Pink Wall

Romantic dramas lend themselves nicely to non-linear formats. Given that romance is all about chasing, prolonging and relocating desire, mixing up the timeline can add bittersweetness to proceedings. Think the stream-of-consciousness riffing of Annie Hall (Woody Allen, 1977), the melancholic undertow of (500) Days of Summer (Marc Webb, 2009) or the science-fiction philosophy of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004).

Pink Wall takes this concept of heightening emotion through non-normative narrative to its most minimalist form, honing into six key moments over six years in a particularly fraught relationship. In both narrative and style, it is a genuinely innovative attempt to reinvent the endlessly bickering-couple-genre. While admirable for its ambition and the strength of the two central performances, it fails to take all of its nervous energy and convert into something truly potent. All six scenes are fine on their own; taken all together it feels like a piece of the puzzle is still missing.

It stars two American immigrants in the UK, Jenna (played by director Tom Cullen’s wife Tatiana Maslany) and Leon (Jay Duplass). We never quite find out why they made the move across the pond — although its suggested, rather kindly, given our current situation, that the United Kingdom is a great place for self-expression — but they are glad to have found each other in a land notorious for its lack of Yankee expats. He’s a self-styled cool guy (read: kind of lazy) while she has incredible ambition as a producer (read: kind of uptight). Locking eyes in a club they seem to fall in love at first sight. This scene is given extra melancholic weight by the fact we know it’s going to go wrong; the question is how and why.

Within those two questions, debut writer-director Tom Cullen, has crafted his film. A true writer and actor’s showcase, it could’ve easily worked as a play, yet its ambitions are cinematic too, making use of different aspect ratios — from 1:1 to widescreen — to suggest both intimacy and apartness, opening up and closing down. Cullen has a good knack for locating the way arguments can swiftly turn into resolution and vice versa, passionate debate turning into passionate sex or, even better, passionately eating leftover pasta. These scenes are well-acted and even better-filmed, bringing to mind Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (1973) in both style and content.

Pink Wall

It’s a shame then that some of the dialogue is overwritten and over-improvised, perhaps an inevitable limitation of a nine day shooting schedule. While undeniably relatable to anyone who has been in the throes of a messy relationship, their constant bickering and recriminations, later counterpointed by lovey-dovey cooing and awing, seems like showing-off rather than narrowing in, lessening drama through awkward stabs at realism.

These unpolished flaws are further strained whenever we meet anyone else. One big theme dinner scene, tackling everything from polyamorous relationships to lesbian mothers to gender stereotypes, sound like a parody of London dinner conversation than the real thing. Supporting characters here are merely obstacles for Jenna and Leon to overcome, provoking reactions in them instead of genuine people in and of themselves. A far braver film, perhaps — suggested in the opening shot, where we only see Jenna and Leon as she lays into her brother for calling Leon a “cuck” — may have shown us no supporting characters at all.

In these kind of films, you want to root for the characters; either to get together or show some kind of personal development. Non-linear structure need not be an excuse to avoid plot momentum altogether, yet the six scenes of Pink Wall cannot find a way to meaningfully coalesce into a satisfying whole. We all know relationships are hard. Almost impossibly so. But they also offer all kind of opportunities — to be a better person, or to look at things from a new perspective. I liked a lot of the things I saw here. I only wish that I learned something new too.

Pink Wall is in cinemas across the UK on Friday, December 13th. On Amazon Prime and other platforms in April.

Tides

This is one of those films that barely has a narrative (it does have one, but it’s very slender). That’s often a recipe for disaster, but not so in this case. The story, such as it is, is this: a group of four fortysomething friends rent a barge for three days’ holiday on the waterways of Southern England.

From its opening where he sits on the side of a canal staring at images on his mobile phone, Jon (Jon Foster) is struggling to cope with personal loss. He and Zooby (Jamie Zubairi) sign the barge hire contract, go through the basics of safety and cancel rules and regulations, stock up with supplies of booze and food then pick up Red (Robyn Isaac) who can only stay one night as she must attend a wedding. Later, they are joined by Simon (Simon Meacock).

The weather is good and the four (or three, after Red leaves just over an hour in to the 90-odd minute running length) traverse canals, visit pubs, hang out both inside and outside the barge, consume copious amounts of alcohol and other substances and generally chill out with one another, take it easy and have an enjoyable, relaxing time.

Although Felber scripted the whole thing, the helmer got his cast to improvise heavily over the one weekend shoot and the results feel very natural, like you’re watching a bunch of mates spending time together rather than actors acting (although, to be fair, at least some of the characters are scripted as actors). And his pre-scripting has locked down what each of the four characters is about, so that when the cast come to improvise, they know what has to underpin whatever they do. An editor himself with considerable experience in 90 second commercials and the occasional documentary, Felber edited the thing down from a mammoth 15 hours and somewhere in the course of that process has arrived at this remarkable and beautifully paced little movie.

It’s helped no end by superb black and white cinematography by seasoned cameraman Paul O’Callaghan. Actually, black and white isn’t the most appropriate phrase to describe Tides. There is no real deep, dark black. Instead, you will see an incredible range of greys and white, dark greys, light greys and everything in between. Many of the film’s best moments (and there are lots of them) are perfectly captured by his eye… two people talking on deck at night outside a lighted cabin interior, their darkened faces outlined by wisps of backlight… the sudden ducking for an oncoming low bridge… numerous moving boat point of view vistas travelling along waterways between trees on either side.

The results are very different from (and looser than) this year’s earlier, equally impressive Anchor And Hope (Carlos Marques-Marcet) making you wonder if there’s room for a whole new subgenre of independent UK/Irish canal movies because not only are both films terrific and very, very different, but also suggest there are an awful lot more stories to be told and feelings to be conveyed in the milieu of barges and canals. Both feel like they’ve been made by people just getting out there, not worrying about the rules and simply making movies on a wing and a prayer. Both have a freshness to them, so if a ‘canal’ subgenre does emerge it bodes well for independent British and Irish film. Barges and canals can clearly deliver high production values at minimal cost using a wonderful British/Irish natural resource we never realised we possessed. For the time being, though, Tides will do very nicely. Like its subject matter, the film is cool and refreshing. Something of a gem.

Tides is out in the UK on Friday, December 7th, and then on VoD on Monday, December 10th. Watch the film trailer below: