The melancholic haze of a local tragedy hangs over Matthew Porterfield's wondrous second feature, Putty Hill, so much so that the sky seems perpetually on the brink of a cathartic tempest that never comes. The death by overdose of Cory, a 24-year-old drug addict who was recently released from jail, and his pending funeral seem to be on everyone's mind in some way in the eponymous Northeast Baltimore neighborhood. But his passing riles up the ghosts of heartbreak, regret, betrayal and disappointment that loom even larger in the community and in the personal lives of Porterfield's stunningly nuanced characters than Cory as a figure ever could. It makes perfect sense that the only clear look we get of him is an enlarged photograph placed in the background at his karaoke-fueled wake at a local bar and grill.
As with his very promising debut, Hamilton, a key factor in Porterfield's emotional landscape is the unclear and complicated distinction between blood relations and close-knit community. The film opens on a friendly game of paintball in a constructed labyrinth of trenches and blockades in the forest -- an intimate view of quotidian adolescent masculinity - but the film's gaze is suddenly narrowed as Porterfield begins interviewing one of the boys, James (James Siebor), Cory's brother. It's a simple but ingenious stylistic tool which cracks the yolk of the observational aesthetic that Porterfield builds with his talented regular DP, Jeremy Saulnier. Thus, a lyrical portrait of a working-class, quasi-rural suburb of Baltimore, similar to the one detailed in Hamilton, becomes something immensely personal and uniquely moving.
The subject of Cory's funeral is briefly mentioned during James's interview but the bulk of the interview concerns two things: First, that this is his first time playing paintball and second, the make-up of his family, which includes two sisters, Marina and Zoe, and his mother, Cathy (Cathy Evans). The eldest sibling, Zoe (Zoe Vance), made the trek from Delaware on a bus but her ambivalence towards Cory and her hometown during her interview speaks directly to how Porterfield makes narrative and emotional cohesion only fully possible in glimpses. Underneath the collective aesthetic calm lies feelings that have gone stale and hardened in the pits of these characters' stomachs but these emotions never rise far above sea level. Hence, we hear Zoe mention that Cory looked strung-out the last time she saw him but we never hear an admission of guilt or sadness, just a bitter condemnation of the thoughtless nostalgia that hometowns often evoke, an idea that certainly isn't alien to Porterfield.
A voice does arise from this gloomy milieu, however, in the form of Cory's cousin, Jenny (the pop singer Sky Ferreira, the film's sole professional actor), who must endure a few nights living with her estranged father (Charles Sauers), a paroled killer of his ex-wife's rapist. In a shattering scene, Jenny opens the vents that seemingly everyone else in Putty Hill have kept closed, letting waves of disdain and resentment rush over her father, who makes his living as an amateur tattoo artist in his dinky apartment. It's a rare sign of gasping hope that only Zoe might be able to relate to, seeing as most of the neighbors and relatives that are interviewed seem determined to perpetuate a state of lethargic being even in the wake of Cory's death; one interviewee seems unable to even contemplate why he would offer to mow the lawn when his mother pays other guys to do it.
This isn't to say that no one in Putty Hill is trying to better themselves. Dustin (Dustin Ray), a paroled thief who befriended Cory in prison, takes trade classes and intends to find a job, but his intentions are still to stay in the neighborhood; his younger brother (Cody Ray) has already started a family and lives in their mother's home with him. Life goes on even in such bleak conditions and part of the point of Putty Hill, unquestionably the best American film I've seen thus far this year, is how minor Cory's death as an event is and how comparatively large the emotions that it dusts up are. It is indeed telling that the funeral goes unseen yet a deafening karaoke rendition of Whitney Huston's "I Will Always Love You" is shown very nearly in full. The director has a forbearer of sorts in Gus Van Sant with his interest in teenagers, twenty-somethings, and their behaviors, and a tendency to fuse documentary naturalism with narrative sheen and structure; he also shows tremendous ability as a director of non-professional actors, with whom he built many of the scenes out of off-screen conversations.
The wells of pain and frustration that are found beneath all of Putty Hill's inhabitants do not disappear or stop overflowing because of one death and what is so spellbinding about Porterfield's film is that it demonstrates this while showing unwavering focus on a litany of narrative themes. The palpable communal resignation can even be felt by Cory's grandmother, Virginia (Virginia Heath), as she catches up with Jenny. "I've quit twice but I had to go back," says the grandmother of her cigarette addiction but one can tell that it's a ubiquitous feeling that has ruled her very life. So when she tells Cathy that she won't be attending Cory's funeral, she gives a reason familiar to a great deal of her neighbors, friends, and family: "I want to remember things like they were."
As with his very promising debut, Hamilton, a key factor in Porterfield's emotional landscape is the unclear and complicated distinction between blood relations and close-knit community. The film opens on a friendly game of paintball in a constructed labyrinth of trenches and blockades in the forest -- an intimate view of quotidian adolescent masculinity - but the film's gaze is suddenly narrowed as Porterfield begins interviewing one of the boys, James (James Siebor), Cory's brother. It's a simple but ingenious stylistic tool which cracks the yolk of the observational aesthetic that Porterfield builds with his talented regular DP, Jeremy Saulnier. Thus, a lyrical portrait of a working-class, quasi-rural suburb of Baltimore, similar to the one detailed in Hamilton, becomes something immensely personal and uniquely moving.
The subject of Cory's funeral is briefly mentioned during James's interview but the bulk of the interview concerns two things: First, that this is his first time playing paintball and second, the make-up of his family, which includes two sisters, Marina and Zoe, and his mother, Cathy (Cathy Evans). The eldest sibling, Zoe (Zoe Vance), made the trek from Delaware on a bus but her ambivalence towards Cory and her hometown during her interview speaks directly to how Porterfield makes narrative and emotional cohesion only fully possible in glimpses. Underneath the collective aesthetic calm lies feelings that have gone stale and hardened in the pits of these characters' stomachs but these emotions never rise far above sea level. Hence, we hear Zoe mention that Cory looked strung-out the last time she saw him but we never hear an admission of guilt or sadness, just a bitter condemnation of the thoughtless nostalgia that hometowns often evoke, an idea that certainly isn't alien to Porterfield.
A voice does arise from this gloomy milieu, however, in the form of Cory's cousin, Jenny (the pop singer Sky Ferreira, the film's sole professional actor), who must endure a few nights living with her estranged father (Charles Sauers), a paroled killer of his ex-wife's rapist. In a shattering scene, Jenny opens the vents that seemingly everyone else in Putty Hill have kept closed, letting waves of disdain and resentment rush over her father, who makes his living as an amateur tattoo artist in his dinky apartment. It's a rare sign of gasping hope that only Zoe might be able to relate to, seeing as most of the neighbors and relatives that are interviewed seem determined to perpetuate a state of lethargic being even in the wake of Cory's death; one interviewee seems unable to even contemplate why he would offer to mow the lawn when his mother pays other guys to do it.
This isn't to say that no one in Putty Hill is trying to better themselves. Dustin (Dustin Ray), a paroled thief who befriended Cory in prison, takes trade classes and intends to find a job, but his intentions are still to stay in the neighborhood; his younger brother (Cody Ray) has already started a family and lives in their mother's home with him. Life goes on even in such bleak conditions and part of the point of Putty Hill, unquestionably the best American film I've seen thus far this year, is how minor Cory's death as an event is and how comparatively large the emotions that it dusts up are. It is indeed telling that the funeral goes unseen yet a deafening karaoke rendition of Whitney Huston's "I Will Always Love You" is shown very nearly in full. The director has a forbearer of sorts in Gus Van Sant with his interest in teenagers, twenty-somethings, and their behaviors, and a tendency to fuse documentary naturalism with narrative sheen and structure; he also shows tremendous ability as a director of non-professional actors, with whom he built many of the scenes out of off-screen conversations.
The wells of pain and frustration that are found beneath all of Putty Hill's inhabitants do not disappear or stop overflowing because of one death and what is so spellbinding about Porterfield's film is that it demonstrates this while showing unwavering focus on a litany of narrative themes. The palpable communal resignation can even be felt by Cory's grandmother, Virginia (Virginia Heath), as she catches up with Jenny. "I've quit twice but I had to go back," says the grandmother of her cigarette addiction but one can tell that it's a ubiquitous feeling that has ruled her very life. So when she tells Cathy that she won't be attending Cory's funeral, she gives a reason familiar to a great deal of her neighbors, friends, and family: "I want to remember things like they were."
