SHITHOUSE (A-minus) - Perhaps the surprise of the year, this debut feature -- written, directed and starring Cooper Raiff -- about a college freshman who misses home and struggles to adapt to campus life is smart, sweet, tender and insightful. You just can't judge a movie by its title.
The first half of the film echoes a millennial version of "Before Sunrise," as Raiff's character Alex escapes his substance-abusing roommate and has a meet-cute with his dorm RA, Maggie (Dylan Gelula), a straight-talking young woman who refuses to be shamed for her sexual conquests but doesn't seem very proud of them, either. Alex manages to pry Maggie away from her friends and spend a long night wandering around and bonding.
When Maggie turns cold toward Alex in the coming days, he pouts and sincerely doesn't understand why she is no longer reciprocating his feelings. He finds himself on the brink of pulling the plug and going back home to his mother (Amy Landecker) and smart-mouthed little sister (Olivia Welch). What knits such an unoriginal story together is Raiff's ability as a writer-director and as an actor to make Alex vulnerable and emotionally fragile (he has silent conversations with the stuffed animal that he brought from home). He and Gelula have a wonderful chemistry -- even when their characters are on the outs -- and much of the dialogue feels lived-in and often improvised.
It is likely that Raiff workshopped this production for a while, allowing the cast to gel and play off of each other. Extra credit to Logan Miller as Sam, Alex's roommate who begins his college career by majoring in substance abuse. Everyone contributes to a heartfelt coming-of-age romantic tale that reminds you how disorienting and challenging life can get right after high school.
BLOODY NOSE, EMPTY POCKETS (B-minus) - This one is a cheat, like Sarah Polley's fictionalized documentary "Stories We Tell," only this study of barflies celebrating the final night of their local haunt is a documentary-ized work of surreptitious fiction. If only the filmmakers' acrobatic attempts at cinema verite had yielded a memorable story.
The setting is the Roaring 20s, a typical loser bar apparently in Las Vegas and populated by regulars but actually a fictional saloon in New Orleans full of ringers, including some out-of-work actors. The main character is cranky Michael, who looks like the loser version of Hal Holbrook, all grizzled and wrinkled at age 58, sleeping off his hangovers on the bar's couch. (He has 28 acting credits listed at IMDb, mostly shorts.) Michael is surrounded by other more happy drunks, plus a daytime bartender who serenades the clientele with acoustic cover songs and a nighttime bartender who is a stern single mom. (Her son (?) stars in a B-story about teens hanging outside the bar, smoking pot and sneaking in to steal some beers.)
If this were an actual documentary, it would be a modestly interesting sociological study of final 24 hours of a joint full of regulars. There's the sad veteran at the end of the bar. The young know-it-all spoiling for a fight. The 60-year-old broad who still likes to flash her tits (before eventually falling face first onto the barroom floor and becoming the night's first casualty). The friendly white-haired hippie who loves everyone. And there is faux philosophy slung about, mostly about the pride of drinking one's life away.
But none of it matters and it doesn't really count. Judged, then, as a feature film, this is a clever idea with some neat visuals -- all in search of a compelling narrative. If these sots were real, at least we could -- in the absence of any drama or sharp humor -- expend some effort in drawing meaning from their miserable existences. Instead, we get "Barfly" without Mickey Rourke. And where's the fun in that?
BONUS TRACK
From the "Shithouse" soundtrack, Girlpool with "Cherry Picking":
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