Usually, elevator pitches for new movies are reductive simplifications, but the one for American Folk is right on the money. It’s basically Once but on 9/11.
Just like that critically acclaimed, low-fi musical, this film is led by two real-life musicians whose characters occasionally break out into song. Folk singers Joe Purdy and Amber Rubarth play Elliott and Joni, a pair of strangers who bond on a plane before it has to land prematurely, as the towers have fallen and the airspace must be cleared. They’re both trying to get back to New York from Los Angeles: Elliott so he can work a last chance gig touring with a popular band, and Joni so she can get back home to her ailing mother. Because this is a twee indie film, they hop in a borrowed van with “This Machine Kills Fascists” scrawled on the side for a cross-country road trip through A M E R I C A, getting a supposedly kaleidoscopic view of modern stateside society along the way.
It’s a simple enough premise, one with a lot of potential, yet marred by some key issues. There’s a great tradition of American road films to draw from if the intention is to paint a portrait of the country coping with fresh, tragic wounds. But the script, from editor David Heinz, here making his writing and directing debut, doesn’t follow through on that. As a writer, he’s content to flit from vignette to vignette of rueful nostalgia for a non-existent past idolized by diehard folk enthusiasts, mixing in barely-there supporting roles and cringeworthy, overt observations about the status quo. This missed opportunity would make more sense if that background was ignored for the sake of a more pressing story between the two leads, but the A plot is also a non-starter.
Elliott and Joni are just not compelling characters. It’s not that they’re written badly, necessarily. In this kind of indie film, one quietly observed and mostly focused on hinting at interiority rather than piercing it, having a pair of leads who feel like relatable ciphers can work. But that approach requires gifted actors who can do the heavy lifting, and neither Purdy nor Rubarth are particularly strong performers.
In Joni, Rubarth assays the trappings of a pixie dream girl without too many of the narrative tropes, but she doesn’t have much else going for her, especially given the Garden State meet-cute in which she’s introduced. Elliott, on the other hand, is shown to us first in his own scene, but the only characterization we get is that he’s an asshole artist who’s difficult to work with. We only know this, however, because his friend says it on the phone and he’s randomly rude to Joni a few times. It doesn’t read properly, because Purdy exudes a soft charisma and understated sincerity. The only way he knows how to display jerkiness is by raising his voice a few decibels. There’s no texture to his misanthropy.
Getting back to the Once comparison, that film was able to wring maximum dramatic power from its relatively inexperienced lead performers by leaning on their musical prowess. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova weren’t accomplished thespians, but they were potent vocalists, so their musical interludes gave dimension and emotive scope that the non-singing areas of the film may have under-delivered. American Folk’s songs don’t feel like typical musical breaks, as they’re mostly just sing-alongs in the van, not moments that exist outside of the narrative.
While the film isn’t the most engrossing or original, it’s Heinz’ directorial eye that makes it an interesting watch. He’s clearly a gifted craftsman who knows how to pace a scene and frame shots possessed of lyrical beauty and simplicity. For a film as cheap and threadbare as American Folk obviously is, Heinz presents his tale with visual efficiency and some gorgeous imagery. If he can find a collaborator on the scripting side or hone his writing ability to the level of his directing and editing chops, his next film should be a massive improvement.
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