A car drives down the street in a small Ohio town. The radio station announces it’s next selection – Little River Band’s “Lady”. Car wipers cut across as the drizzle of rain hits the windshield.
A couple makes out in a bar as Air Supply plays. They both have long hair. Is it two women? It’s hard to tell in this light. The camera stays on them, both genders still anonymous, until we realize that this coupling is entirely heterosexual. We are observers, then we are voyeurs and, finally, we, like them, laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Such are the small, lingering and not entirely explainable pleasures of 45365 - a film that I feel compelled to warn you about even as I recommend it - a non-narrative, impressionistic, whisper of a film, one that should not be oversold, but should be experienced for its sideways glance at an the Midwestern American experience in the early 21st century.
Ostensibly a portrait of the town of Sydney, Ohio, the characters of 45365 recur – yes, that electoral race for local judge will return; yes, you will again check in with the high school football team – amidst the loosely stitched framing device of the local radio station (rock and roll classics and high school sports!) and lingering farm vistas – but one should not expect some kind of big payoff to these stories.
I must admit that, at times, I contemplated leaving the screening of 45365, much as I’m sure some (many?) considered (or actually followed through on) bailing on my most recent film. But each time I’d assumed that I’d seen everything that 45365 would have to offer, a scene – like the aforementioned dream-like drive through the drizzling rain of Ohio, like the unexpected gender-free makeout session, like the amazing, extended, cut-free sequence that takes us from locker room to football field, Ross' film would confound me.
It’s arty, this film is – and I know well the pitfalls that await the filmmakers in trodding this territory (Manohla, my friend, be kind). And there might be the tendency to overpraise (and thus, create impossible expectations) – I heard the beginnings of this on the streets of Austin. But patience is rewarded and the joys of 45365 do linger, nearly impossible title and all (most of us just started calling it “the zip code movie”.). If you stare at it too long, those joys might seem to disappear, like wisps of smoke or pixie dust. But this is a film in which the filmmakers trust that you will be persistent, that you will let these moments build, that you aren’t waiting for the knock-down drag-out or the onscreen exchange of vows, that – in the age of telling you what to feel - the unforced whisper is not only OK, but desired in its own right.
This is what we need more of. Approach at your own risk. And reward.
I'm from Sidney, OH (now living in North Carolina) and just heard about your documentary on our little town. I can't seem to be able to view the film and would love to see it. Could you please send me a link of the documentary? debborgerding@gmail.com
Thanks!
Deb Borgerding
Posted by: Deb Borgerding | April 30, 2009 at 12:25 PM