Watching the new indie dramedy Stan, which just had its world premiere at the ongoing, 14th annual Dances With Films festival, one could be forgiven, if they were so inclined, for letting their mind wander and recall the title track of Ben Folds’ excellent Rockin’ the Suburbs, in which he bemoans being “all alone in [his] white boy pain.” It’s not, after all, that the movie has no dramatic stakes, it’s just that they seem so small and quaint and, well, adorably solvable. A low-key effort, Stan is more interested in eliciting smiles of knowing recognition than any real laughs, resulting in a movie of such willfully mild temperament as to sort of question its reason for existence.

The story centers on Stan (co-writer John F. Schaffer), a kindly, oafish guy who works at a small orchid greenhouse, occasionally visits a “happy endings” massage parlor, and then combats his metastasized guilt by making trips to a doctor to make sure his penis doesn’t bear any signs of herpetic infection. Mostly, though, Stan suffers the quiet indignities of being in “friendship alley” with Mary (Christina Diaz), a blonde babe who keeps him on standby while also dating jerky Nick (David Michie). When Ann (Gioia Marchese) shows up and gets a job at the greenhouse, she slowly draws Stan out of his shell a bit more, but remains inwardly frustrated with his dopey dedication to a girl not willing to give him any real romantic attention.

All of this could veer into more straightforward lonely-hearts dramatic territory, a la something like James Mangold’s Heavy, but for better or worse Shaffer and his co-writer, director Evald Johnson, eschew much heavy dramatic lifting. It’s quite nice that Stan doesn’t have any forward-leaning over-emoting by actors seemingly trying to get some material for their demo reel, but the characters’ motivations overall seem ill-defined. The filmmakers mostly step back from active engagement or tension, except for the awkward inclusion of a plot strand involving the pervy peeping Tom-ishness of Ann’s boss and boarder, Mr. Frankle (Todd Patrick Breaugh), which doesn’t seem to have a good reason for existing within this framework. There isn’t a deeper insight or emotional identification with Stan’s loneliness or self-loathing; he comes across merely as a guy kind of half-assing it through life.

To be fair, Schaffer’s amiable persona suits this tack of inquiry, which, as stated, is more interested in summoning forth recognition than drawing out laughs. With his quietly expressive eyes, unaffected yet halting speech pattern and propensity for socially sawing himself off at the knees, Schaffer’s Stan seems like a long-lost cousin of comedian Brian Posehn. And cinematographer Michael Off’s work abets this unfussy naturalism. After a while, though, you want to see this bear awake from his slumber, and release some pent-up aggression. After all, even Rockin’ the Suburbs had a song called “The Ascent of Stan.” For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (S17 Pictures, unrated, 88 minutes)

Unfolding in an explosion of primary colors and prodding musical cues, Judy Moody and the Not Bummer Summer tries and fails to establish a beachhead in the competitive arena of family film franchises. A slapdash exercise in sensory stimulation, the movie has none of the comparative panache and technical accomplishment of Robert Rodriguez’s Shorts or Danny DeVito’s Matilda, exaggerated tales of adolescent adventure that this tiresome effort fitfully seems to want to emulate.

Director John Schultz (Like Mike, Aliens in the Attic) has a healthy history of poorly staged kiddie action sequences, and his work here does nothing to evidence any particular positive growth or development. Given that it’s based on a series of same-named books, a certain brand
name recognition and absence of genre competition may give Judy Moody a
short theatrical window. But negative word-of-mouth from parents and a
lack of any real appeal for tweens will quickly resign it to video
babysitter home viewing rotation, where it should eke out most of its
meager returns. For the full, original review, from Screen International, click here. (Relativity, PG, 91 minutes)

An in-competition title at the ongoing 14th annual Dances With Films festival, The Aristocrat tells the story of a traveling salesman who’s spending his final few weeks on the job breaking in his callow, cocksure replacement. A character-based small business drama that eventually morphs into a sort of low-fi back-stabbing thriller, the movie lacks the slickness, skill or psychological perspicacity to deliver on any of its twists or turns.

Set in the late 1980s, and shot on location in Massachusetts, The Aristocrat centers on an aging salesman, Marc Ward (Jeff Gill), who seems worn down and resigned to the fact that he’s basically little more than a human catalogue. Former shoe salesman Eddie Kent (Adam Soule), however, is convinced that he can land big commissions in this new job, so he immediately starts applying his own brand of snake oil charm and pressure in the follow-up meetings on which Marc brings him along. This rubs a couple clients the wrong way, and also upsets things with a woman, Becca (Megahn Perry, an utter delight), with whom Marc has been carrying on a casual, months-long, quite chaste flirtation at a local diner. (This is of course begs the question of exactly what sort of traveling salesman decamps and works mainly one area for many weeks out of a six-month period, but nevermind.)

Eddie’s aggressive, chatty ways finally seemingly pay off with a big-fish client (Paxton Whitehead), and it’s not long before the pair run into an old acquaintance of Eddie’s, an enterprising antiques dealer named Charlie (Gary Henoch). While another job opportunity presents itself, Charlie’s work seems to interest Marc more than even the completion of the rest of his working days, setting the scene for a series of decisions with long-stretching ramifications.

At times, especially early on, The
Aristocrat feels like it could be partially based on some lost, early David Mamet manuscript, which is most assuredly a compliment. There’s a snap to the dialogue without it being ostentatious, and the grooves of generational conflict are nicely laid out, with small glances here and pinprick asides there. Other details seem yawningly under-developed though; Marc is supposedly a salesman in the semi-conductor business, but apart from one backdrop and some willfully vague chatter in a business meeting, this detail is completely unexploited, either literally or metaphorically. Marc and Eddie might as well be peddling Garden Weasels, for all it matters. More problematically, though, a general feeling of static constipation eventually gives way to a fumbling third act that is less narrative overreach than just bumbled execution. For more information on the movie, click here. (Three Times Productions, unrated, 93 minutes)

An Australian, college-set love triangle drama studded with a few supernatural elements, Charge Over You, which just had its U.S. premiere as part of the 14th annual Dances With Films festival, is an earnest, low-budget freshman effort, marked by all the sorts of sincerity and shortcoming which that tag frequently implies.

The plot centers around college student Sarah (freshfaced newcomer Danya Cox), who slips into a seemingly irretrievable funk after witnessing a fellow student pass away. That death, you see, brings back memories of Sarah’s dear, beloved and also recently departed mother, whose death she hasn’t really been able to discuss with her father (Ray Croft). Her teacher (Jacqui Hall) warns Sarah, an aspirant doctor, that she’s in danger of losing her scholarship if she doesn’t buckle down and commit to a “Logic 201” term paper on a creation myth subject (!), but Sarah lets herself be continually led astray, first by Dane (James Lee) — a blond, wraith-like, slightly menacing figure who seems to have stepped out of either the Twilight or Harry Potter franchises, possibly both — and then by UCLA transfer student Mike (Dominic Deutscher), a sort of Central Casting nice guy. Observing all of these goings-on from friendship alley, meanwhile, is Sam (Brenton Thwaites), a bespectacled, wishy-washy do-gooder who’s always encouraging Sarah to study and do her work.

Without truly giving much of anything away, Charge Over You, written by Julia Matthews and directed by Regardt Steenekamp, bears all the hallmarks of a slice of adolescent tortured psyche/imaginary friend cinema, mainly since Dane keeps popping up in Sarah’s room unannounced. Rather than freak her out, however, she always blithely accepts his repeated excuse that her “door was open.” In essence, the movie tips its hand far too early. There’s no suspense or drama or worry about Sarah’s corporeal safety. Dane is obviously less a real character than a figure/device, so the movie unfolds as an exercise of time-whiling, waiting to see exactly how he is outed, and what the motivations might be.

The performances help all of this go down at least a bit more smoothly. Whereas so many young American actors — be it because of television training or myriad other factors — would amp up the emoting and deploy stressed, declarative speech rhythms, the Australian actors here (with the exception of the creepy Lee, who’s acting on advice of counsel one supposes, and in his own separate movie) trade in slightly more restrained and realistic strokes, making for some pleasant, unforced moments of getting-to-know-you (nonsexual) connection between Cox and Deutscher. Unfortunately, Sarah isn’t a proactive enough character, and the material as a whole just isn’t sketched out deeply enough to get its hooks in an audience. But the solid if unspectacular technical credits and narrative reach for something a bit beyond the norm make this a modest and entirely forgivable failure — the sort of calling card first feature film of which its makers need not be overly embarrassed. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Triumphal Pictures, unrated, 84 minutes)