in search of…

Tonight i saw In Search Of A Midnight Kiss at the Curzon, followed by a Q&A with the director, producer, cinematographer and the main cast. The film owes a lot to a particular preceeding genre of dialogue driven romantic comedy-cum-drama, highlights of which would include Lost In Translation and Before Sunrise, in that it is built almost entirely around its two protagonists who are unknown to eachother, the romantic progression in their becoming acquainted, and the city around which they wander. In …Kiss, that city is LA, it’s new year’s eve, and the protagonists have come together as a result of a personal ad on Craigslist. Cajoled into posting the ad by his DJ flatmate, the hapless Wilson (Scoot McNairy) meets his intended, the beautiful borderline personality Vivian (Sara Simmonds) in an LA cafe, where she issues him the challenge that, should he not meet her standards for a potential true love, she’ll leave him at midnight.

In it’s opening gambit, the film has already made, in my mind, three crucial errors which leave you struggling to identify from that point onwards. Firstly, in foregrounding modern day social networking sites and internet culture in such a generalised, yet emphasised way (the opening ten minutes feature identifiable close-ups of myspace, MSN and a genuinely humourous episode involving photoshop) the film is screaming it’s contemporary status far too loudly in a way that instantly dates the film and renders it as something of a novelty. That someone, somewhere would produce a film that makes use of this plot device was so blindingly inevitable that, watching …Kiss, it never feels like a fresh idea. Watching it, you can see the boardroom meetings, and the floating buzzwords that undoubtedly led to much of the financing behind the film. This factor could, however, be overlooked if the charm and romance boasted in the promo surrounding the film were genuinely present, but sadly, they only appear as fleeting and superficial glimpses of what could have been. In the Q&A, the director made a point of the fact that the film was very traditionally scripted, and steered away from a faux-documentary, improvisational style that he labelled “we’ll sort it in the edit”. I can’t help but feel that, had they employed this technique, the film would have benefitted and the characters would have been much more believable.

The character progression is obvious from the outset. Vivian lacks any credibility as a genuinely defensive and slightly unhinged woman (and may have done well to look to Julie Delpy’s example of such a character in Before Sunset) simply because, from the moment her character is introduced, her quirks feel so forced and scripted that you can see her eventual unfolding and confessions of suffering from miles away. From her first appearance onwards, instead of naturally revealing these facets of her character to you, the film reeks of a desperation to relate the “real” Vivian. The transformation is not a convincing one. In her early scenes, she dismisses books, museums and culture on the whole, talking only of her ambition, yet only a couple of scenes later, she reveals an art project of hers (photographing lost shoes) in a manner that is both predictable and completely unfitting. The project itself, actually a genuine project of the director’s ex-girlfriend, also rings somewhat hollow in its presentation here, though it does hint at a more experimental style that the film never pursues or commits to.

These jarring and forced transitions in character are equally applicable to Wilson, who starts the film as the archetypal slacker misanthrope, a failing writer whose Hollywood dreams seem ever distant. He too inevitably sheds these characteristics to become something of a salvation for Vivian, but again, the transformation just isn’t believable. He spends the film shifting uncomfortably between earnest romantic and actually quite creepy pursuer. At one juncture, he tells Vivian of his masturbation habits, then is surprised as she deserts him, then follows her across the breadth of the city, several paces behind and not talking, until eventually persuading her to let him take her out for a meal. His
countenance in these scenes is predatory, and it’s this desperate pursuit, and the discomfort it causes that provides one of the films genuine, emotionally raw moments, though its a moment which falls flat owing to being completely out of place in the surrounding narrative and soundtracked by an inappropriately sweet acoustic score and Will Shef vocals. It also makes the subsequent sweetness of the character, and his newfound determination come the film’s denouement impossible to identify with.

The way that the film is shot and edited is schizophrenic, and works in places, but not in most. Scenes taking place in an abandoned Hollywood theatre and on the walk of stars approach something special in their cinematography, but again are overruled by the inconsistency of the film. Much has been made of the comparison between this film and the so-called Mumblecore movement, but to my mind, there is a great deal more consistency and genuine verite in films like Aaron Katz’s Quiet City or Bujalski’s Mutual Appreciation, both of which had budgets that would pale in comparison to …Kiss.

It is possibly the declarations of authenticity made by the film that do it the greatest disservice. In the Q&A, director Alex Holdridge went from talking about shoestring budgets and sleeping on floors one moment, to how Universal’s entire music rights department was working on their behalf the next. While I don’t doubt the both cast and crew worked extremely hard on the film, and seemed in person like a genuinely enthusiastic and spirited group, they’d have done better to pitch the film as a mid-low budget indie rather than the D.I.Y. work that they claim. Everything is D.I.Y. to a certain extent. This is certainly not the same as the aforementioned Mumblecore pictures, though it is clearly marketed as such, and many of the hallmarks and codes of the film falsely and self consciously attempt to speak directly to that audience. The film tries achingly hard to be hip and to wear that hipness on it’s sleeve, but it just isn’t there. There are familiar shots of buildings from above and out of train windows. The film is edited to appear loose and flowing, but is so obviously scripted that the film and the edit work against eachother. It’s a testament to the adage about writing what you know, and it’s readily apparent watching …Kiss that you can’t make a New York style film in LA, as was Holdridge’s stated intention. The romance in LA, and obvious way in which they attempt to portray LA as a romantic city in spite of itself, falls flat through precisely the elements that make a city like LA so alienating. Perhaps that’s the point, and there are moments of genuine emotion in the film – those of despair and loneliness. This is ultimately the feeling with which you leave the film, all it’s many protracted and signposted elements to make you feel something to  the contrary having fallen well short.

There is something genuinely exciting and uplifting about sitting in a room with a group of collaborative filmmakers. I missed work today as I have a stinging head cold, but my curiosity was piqued on seeing the listing for this event some weeks ago and, having tickets booked, I made the effort to get down to Soho, and do think it was well worth my while.