Old Joy

Old Joy may seem like another of those films where "nothing much happens", but to hold such an opinion of the film is one that should be taken facetiously. Sporadic dialogue and small run-time might be enough to win over people to such an opinion, but rather is should be felt that this slow-burner is one that is rather an undiscovered masterpiece rather than just another of its kind and should be taken seriously.

The stunning cinematography of the Oregon woodlands is one that is not only haunting and ominous, but works as the perfect metaphor for then film's main themes of the ever-changing nature of friendship. Each frame seems to have been crafted and re-worked so that absolute perfection is achieved and the feeling from them is not so much they are point-and-shoot, allowing the action to unfold in front of the camera, but rather that each one has its own individual significance and meaning, adding to eerie feeling that is being experienced and leaving such an ambiguity to the narrative, characters and ultimately the friendship itself, that it leaves a mystery as to where the narrative is moving and what might or might not happen next.

The two protagonists, father-to-be Mark (Daniel London) and seemingly unemployed bachelor Kurt (Will Oldham) feel like an unlikely pair of friends and as the narrative develops seem to have grown far apart from each other since their last encounter together. This separation of character is present in such minor details in the film such as the way in which they dress, the way in which Kurt talks much more than Mark and even to such small details as the way they order food, but ultimately the separation is determinate via the performances of the two actors. The mannerisms and ways in which the actors carry the two characters are quite extraordinary as they perfectly deliver the distancing that is growing between the two friends. Even when the two characters share the same frame or narrative space (which is a considerably large section of the film) the delivery of the distancing between the two characters is phenomenal, making the tight framing of the film seem even more poignant and exacerbating the feeling that something has happened in the course of this friendship that has altered in such an unforgivable way that the two characters will never be the same again.

As discussed the dialogue in the film is sporadic and mainly emanates from Kurt discussing old times or how the worlds that the two live in are growing apart, doesn't necessarily mean it is weak or adds little to the film's tone, rather that it releases a more poetic feeling and each word leaves a lasting impression. Such an affect in fact, that it’s difficult to recall the last time when words and characters were quite so well crafted. The way in which Kurt recalls his meaningless anecdotes (such as the occasion when he borrowed another friend’s bike) can only mean that they have nothing left to say to one another, something that is also present in the way that Mark spends more time on the phone to his wife than catching up with his old friend.

The soundtrack of Old Joy (composed by Yo La Tengo) is another element of its construction that is worthy of more attention than many would make it seem. Like the dialogue of the film it is erratic and seems only to be used in a few travelling sequences and not over the predictable sections of film such as over poignant dialogue. However this is not a weakness, but rather a cleverly orchestrated tactic so that it doesn’t obscure the meaning and significance of the words. Like the cinematography of the film, the soundtrack leaves a foreboding sense that adds to the film’s core theme of growing old and moving on, which can be felt in the way in which the music is essentially the same guitar part with varying complimentary instruments with it.

The true highlight of the film comes not from its construction or script, but rather from the feeling that the friendship will not stand the test of time and that things may be fine for these two old friends, but it will not last much longer - a feeling that can be felt within each of us, even if it is not immediately so and the sense that you are almost watching your own lives and not those of two actors on screen.