I can't say any other movie comes to mind as a point of comparison. 'Paris window' is odd and unique, weirdly riveting in its unorthodox approach to a minimalist narrative subsumed by overwhelming artistic tact.
From the start we're jolted by characters who seem pointedly socially maladjusted, even those we meet in passing. They demonstrate uncharacteristic behavior and stilted, abnormal conversational patterns. Personal habits and idiosyncrasies are somewhat startling in their peculiarity.
This goes most of all for the protagonists, siblings Sunny (Sophie Kargman) and Julian (Noel David Taylor). They share atypical lifestyles in their apartment - playing silly games between one another, exchanging playful, unusual dialogue, and tracing particularly loose boundaries in their relationship. There's a measure of quiet surrealism on hand even just in the programs we see on their television, including one such infomercial that lends its premise to the film title. While 'Paris window' is decidedly more understated, one thinks of the movies of Spike Jonze or Charlie Kaufman, whose characters and settings are likewise bizarre. And here, like in those recalled antecedents, in every surrealist iota lies the key to the whole picture.
The disruption to familiarity that comes with the introduction of Sunny's boyfriend David (also Taylor) provides a hint of plot that is left far more for the viewer to interpret than to be actively explored by the film. Whether expansive ambient tones or simple percussive beats, Ben Babbitt's wonderful music plays a role not unlike the use of lighting, conveying at once the passage of time, and the openness and absorbency of consciousness versus the rigidity of conscious thought. While more subtle in their essentiality, Benjamin Shearn's editing, and specific shots arranged by director Amanda Kramer, serve that same purpose.
Kargman is outstanding as Sunny, wholly embodying the quirks Kramer and Taylor wrote into her character most of all. Both in the slightly more demure playfulness Sunny demonstrates around Julian, and in the notable confidence she displays with David, Kargman shows poise, range, and complexity that unquestionably makes her the star. Not to be outdone, though, Taylor exhibits similar if more disparate skill inhabiting his dual roles as Julian and David. In the brother's frustration and anxiety, and in the boyfriend's calm, collected demeanor, Taylor adeptly shifts between the latter's thoughtful posture and the former's slovenly nervousness. These performances are inescapably eye-catching; the actors' skills are undeniable.
And what we ultimately get is a singular, unconventional examination of fear - the way it can control us, affecting our perceptions, and our perceptions of our perceptions - and the oppositional foil of confidence. This is seen in the interactions between characters, and the way their behavior influences each other. It's depicted in a way that's both plain as day and dexterously underhanded; I could easily see the swell substance of 'Paris window' sliding unnoticed past anyone inattentive or unprepared to dig deep.
Other themes similarly manifest, but it's hard to miss one other particular beat. Of the two chief characters, it's the young man who reacts with such acerbic apprehension - heedlessly challenging an apparent threat to his worldview - when another's self-assurance presents itself. This commentary on the much-discussed fragility of the male ego could be summarily dismissed if not for the way Julian also accosts another woman, an almost total stranger, in reaction to the self-possession she carries. This aspect of the movie runs subordinate to more prominent, primary ideas, but the critique is unmistakable.
This is the second full-length feature of film-maker Kramer, and like her first, 'Ladyworld,' 'Paris window' is awash in so much delicate detail of character and performance that a casual viewer, a general audience, could be forgiven for thinking it's bereft of meaning or purpose. It's decisively obtuse in its communication of ideas and in its construction; I begrudge no one who engages earnestly with it and doesn't like it. I admit I'm not sure who I would recommend this to, just for the fact of its level of difficulty.
Yet for those who are ready and willing, there's a great deal to consume and digest, a veritable feast of hearty artistry. I sat to watch with mixed and uncertain expectations, and have found myself entranced. 'Paris window' is a phenomenal, delightful surprise.
From the start we're jolted by characters who seem pointedly socially maladjusted, even those we meet in passing. They demonstrate uncharacteristic behavior and stilted, abnormal conversational patterns. Personal habits and idiosyncrasies are somewhat startling in their peculiarity.
This goes most of all for the protagonists, siblings Sunny (Sophie Kargman) and Julian (Noel David Taylor). They share atypical lifestyles in their apartment - playing silly games between one another, exchanging playful, unusual dialogue, and tracing particularly loose boundaries in their relationship. There's a measure of quiet surrealism on hand even just in the programs we see on their television, including one such infomercial that lends its premise to the film title. While 'Paris window' is decidedly more understated, one thinks of the movies of Spike Jonze or Charlie Kaufman, whose characters and settings are likewise bizarre. And here, like in those recalled antecedents, in every surrealist iota lies the key to the whole picture.
The disruption to familiarity that comes with the introduction of Sunny's boyfriend David (also Taylor) provides a hint of plot that is left far more for the viewer to interpret than to be actively explored by the film. Whether expansive ambient tones or simple percussive beats, Ben Babbitt's wonderful music plays a role not unlike the use of lighting, conveying at once the passage of time, and the openness and absorbency of consciousness versus the rigidity of conscious thought. While more subtle in their essentiality, Benjamin Shearn's editing, and specific shots arranged by director Amanda Kramer, serve that same purpose.
Kargman is outstanding as Sunny, wholly embodying the quirks Kramer and Taylor wrote into her character most of all. Both in the slightly more demure playfulness Sunny demonstrates around Julian, and in the notable confidence she displays with David, Kargman shows poise, range, and complexity that unquestionably makes her the star. Not to be outdone, though, Taylor exhibits similar if more disparate skill inhabiting his dual roles as Julian and David. In the brother's frustration and anxiety, and in the boyfriend's calm, collected demeanor, Taylor adeptly shifts between the latter's thoughtful posture and the former's slovenly nervousness. These performances are inescapably eye-catching; the actors' skills are undeniable.
And what we ultimately get is a singular, unconventional examination of fear - the way it can control us, affecting our perceptions, and our perceptions of our perceptions - and the oppositional foil of confidence. This is seen in the interactions between characters, and the way their behavior influences each other. It's depicted in a way that's both plain as day and dexterously underhanded; I could easily see the swell substance of 'Paris window' sliding unnoticed past anyone inattentive or unprepared to dig deep.
Other themes similarly manifest, but it's hard to miss one other particular beat. Of the two chief characters, it's the young man who reacts with such acerbic apprehension - heedlessly challenging an apparent threat to his worldview - when another's self-assurance presents itself. This commentary on the much-discussed fragility of the male ego could be summarily dismissed if not for the way Julian also accosts another woman, an almost total stranger, in reaction to the self-possession she carries. This aspect of the movie runs subordinate to more prominent, primary ideas, but the critique is unmistakable.
This is the second full-length feature of film-maker Kramer, and like her first, 'Ladyworld,' 'Paris window' is awash in so much delicate detail of character and performance that a casual viewer, a general audience, could be forgiven for thinking it's bereft of meaning or purpose. It's decisively obtuse in its communication of ideas and in its construction; I begrudge no one who engages earnestly with it and doesn't like it. I admit I'm not sure who I would recommend this to, just for the fact of its level of difficulty.
Yet for those who are ready and willing, there's a great deal to consume and digest, a veritable feast of hearty artistry. I sat to watch with mixed and uncertain expectations, and have found myself entranced. 'Paris window' is a phenomenal, delightful surprise.
