"I've seen the future, brother: it is murder." - Leonard Cohen
One of the finest compliments I can give to a movie is to say it feels like it is being beamed down from another planet. This doesn't just mean that it is odd or quirky, it means that it has broken from the shackles of all known convention, it is completely unpredictable, follows its own tune.
Miranda July's second feature, The Future, is one such film. It will never be accused of not having a definitive voice, however it is the type of picture that is very much your cup of tea or isn't.
It stars Ms. July as a timid children's dance instructor who lives in social hibernation with her longtime boyfriend. They maintain a shaky, insular lifestyle somewhat divorced from the comings and goings of the rest of humanity. For them, it's almost as if being an adult on Earth in a burdensome job and it's their first day.
Their fragile universe changes when they agree to adopt a wounded cat. Their inability to handle this minor responsibility strikes existential dread into the couples lives, sending them on a quest to have new experiences before the cat comes home and they are tethered to a more conventional life.
The Future opens with playful scenes of stoned-out comedy peppered with melancholy and fatalism. The film is actually "narrated" by the adorable cat, waiting for a new life of warmth and love, offering reflections of a "darkness that is not appropriate to talk about."
The film flows into surrealism, alternate realities, even magic that can be interpreted as imagined or not. I don't think the filmmaker cares much one way or the other.
July's camera is great with detail, focusing on textures in furniture and odd props. At home, her character is intentionally homely, with a terrible haircut and makeup to emphasize her schnozz. (It took a while, but in these scenes she reminded me of SNL alum Mary Gross.) In other contexts, her hair is straightened, her outfits less haphazard.
The Future works best when it stays small, focusing on the exaggerated behavior and Theater of the Absurd conflicts. I think it runs off the rails a bit toward the end, but I don't think this is the type of movie where you have to love all or love none. There are many funny and touching scenes, and the overall picture resonates with an understanding toward the fear of commitment.
Miranda July is hardly a prolific filmmaker (it's been over five years since Me and You and Everyone You Know), but she is a unique voice in cinema and her work in short story fiction and performance/installation art continues to impress. While I am not absolutely in love with this picture, I very much recommend it to anyone looking for something new from an assured and gifted talent.
