Indie-darling Hal Hartley shot The Unbelievable Truth (1989), his debut
feature, in only 11 days, primarily using locations in his hometown on Long
Island. These details, which I learned
after viewing the film, shed light on the director’s ability to create, but not
overstate, his setting. It feels like a
real place because it is, and Hartley isn’t overly concerned with shoving its quirks
down his audiences’ throats. They are
there simply as background for his characters, whose own idiosyncrasies speak
for themselves.
We are introduced to Josh (Robert
Burke), a man dressed all in black, who is hitchhiking into town. He carries with him a black tote, and is
often asked if he is a priest. “No, I’m
a mechanic,” he always replies. He’s
good with engines, but he doesn’t drive: “I don’t have a driver’s license.”
Josh
openly admits to those who pick him up that he’s just been released from
prison, and when he says so he speaks with the calm sincerity of someone who
expects for his word to be taken at face value.
He’s honest, subdued, and polite. He’s dropped off in a vacant lot that borders
the overpass leading to New York City, and we get the sense that everyone in
town wishes they were taking a road to anywhere else. A waitress walks by, dressed for work. “Hi Pearl,” he says. The woman recognizes him and faints.
Elsewhere
in town we meet Audry (Adrienne Shelly), a teen too preoccupied with the
nuclear threat to think about school. It
isn’t that she’s not bright; she’s gotten an acceptance letter from
Harvard. Her father (Christopher Cooke)
means well, but he’s always saying the wrong thing. “Do you know what this is going to cost me?”
he says when he sees the letter, before even thinking to congratulate her. Audry spends most of her time reading and
listening for the plains that she’s certain will drop the bomb at any moment. She too dresses in all black, and it feels
inevitable that she and Josh will meet and be attracted to one another. In other films this would be an almost
unbearable predictability, but Hartley is wise enough to let the various other
characters in his story have their time before anything can happen between his
two main characters. He allows for the
reasons that Josh and Audry shouldn’t be together to surface, before insisting
upon the reasons that they should.
Rumors
about Josh seem to intrigue everyone in town.
It’s seems he killed Pearl’s sister, or her father, or both, but
everyone seems to be confused about the order of events. In any case, the phrase “mass murderer” is
intentionally overused to comic effect by nearly every character.
This
is a claustrophobic film in many respects.
It feels like the same ten or eleven people keep bumping into one
another, which is unlikely even in small towns.
Josh comes to work at Audry’s father’s auto shop despite all of the
speculations, and a photographer who becomes interested in shooting Audry seems
to turn up everywhere, as does her ex-boyfriend. This gives the movie the hint of being
forced, but I don’t suspect that Hartley much cared. I think he means to insinuate that it often feels like we can’t escape the same
small groups of people, and that’s what makes most of the film’s funniest
scenes memorable. Characters act the way
they do to save face, because it seems unlikely that they will ever take the
highway out of town. They accept that
they can’t escape the people who they will be surrounded by for the rest of
their lives. Only Audry seems to be
immune to this complacency.
Hartley,
working with mostly novice actors, manages to create a sense of place and of
people that are both unique and common.
They work well for this film, and at some moments I got the feeling that
this was the director’s love letter to his home. But at the same time, this could be any small
town, anywhere, roamed by people afraid to admit that there is anything beyond
its borders. The film captures these
characters in this place with love and with humor, managing to make both their
flaws and their eccentricities real.
Language:
English
Runtime:
90 Minutes
Available
@veoh.com
Grade:
3.5 Hats Off
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