The Year Between

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writer/director/actress Alex Heller

setting the scene

The director on the set

Alex Heller at a Northwestern symposium

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE YEAR BETWEEN        C+                                                                                               USA  (94 mi)  2022  d: Alex Heller

An uncompromising film inspired by true events, covering a wide range of mental health issues, this is an occasionally funny, painfully honest, yet more often wretchedly miserable look at the devastating effects of bipolar disorder, an illness rarely getting quality screen time in movies, given an autobiographical touch of authenticity from a director who faced her own mental health struggles, diagnosed with the same illness at the age of 19, Heller is an acknowledged bipolar comic, writer, film director, and actress from Chicago who graduated from Northwestern University in 2015.  Thrown into a world of trying different medicines, where it can be a long arduous journey to find the right combination, there’s no one cure that works for all, yet finding the right medicine is more of a trial and error effort to see what provides the best approach for each individual, a hellish and humiliating process with debilitating side effects, and a mammoth struggle just to get through each day without alienating everyone around you.  This is a film about being stuck in your own head, paralyzed by things going terribly wrong, where you’re helpless to stop the devastating effects this has not only on your life, but everyone around you who are literally consumed by your aberrant behavior.  The film follows Clemence (director Alex Heller) in her sophomore year at Western Illinois State University having a breakdown, where she’s a terrifying presence, suddenly displaying endless bouts of bullying and erratic behavior, blaming everyone else for what’s spinning completely out of control until her roommate fears for her life, where her mother (J. Smith-Cameron) is forced to pick her up and drive her back home to the Chicago suburbs (exposing the strip malls of Glen Ellyn), clearing out space in their basement, as her father (Steve Buscemi) has taken over her former bedroom as an office.  Her younger siblings, high school senior Carlin (Emily Robinson) and younger brother Neil (Wyatt Oleff) are none too pleased about her return, finding her a real pain in the butt, as she literally takes over everyone’s lives with her overwhelming negativity, unruly behavior, and incessant need for constant attention.  The relief the family experiences when she is gone suggests Clemence may have been abrasive and insensitive even before the diagnosis, attributable to what she fears is a “bad personality,” where her true self is buried underneath layers of obnoxious unpleasantness.

Suddenly thrust into an unwelcome treatment plan she has no control over, she has to contend with her white-haired, grandmotherly psychotherapist Dr. Lismoen (Waltrudis Buck, a former nanny for Senator Jacob Javits’ children who happens to hold a Master’s Degree in creative writing at Hunter College), whose calm, rational sensibility is completely at odds with the irrational, sarcastic outbursts of Clemence, who finds it a terrifying fit, denouncing her at every turn, addressing her only as “that German woman,” where their sessions together feel like mortal combat.  But the good doctor holds her own, where her acute insight into bipolar behavioral symptoms even catches Clemence by surprise, as she’s precisely describing what she’s going through, oscillating between mania and depression, but that doesn’t make it any easier, as her mood swings just feel uncontrollable, also referred to a psychiatrist, Dr. Madzen (Jon Hudson Odom), who offers no insight whatsoever and is little more than a sounding board.  Very few films zero in on such a loathsome character, where there’s no real filter on what she says and does, appearing overly confrontation and brazenly narcissistic, as it’s an energy drain just being around her.  The family dysfunction is at the center of the picture, as everyone feels threatened by her unexpected return, finding their lives in constant turmoil, where just getting through high school is so traumatic anyway, but her resentful brother and sister feel like she’s ruining their lives by overshadowing their everyday reality with neverending hysterical drama.  Her well-meaning mother accompanies her daughter to all her therapy sessions, has her best interests at heart, and tries to be straight with her, sharing her daughter’s directness and biting sarcasm, but grows wearily impatient, as the two are continually at odds with each other, while Clemence trusts no one, least of all herself.  Her mild-manner and non-judgmental father seems to be the only one who doesn’t fly off the handle, never seeing his daughter any differently, even after these bizarre episodes, taking everything in stride, where he appears to be a bit delusional about the realities of any of his kid’s lives, putting a positive spin on everything while also keeping a safe distance.   

Finding it difficult to maintain any sense of equilibrium, weathering the ill-effects of different medicines, making the same bad decisions again and again, Clemence loses hope, never really feeling good about herself, growing more desperate, running into a high school boy that she completely forgot, rediscovering his existence on Facebook, Ashik (Rajeev Jacob), who, as it turns out, also lives in the basement of his parent’s home.  But this interaction sends her off the rails, finding sex to be so difficult, so she takes heavy doses of Adderall and alcohol, which doesn’t exactly mix with the medicine she’s already taking, sending her spiraling off her treatment plan entirely, turning her into something of a zombie.  Dr. Lismoen reminds her that she must stay vigilant about her daily regimen of medicine, as this illness never goes away, but medicine can neutralize the worst of the mood swings, allowing her to live a manageable existence.  Feeling guilty about the burden she’s become for everyone else, and the exorbitant medical cost on her family, she tries to get a job to help out, which initially seems admirable but impossible, but she sticks it out and ends up working part-time at a local thrift store under the direction of the more even-keeled assistant manager Beth (Kyanna Simone).  This interaction produces surprising results, as Beth is someone she actually ends up respecting, reminding Clemence that if she screws up, “nobody’s taking me in to live in their basement.”  It all comes to a head when Beth invites her to a party, and all the principle characters somehow come together in an unexpected blur of humor mixed with anguish and turmoil, an exasperating social experiment that seems to freak everyone out except Clemence, who’s having the time of her life, finally interacting with an albeit oddball social mix that surprisingly offers just a glimmer of hope.  What’s different about this film is the comic edge provided, taking some of the sting out of the personal horrors, yet the entire film feels like an immersion into a belligerent therapy session, where a thoroughly dislikable patient simply takes over the entire session, becoming a toxic influence, and while there are eye-opening personal revelations, it’s also wrenchingly difficult having to deal with this amount of chaos and destruction, where some may believe the illumination is not worth the cringeworthy aspect of the experience.        

Vengeance Is Mine (1984)

Writer/director Michael Roemer

actress Trish Van Devere

actress Brooke Adams

VENGEANCE IS MINE – made for TV                  A-                                                               aka: Haunted from PBS American Playhouse                                                                               USA  (118 mi)  1984  d: Michael Roemer

We’re all innocent.      —Donna (Trish Van Devere)

Born in Berlin, evacuated at age 11 through the Kindertransports, educated at the private Bunce Court boarding school in England, originating as a German Jewish school for refugees, before emigrating to the United States in 1945 where he graduated magna cum laude at Harvard University, a recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1971 and author of four books, while his film Nothing But a Man (1964) may be the best film ever made about the black experience in America.  This is something totally different, originally released on television as an American Playhouse episode under the title Haunted, where it never received much critical acclaim, seen only by a few, taking nearly forty years to be theatrically released under a new title, debuting earlier this year at New York’s Film Forum with a newly struck 35mm print from The Film Desk, accompanied by an interview with the 94-year old director, Life Is Hard: Michael Roemer on Vengeance Is Mine, while the film was only just recently shown in Chicago in a one-time screening.  Something of a major discovery of an unknown work by a director who made few films, finding it difficult to distribute those few, failing to follow commercial trends, considering himself part of the independent East coast establishment that included documentary filmmakers Frederick Wiseman and Albert Maysles, spending four years making nearly 100 educational films for the Ford Foundation in the early 60’s while working as a film professor at the Yale School of Art from 1966 until he retired in 2017.  Initially shot on Super 16mm by Franz Rath, blown up to 35 mm, giving it a sumptuous, yet grainy look, it uses actual Massachusetts and Rhode Island locations, offering a remarkable feel of life in small New England towns, escalating into a psychological family drama with rare intensity.  With family dysfunction providing the theme, Roemer delves into a blisteringly real storyline of two women in conflict, accentuating a subversively rich tapestry of hidden emotions.  All of Roemer’s works explore tenuous relationships with a literary complexity, as there’s a sadness and unspoken cruelty that permeates throughout this film, typically disguised, deeply embedded in unexpected places, expressed with a subtle delicacy of poetic restraint, offering indelible insights not normally found elsewhere.  Featuring two amazing performances from Brooke Adams as Jo and Trish Van Devere (married at the time to George C. Scott) as Donna, Jo returns to her East coast childhood home to heal old family wounds, only to discover her ailing adoptive mother withdrawn and distant, basically aloof to any attempts for reconciliation, driving her next door in frustration, hoping to find a place of refuge, discovering Donna, who is herself undergoing a family crisis of her own, yet Jo is drawn to her precocious young daughter Jackie (Ari Meyers), a stark reminder of the child she never had.  Opening and closing with shots of Jo on an airplane, a montage of facial expressions, with the camera fixed on her face in a long shot while the music of Django Reinhardt can be heard, Moonglow - YouTube (3:00), breaking the 4th wall at the end and staring straight at the camera.   

We quickly learn about Jo’s miserable childhood, viewed as a bad seed by her mother, believing she is evil incarnate, treated as an outcast, while her sister Franny (Audrey Matson) received all the love and attention, developing a healthy relationship, trying to act as a go-between in Jo’s quest for redemption, with Jo expressing to her mother that not every adoption is a success, refusing to cast blame, claiming it’s nobody’s fault, it just happens sometimes, but her mother is not so forgiving, still holding a grudge, finding her utterly loathsome to be with.  After a disastrous standstill, events come to an abrupt halt when her mother dies shortly afterwards.  Among the more powerful scenes are the stark realism of a bedside unction and the devout severity of a Catholic religious service where certain rituals must be followed, but Jo defers, refusing to genuflect, clearly not a believer, establishing a link between the entrenched orthodoxy of the church and her mother’s oppressive views of her daughter.  Never resorting to gimmicks or overt symbolism, the carefully calibrated Roemer is a master of realist understatement, where his stories tend to meander and take detours, only to end up back in the beginning with this film, yet they are unvarnished and unfiltered, unmistakable truth bombs, conveying how the extreme weight of this experience weighs heavily on Jo.  Running into her divorced husband, Steve (Mark Arnott), his obnoxious behavior quickly reminds her of the abusive relationship she left behind, including a teenage pregnancy given up for adoption, taking salvation in the young innocence of Jackie, though her parents are splitting apart as well, as her father Tom (Jon DeVries) may be moving to Pittsburgh, taking his daughter along with him.  Donna is an aspiring artist with questionable talent, desperately wanting a gallery exhibit to showcase her work, but it appears what she really wants is an ego boost from the deflating family experience that leaves her feeling abandoned.  In the spur of the moment, Donna seizes upon an opportunity and invites Jo to share an island experience with her daughter on Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island, taking a short ferry ride to get there, as Donna has a home overlooking the sea.  They are surprised by the unexpected arrival of Tom, who needs Donna to sign divorce papers, placing some urgency on this request, something that leaves Donna cold, evading him at all costs, heading to the nearest roadside bar with Jo, finding a random young man to take comfort, which startles Jo, completely caught offguard, taking a bit of offense by the absurdity of the situation, leaving her feeling emotionally hijacked.  When they return back to the house, tempers flare, with marital accusations hurled fast and heavy, sending Jo and Jackie in retreat to a bedroom, with Jo trying to shelter her from the obvious anguish of parental discord.  Donna goes through dizzying mood shifts, grabbing her daughter affectionately, to the point of hurting her, then angrily blaming her for choosing to live with her father, as Donna’s life is an emotional rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows.      

We quickly discover Donna has a history of psychiatric difficulties, having previously been institutionalized, and is wary of discussing this or revealing any signs of emotional weakness, doing everything she can to avoid a return, passively acknowledging a willingness, before erupting in fierce resistance, where her outlandishly paranoid behavior sends a chilling pall on family life, clearly targeting Jackie in a relentless campaign of continuing abuse, with Jo acting as a protective shield, which only sends Donna spiraling even more out of control.  While Jo was intending on returning to her life in Seattle after making a quick stop here, which includes tracking down her birth mother, never letting on who she is, yet this alternative family dynamic is luring her in, initially befriending Donna, but begrudgingly comes to the realization of just how thoroughly she betrays those closest to her, always suspecting the worst, accusing Jo of trying to steal her husband and daughter, at one point attacking her with scissors and cutting her hair.  With the threat of violence, precautions are taken, separating her from Jackie, with Jo suspecting her erratic behavior will eventually bring harm, yet the more measured and calmly reserved Tom never seems alarmed or agitated, as if he’s seen all this before.  Nonetheless, she urges them to lock their doors.  Going full haunted house in a Gothic thriller, Roemer shoots a vividly creepy scene in a rainstorm, as Jackie is awakened in the middle of the night, hearing strange noises outside, so when Jo investigates, she sees Donna outside, like a ghoulish prowler peeping in.  Intentionally planting an image, cruelly punishing her for the hurtful threats that are aimed at Jackie, Jo is seen mysteriously lying down in the same bed where Tom is sleeping, which can visibly be seen through a window, enraging the spying Donna, who is helplessly engulfed in a torrent of rain.  Yet morning brings an incurably cheerful Donna, showing no resistance to receiving help, agreeing to sign herself into a facility while helping herself to the breakfast they made.  It’s a stunning transformation, with Jackie obviously moved by her mother’s affection, yet just as suddenly we discover she never makes it to the institution, as promised, while Jackie is also discovered missing.  In full alert, they go on a mass search, believing she may be heading for the last ferry to the island, trying to cut her off, discovering she is there, yet has no recollection of being with her daughter earlier, even though they were reportedly last seen together in town.  Jo jumps on the ferry, while Tom will continue the search for his missing daughter, turning into a frightful night on the island, a psychological nightmare, as Jo is convinced she’s somehow harmed or even killed Jackie, likely having abandoned her somewhere, with Donna feigning ignorance, admitting to nothing, claiming she simply can’t recall.  Yet when Jo tries to call Tom, Donna rips the telephone cords out of the walls, with a crazed look of terror in her eyes, leaving them isolated and completely cut off from the world.  What follows is a battle royale of inflamed emotions, neither one striking a false note, with Donna looking more demented by the second, eerily veering into horror, laying down the wrath of anger, while Jo finds her behavior more and more unhinged, utterly repulsed by what she may have done, continually taking unexpected detours, incorporated into an always inventive narrative that takes us down a deep abyss.  Turning into a kind of ghost story, one’s worst psychological suspicions are realized, as if coming to life, haunting each one of them, elevated into a supremely intense display of dramatic entanglement that can send chills down the spine.  The film’s understanding of mental illness and the cycle of abuse simply transcends its time, conceived during an era when domestic violence as a term was not commonly utilized.  Roemer refuses to make this a genre film, following each of the characters closely, developing a human conundrum of continually shifting points of view.