has a significant impact.  But this goes both ways, as to them Faye becomes an endearing and trusting figure, discovering they are a lesbian couple questioning whether they should get married now that same sex marriage is legal, with Marie suggesting her partner Jan is overly hesitant, soliciting any help or advice, but they are equally surprised to hear she’s waiting to meet a special someone at her campsite, A Love Song | Clip | Dale Dickey, Michelle Wilson, Benja K. Thomas YouTube (30 seconds).  With a minimalist storyline and sparse dialogue, the film nonetheless ruminates on heavy themes, much like David Lynch’s THE STRAIGHT STORY (1999), where the endless quantities of unfilled space, both internally and externally, allow viewers to ponder some of the same questions, sharing in the acquired intimacy and existential experiences of the characters. 

Something should be said for the originality and carefully chosen musical selections for this film, authentic songs about loneliness and enduring love, among the best in any movie, ever, especially considering their extreme importance in a nearly wordless film which has spectacular scenery. The director’s trigger for the music is an old rusty radio, where each time a simple turn of the dial produces mystifyingly evocative country music, much like the broken hearts and aching souls heard throughout the Bogdanovich film, featuring a host of largely unrecognizable voices, from Linda Brannon Wherever You Are YouTube (2:05) to Elizabeth Cotten , Shake Sugaree - YouTube (5:02), where the rustic elegance and restrained simplicity echoes what we’re seeing onscreen.  Never really knowing if the man she’s been waiting for will show up, the film is a study of solitary life, with nervous anxiety and open questions lingering in the air, growing to elevated anticipation with the arrival of Lito, played by Wes Studi, from a rural Oklahoma Cherokee tribe, actually participating in the Wounded Knee Occupation on the Pine Ridge Reservation in 1973, perhaps best known for his roles in Kevin Costner’s DANCES WITH WOLVES (1990), Michael Mann’s THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS (1992), and as Joe Leaphorn in the various Tony Hillerman novels turned into movies.  They previously appeared together in a now long-forgotten movie, BEING FLYNN (2012), and work exceedingly well together here, both speaking haltingly, with long pauses, unsure of themselves, always choosing their words carefully, not really knowing what to expect, A LOVE SONG | Look At Us | Bleecker Street YouTube (1:16), where the real drama is what lies underneath the vast amount of space between them, with viewers quickly learning they are childhood friends, A LOVE SONG | Field Trip | Bleecker Street YouTube (1:02).  Spending a few carefree moments together, seemingly united in spirit, they go on walks and share meals, swim together in the lake, and even go for a ride in a canoe “suitable for recreation and romantic outings” before he teaches her a song, which they eloquently sing together, A LOVE SONG | You Still Play | Bleecker Street YouTube (3:24).  However, what unites them is the love for a memory of things long gone, their lives filled with melancholy and quiet tragedy, each losing the one true love in their lives, still haunted by the loss, leaving them with a lifetime of memories, but also regrets, as it’s hard to look ahead when such a big part of your life is missing.  There’s a surprising amount of dry wit on display, where the haggard look on their faces says it all, always cautious, hesitating in their speech, with enough lingering pauses to fill all the empty spaces, yet they remain steadfastly devoted to establishing a connection, each rooted to the ruggedness of the land and a fierce individualism, where ice cream and inflamed passions lead to Dickey’s first onscreen kiss and a night spent together, where any interracial aspect is decidedly downplayed, accentuating instead their common background.  But when she awakes, she’s alone, as he’s already started the day without her, conflicted by his thoughts, painfully confessing that he can’t continue, still torn by his heartfelt marital allegiance, packing up and leaving just as quickly as he came.  Faye is devastated, of course, as she sits on her trailer doorstep for what seems like eternity and doesn’t move a muscle, matched by the aching weariness of Blaze Foley’s painfully honest The Way You Smile - YouTube (3:24), about the loneliest and most sorrowful song you ever heard, marked by its stark emotional authenticity, finally deciding to hike up a mountain of over 12,000 feet and sleep under the stars.  For an instant, it feels like that surreal moment in Arthur Penn’s LITTLE BIG MAN (1970) when Chief Dan George lies down on a mountaintop to die, only to discover it’s not meant to be, surprised to discover that he’s still alive.  As she packs up her belongings to leave, there’s a resurgence of renewed hope as the song on the radio plays the country gospel elegance of Valerie June’s 10 - Slip Slide On By - YouTube (4:10), a voice steeped in tradition from Dickey’s home state of Tennessee, expressing love, light, grace, and joy, reminding us that there’s always a tomorrow awaiting us on the other side of the horizon.  The film pays an elegiac tribute to the vastness of the landscape, the beauty of nature, and long-faded Western dreams, becoming a melancholic mixture of romance and a communal spirit that somehow sprouts from that elusive region between longing and hope. 

Two Max Walker-Silverman shorts available for viewing, both evocative of the same gentle spirit, especially the first one, starring a lone cowboy, an eclectic band of brothers, and a younger version of Marty Grace Dennis:

Lefty/Righty on Vimeo  2019 (11:46)

Chuj Boys of Summer - Vimeo  2020 (16:46)

2018 Top Ten List #5 Leave No Trace

Director Debra Granik on the set with (from left) actress Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie and actor Ben Foster

Director Debra Granik on the set with  cameraman Michael McDonough

LEAVE NO TRACE             A-                   

USA  (109 mi)  2018  d:  Debra Granik                     Official site

This beautiful, strange novel takes us into the foreign country where those called homeless are at home, the city is wilderness, and the greater wilderness lies beyond.

―Ursula K. Le Guin on Peter Rock’s novel My Abandonment, 2009

While Debra Granik made a documentary that few saw called STRAY DOGS (2014) about a grizzled war vet, it has been 8-years since her brilliant first feature, 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #3 Winter's Bone, an adaption from a novel by Ozark resident Daniel Woodrell that provided a riveting backwoods rural view of America, described as:

An outstanding film, certainly one of the films of the year, a performance driven work that digs deeper into the protectivist, individualistic spirit of America than anything else seen in recent memory, certainly matching the mood of the nation at the moment which may feel the government is overextending into the lives of private citizens.  Not sure there’s another film out there where visiting your family represents such a life-threatening risk, as the backwoods rural view of government and authority is so low here that they’ll do anything to keep it out of their life, even risk death in various confrontations with the police, as people in this neck of the woods believe that individual freedom comes with the right to exclude any and all persons from their property, including their own kin.  Of course, if they’re manufacturing crank in crystal meth labs, that might have something to do with it.

More representative of John Hillcoat’s apocalyptic The Road (2009) written by Cormac McCarthy, a father and son relationship that reverberates with quiet poetry, Granik explores a father and daughter team of survivalists living off the grid in the Oregon national parks, braving the elements, living off the land, and maintaining their composure while keeping their wits about them, basically avoiding all contact with society except for rare trips into the city of Portland for basic necessities.  Moving from camp to camp, they remain undetected, hiding their stored goods under camouflage of the forest, barely detectible to anyone passing by, regularly practicing hiding techniques, using the deep forest overgrowth to their advantage.  The park system is so vast that rangers can’t possibly cover all the wildness of the unexplored territory, allowing some to live near invisible lives.  Much like the beginning of Captain Fantastic (2016), basically a 60’s counterculture film set in contemporary times, where a family headed by a the irrepressible force of Viggo Mortensen attempts to survive in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest, Will (Ben Foster) has retreated into the deep woods with his teenaged daughter Tom (Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie) in a shelter they created, growing their own vegetable garden, while taking baths and storing perishables in a nearby creek, where the difference is in the character of the men, as Will says little, only what’s necessary, while Tom is all ears, home-schooled by her father using old encyclopedias, yet acutely tuned into the same wavelength, avoiding contact with others, believing they are not meant for society.  Because of the degree of their avoidance, and just how successful they’ve been for so long, at first it’s hard to get a read on where they’re coming from.  Seemingly avoiding ideology altogether, this is not some utopian gesture or political statement other than an extreme refusal to conform, remaining very wary of authority of any kind, preferring to make their own rules to live by.  When they are finally discovered by rangers, they are scrutinized like never before, father and daughter separated, each evaluated by social services for motives and mental competency, which is a Kafkaesque portrait of near surreal incompatibility, humorous in just how far apart society remains in actually getting through to or understanding people like this, but it’s clear they have no intent to harm anyone and do not pose a threat to anyone, including themselves, yet they do have to cooperate with agency rules and process.  One of the multitude of questions asked (over 400, and by the eerily uninviting voice of a computer, with only 3 seconds to respond) is whether Will is a team player?  His answer “I used to be” says it all, as he recalls being part of the whole before permanently disassociating altogether.         

This reintegration process reveals plenty, as Tom is not your typical wayward and discarded kid expected to survive years in the foster system, as she has a loving and devoted father, who may himself be psychologically scarred from his military past, still waking in the middle of the night to nightmares, later learning the sounds of helicopters causes him undue stress, obviously suffering from the effects of post-traumatic stress, which he deals with in his own creative way, finding a therapeutic silence in the forest, where the only money he makes is selling ineffectual painkilling meds to fellow vets living in tent villages inside the park.  The severity of Will’s condition is only revealed in increments, becoming clearer over time, not really explored by the social service intervention, yet becoming the central core of the film, which is basically a tribute to scarred and psychologically damaged veterans, where the suicide rate is an astonishing 20 per day, accounting for 18% of the suicide deaths in the country.  Reunited and both placed in an unoccupied cabin on a tree farm, a pre-fab structure on the fringe where the owner expects Will to work for his keep, this is at best a compromise solution, remaining outside the impossible realms of being situated in a city, actually bordering the forest, but clearly part of the design is to commercially exploit the natural resources.  Because of the conundrum of Will’s inscrutability, refusing to be open to others, precious little is revealed through his eyes, especially as the film progresses, which is no minor oversight, as the condition persists, becoming the key to the film, which turns, becoming an ever-widening worldview seen through the eyes of Tom, meeting new people, having her own experiences, actually having a home, for a change, which she takes a liking to, not surprisingly, but the ordeal is too much for Will, who must abandon this arrangement, the sooner the better, despite the obvious positive impact it’s having on Tom.  This rush back into the heart of the forest feels more like a military operation, moving deep into the forest under cover of night, moving as quickly as possible, which is a test of physical stamina and extreme duress, like diving off a cliff into pure oblivion, which perhaps is the point.  Uprooted from the “real” world, unable to fathom the depths of her connections there, which are so vividly new, they press on into an unexplored wilderness, surviving a frozen night protected only by a layer of evergreens strewn upon them, it seems like lines of demarcation are developing between them, as if they’re on separate missions.  Finding an unoccupied cabin in the woods the next day, they make the best of it, warming up to a fire, finding a few cans of soup, as Tom gets settled while Will explores the terrain. 

Granik just offers a brief glimpse into Will’s psyche, as Tom goes through his possessions during his absence, finding a newspaper article about psychologically damaged veterans finding refuge in the woods.  The moment is only a second or two, but it may as well be a lifetime, suddenly etched into the deep recesses of our consciousness.  While Tom displays a domesticated flair, lighting dozens of candles for her father’s return in the dark, literally providing a beacon from the storm, but sadly he doesn’t return, found the next day lying unconscious at the bottom of a dry river bed, but still breathing.  Tom runs for help in the vacuous emptiness of the woods, incredibly flagging down a pair of ATV riders racing through the outback, who offer emergency help.  As one of them is an army medic, Will is extremely fortunate to survive, put up in a vacant trailer in a trailer park in the woods, where Tom is befriended by a concerned older woman (Dale Dickey, unforgettable as a ferocious force of nature in Granik’s earlier film) who leaves bags of food tied to trees in the woods for strangers she hasn’t seen in years and honors their privacy, with Tom expressing an urgency not to go to a hospital or be around anyone asking questions, as if they’re on the lam from the law.  Despite anyone’s initial suspicions, Tom puts all that to rest, as she’s outgoing and friendly, curious about this little forest community and how it works, becoming the darling of this set of grizzled outsiders, who have a distinct culture all of their own, finding little need for contact with anyone in town.  It’s like a saving grace, as Will is nursed back to help, relearning how to walk again from a broken ankle, lucky that it wasn’t worse, while Tom has literally blossomed before his eyes, finding friends while he remains distant and aloof, never really able to accept “other people.”  While he’s there in presence, just not in spirit, as his mind is elsewhere, needing to head back off into the woods, retreating from any contact with people.  When he’s ready to disappear again and make their escape, Tom goes reluctantly, but only to a point, finally making her stand, valuing her connection with others, even if they’re not her real family.  It’s a hushed but enthralling and heartbreaking moment, filled with a rush of emotion that’s hard-earned, where Granik allows the audience in on just how significant a moment like this is by accumulating such meticulous detail in the backdrop of their lives leading up to it, eventually leading them in different directions.  The moment feels especially rare because of how unlike anyone else Tom has been up until now, but she’s fully prepared to walk through that door into a brand new world.  Adapted from a 2009 novel, My Abandonment by Peter Rock, it’s based on true stories that appeared in newspaper articles from The Oregonian in 2004, including The Portland Oregonian articles that inspired the story [PDF] (where people contributed thousands of dollars for an education fund, but the actual couple in the story just disappeared), and a follow-up overview by Ann Robinson in 2009 that includes excerpts from the book, Northwest Writers at Work: Peter Rock | OregonLive.com.