Understatement goes both ways. When things go unspoken, that pressing silence either gives the mounting tension serious weight and a sense of depth, or the silence betrays thinly drawn characters. So Yong Kim’s Lovesong aims for the former but suffers from the latter in its depiction of a complicated relationship between longtime friends Sarah (Riley Keough) and Mindy (Jena Malone). Given that the ambiguity in the relationship hints at queer identities for both protagonists, the lack of clarity proves frustrating and recalls the old code standard of hiding queerness behind vagueness. On top of that, Kim pushes far too much of the narrative responsibility onto not only the actors but the audience to fill in the gaps of the meager script.
Kim and screenwriter/husband Bradley Rust Gray establish both characters’ loneliness and discontentment at the outset. Sarah is ostensibly a single mother, raising her daughter, Jessie (Jessie Ok Gray), while her husband (Cary Fukunaga) is off on endless business trips. Free-spirit Mindy rolls into town on the bus, alluding to several short-lived relationships. They bond in their loneliness and set out on a short road trip. Mindy takes some of the workload off of Sarah, entertaining Jessie and helping co-parent. A game of truth or dare brings back high school nostalgia and ends in the two sharing a kiss.
Teaser articles for Lovesong have referred to Sarah and Mindy as “BFFs” with an “intimate bond” and their relationship as exploring the “intricacies of female friendship.” All of these descriptors are predicated on the assumption that Sarah and Mindy are friends with a complicated relationship, subject to present-day estrangement and some unsaid feelings. And, while that’s true, it glosses over the reality of Lovesong – that these two women are once-inseparable friends who now find themselves both drawn to each other and confused by their seeming attraction. One drunken kiss turns into yearning gazes on a ferris wheel and intimate touches, but the husband factor is a further complication to understanding the dynamics of this relationship. It’s so daunting that Sarah admits to her total confusion over brunch, saying “I don’t regret sleeping together…but, like, I’m married and, like, whatever.” Mindy leaves as quickly as she arrived.
Lovesong picks up three years later when Mindy invites Sarah and Jessie to her wedding to Leif (Ryan Eggold). Sarah is no longer married and casts longing looks at Mindy constantly. Mindy, for her part, operates in that fake-happy, treat-everything-like-a-funny-joke mode, perhaps to reduce pre-wedding stress but it serves the dual purpose of making Sarah feel like an outlier among Mindy’s new family and friends. That is, until a drunken Mindy stops by Sarah’s hotel room one night with a bottle of wine and passes out on the bed. Sarah’s emotional frustration comes out in the question “What was that?” All Mindy has to offer is an unconvincing “I’m sorry” that in no way sounds like she understands or desires to acknowledge why Sarah is exasperated with her flaky behavior.
Kim and Gray’s intent here would seem to be to explore the grey area in a relationship that has evolved over the years to include both deep friendship and intimacy, however short-lived. Cinematographers Guy Godfree and Kat Westergaard make Lovesong a visually arresting endeavor, but while the film is certainly a minimalist effort, a lack of narrative exposition becomes an excuse for a lack of communication between the protagonists rather than the other way around. And while there is realism in the two avoiding confrontation and discussing their feelings, Kim has made a queer film that doesn’t allow its characters to discuss their queer feelings. It certainly doesn’t help that the only other mention of intimacy with women comes when Sarah admits to having a threesome with her husband. Realism, in this case, feels like a cop-out.
The question of narrative payoff, however, is the most glaring problem in Lovesong. Since the film is split into two distinct halves, one would hope the latter marriage plot would provide some added depth to the characters’ emotional turmoil. And the two do have a heart-to-heart at the end, with Mindy admitting she thought there was a connection after that first night three years ago, but still left. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” she laments. Sarah admits she loves her. And Mindy gets married. This mutual regret – especially after Mindy’s first-half declaration of “No regrets” – bears some emotional weight, but not much more than the abrupt ending of the first half. Given that Kim initially filmed a version as a stand-alone short, this feature doesn’t justify expanding the story.
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