Da 5 Bloods
On the Record
I May Destroy You
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A moody film in a moody environment which is a study on cause, effect and responsibility. The crux of the drama is bleak and this pretty much sets the tone for what we see, but the work through of the story and the acting is good.
This movie had my attention almost the entire way through, but like so many movies today creative laziness creeps in and leaves you with no ending. Feels like a waste of time.
Great indie film and that moment you have that little mistake that brings everything down. This won't appeal to everyone but if you enjoy a slow burning drama with an actual story you'll digest this. This was a great discovery and I will recommend this to anyone.
I'm an extra in the movie so 5 stara
Lance Edmands slowly paced film offers some great performances by the cast and uses the cold, brutal elements of nature to great effect in this psychological study of grief and guilt. If only this movie had been more tightly focused on Amy Morton's character and less concerned with trying to capture the impact of a tragic mistake on too many people. The movie tries to do too much. The various subplots become half-baked. Morton's nuanced and painfully realistic performance comes close to being magical, but the unsettling work is almost lost as the viewer continually gets pulled away. What remains is an uneven movie that feels far longer than its actual 90 minute running time. But it is refreshing to see a film that tries to tackle too much and never falters in the core examination of grief, guilt and loss. Bluebird may stumble, but it does so with grace and realism that make it a worthy experience.
If It Was Better Directed, Might Have Mattered...
just saw it on "netflix" and thoroughly enjoyed it.
This movie was absolutely horrible. Stand your ground on this one fellas. Watch anything else!
Lance Edmands' feature film debut is a brooding independent drama on the effects of one woman's professional negligence on an entire community of individuals, only half of whom are professionally responsible themselves. In Edmands' film, New England is a locale archetypically haunted by the sins of the father revisited upon the children, each and every character representative of a communal history that has become familial. Irresponsible behaviors and temperamental predispositions are passed down from generation to generation, father to son, mother to daughter, and so on and so forth. Bluebird's central crime is thus attributed not just to one person, but to an entire community. The blue-collar atmosphere of the film's narrative world is collectively guilty and aggrieved, the plaintiff speaking on behalf of a collective conscience, the defendant on behalf of a collective culpability. In Edmands' script, there is no fault to be laid at any one individual's feet, as the crime proves pervasive in its source and after effects, the town of Bluebird itself the guilty party.
What makes Edmands' film so jarring to watch is the nihilism of the town in which Bluebird's narrative unfolds. Though a few of the characters allude to some form of socially practiced Christian theology, much of the moral uprightness of organized religion is absent. Bluebird is decidedly nihilistic in tone and thematic content. At times, Bluebird is reminiscent of a true crime drama from The Coen Brothers, its visual aesthetic similarly cold and sardonic, but without any of The Coens' wit or gallows humor to offset Edmands' decidedly dour, menacing presence. The crime at the heart of Bluebird is indisputably deemed wrong, but not in an ethical sense. In Bluebird's engagement of Dostoyevsky-ian themes of crime and punishment, narrative action arises from ego, one man's misfortune capriciously inflicted on another within a community made inescapably oppressive, interpersonal meanness callously engaged in on a grand scale, right and wrong made irrelevant in the film's listless engagement in social degradation.
In Bluebird, there is seemingly no escape from a cycle of moral and social turpitude, inflicted generation upon generation in Edmands' small New England town, making the film into a sort of purgatory for its characters. Unfortunately for the viewer, watching someone else's punishment is not any more bearable than the characters upon which it has been inflicted, making Bluebird punishing in its vision for no discernible cinematic reason. It's not so much that Edmands' film demands closure for its characters, but rather that Bluebird lacks the compelling nature of an entertainment of any sort. The purgatory in which Bluebird's characters find themselves becomes a mere echo of the one placed upon the viewer, summarily forced to trek through Edmands' inferno. Any poeticism tangentially evoked by the film's self-absorption towards literary fruition is defeated by the film's labyrinthine devolutions of narrative intention.
Lance Edmands' Bluebird is decidedly bleak, but without the catharsis of a dramatic climax or the inclusion of clearly articulated characters inhabiting a cohesive world, the film withers away under the weight of its own pretentions. Existential dread is made heavier through the laborious tone and aimless narrative of the film's supported script, making it no small wonder why Edmands' film took two years to find a distributor.
If you're willing to enter the world of downbeat northern gloom in Bluebird, it's a delicate and affecting drama with grace notes of mystery and redemption.