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Personal Velocity
By Dave DePino
Even putting the opening back one week so as not to be crushed by the openings of Sir 007 or that Potter boy, writer/director Rebecca Miller's emotionally lush trilogy, "Personal Velocity" will still have a battle on its hands at the box office as it faces competition from a host of mega-buck, monster productions.
Arriving in town direct from Sundance, which rewarded Miller's effort with its Grand Jury Prize, this little, hard-hitting film is equally divided into three parts following the lives of three very different and very distinct women. The stories are connected by only the flimsiest, almost unnoticeable thread. The film is drawn in the slice of life genre, but within the three, very rich portions of these women's lives, there is much movement. The movements don't necessarily lead to an end, but lead to a new beginning, or at least in a new, hopefully positive direction. The film highlights the premise that everyone goes through life at his or her own speed, i.e. their personal velocity. When events enter a person's existence, that speed can either slow or speed up. In such cases, that could lead to one zooming-into or dawdling-out-of their regular life situations. This is sometimes controlled by choice, but also prompted by fate or resignation.
The first of the three stories, adapted from Miller's book of short stories -- seven female portraits in all -- concerns itself with Delia (Kyra Sedgwick), a battered wife and mother of three. She has harsh, trailer-trash beauty with a body that doesn't stop. Her husband (David Warshofsky) is a typical wife beater - a warm smile one minute and a punch the next. Delia is a tough cookie who stays in that abusive relationship until she thinks the violence might spill over to her children. In the middle of the night, Delia grabs the kids and splits to a shelter, then on to an interim existence to rejuvenate her self-esteem and reclaim her power. Not so easy, though. Sedgwick plays both sides - soft and hard - of the proverbial tough coin with total honesty and vulnerability.
The second story has Greta (Parker Posey) as a mediocre, but ambitious cookbook editor in a dreary, overly comfortable and going nowhere marriage to a faithful, boring husband (Tim Guinee). When the opportunity comes along to help a famous author edit his memoirs, she's at the ready. When infidelity enters the picture, she hardly notices it's wrong. But, isn't she her father's daughter? And didn't he set the standard for marital loyalties? A standard she detested. Posey does fine work here.
Most powerful, the third finds twenty one year old Paula (Fairuza Balk) pregnant and running away from her loving, Haitian boyfriend. Paula is a punky-Goth type, young and frightened from a recent, near death experience. She is driving upstate New York to see her mother. En route, in a rainstorm, she picks up a young, teenage boy (Lou Taylor Pucci) who is both physically and emotionally battered. She forms a bond with this boy which will define her entire future. This third episode is probably the best, though least written, with the thrust of the drama resting on the actors and director. In a virtually silent portrait, Pucci is heartbreaking. Balk is astonishingly compelling as she finds the commitment of motherhood, present and future, in herself. This segment will leave you frozen in your seat minutes after the credits have rolled by.
Another entity of major importance is Ellen Kuras's cinematography. In conjunction with Miller's direction, this very literary piece of scripting becomes a visual treasure. The handheld close-ups, emotional play with moody color, tones and texture, an almost voyeuristic quality of shooting with freeze-framing and actual use of stills encouraged Sundance's decision to give it the Cinematography Award. All this artsy camera work can sometimes hinder the flow of a film, but here, it enhances it greatly.
Miller is an artist for all seasons. Daughter of the maestro, Arthur, Rebecca began her career studying painting at Yale; moving on to a brief career as an actress; then directing a short film and staging the revival of her father's famous play, "After the Fall"; then on to her first, award winning feature, which she wrote and directed, "Angela." That is not to forget her book of short stories "Personal Velocity" which gave birth to this marvelous film of the same name. It is her well-rounded background that can allow a writer of eloquence also to see the visual strength of story telling. Sometimes, the two learned-wisdoms never meet. This time they do.
In the tumultuous storm of full and double/full page newspaper ads hyping the gazillion-dollar-budget films out presently, one can only hope that "Personal Velocity" can stay afloat by word of mouth and a slew of good reviews, so it won't find its initial success in video heaven.
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