My first encounter with Andrew Bujalski was quite accidental and entirely pleasurable; the second was entirely intentional and only accidently pleasurable.
That he can inspire such pleasure and pain is evidence of a true auteur. Sadly, the glut of somewhat similar-looking American independent films (and I emphasize the look, because the content is entirely different) makes it difficult for his films to stand out in the marketplace, which makes it difficult for his films to be made and to be seen, despite the critical hosannas that have been showered upon him.
But see his work you should (here's where and when to see his latest, Mutual Appreciation), not to be "blown away" or to be "moved to tears" or "because it's good for you"; instead, see it to get a look at one man's view of genuine, recognizable humanity, an exceedingly rare thing to encounter on-screen these days.
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Bujalski's debut feature, Funny Ha Ha (official site), made festival appearances in late 2002 and 2003, but slipped under my radar until it appeared on a US cable channel, where I caught it one day midway through its running time. (It also received a brief US theatrical run in 2004.)
The picture looked grainy, the performances were amateurish, and nothing seemed to happen -- a pretty girl in her early 20s named Marnie (Kate Dollenmayer) wandered about her life, not sure about romance, not sure about working, not sure about not being sure.
Yet the film engaged me on a subatomic level. And it wasn't because it was about "my generation." Scott Foundas of the LA Weekly described it as "a generation-defining work about a generation marked by its very lack of definition," which missed the point entirely.
Funny Ha Ha depicted the inner conflicts experienced by certain people in every generation, and flew against the received wisdom that generations can be defined by individual works of art -- an idea that is patently absurd, but plays very nicely on magazine covers and movie posters. Indeed, that quote was splashed across the poster for this one.
The very ordinary appearance of the film -- the actress playing Marnie is quite pretty, but not made up to look 'drop dead movie star gorgeous,' the lighting appears to be naturally sourced throughout, 16mm film stock was used -- lends weight to what might appear to be quite a flimsy premise.
The beauty is that the film holds up to repeated viewings. Each time I saw it, I peered deeper into it, trying to figure out how Bujalski and his collaborators made something so substantial appear so lightweight, until I gave up and gave in to its gentle rhythms.
My anticipation for Bujalski's second feature, Mutual Appreciation (official site) was quite high, and I was delighted to settle into my seat at AFI FEST last year to watch it.
And nothing clicked.
This time the protagonist is Alan (Justin Rice), a musician wandering about his career, not sure about romance. He comes in contact with Sara (Seung-Min Lee), a disk jockey who is immediately attracted to him. He doesn't have the slightest interest in her romantically, but instead noodles about with his friend Lawrence (director Bujalski) and nurses an attraction for Lawrence's girlfriend Ellie (Rachel Clift) -- an attraction that is returned, sort of.
Maybe it was the mileau (yet another story about the travails of being a musician?), or the way that Alan sniffs around his friend's girlfriend -- that kind of disloyal romancing always invokes an intensely personal, knee-jerk negative reaction from me -- or even the way that Alan is rather insensitive to Sara's feelings -- again, a personal reaction based on too many unrequited loves -- and the end result was total non-involvement on my part.
Frankly, I had trouble keeping my eyes open. All of which may make my recommendation to see it sound baffling.
Despite my personal reservations about the storylines, though, I cannot deny the casual artistry on display, an appealing amalgam of sound, dialogue -- once again convincingly enacted with non-professionals -- and the intentionally bleary, handheld, semi-doc look of cinematographer Matthias Grunsky, capturing some of the most endearingly daring black and white imagery in recent years.
Mutual Appreciation is definitely worth the effort to see it. Don't be afraid that you might depart with a negative taste in your mouth, as I did. Even if you don't like it, you won't be able to stop thinking about it.
That, my friends, is the highest praise I can offer to any film.