belated review: Under the Silver Lake

 

There's a scene late in Under the Silver Lake in which a character known only as "the Songwriter" plays a piano medley of songs he's written and attributed to other artists. He segues from classical pieces by Erik Satie to Gershwin and Berlin to the TV theme from Cheers so seamlessly you almost don't notice. When the medley starts to include piano versions of popular music from the 90s and modern day, the transitions become increasingly jarring, an effect the Songwriter is clearly intentionally striving for. This scene could easily be seen as a microcosm for the anomaly that is Under the Silver Lake.

    The story is set in motion when the protagonist, Sam (Andrew Garfield) meets Sarah, a beautiful new neighbor played by Riley Keough, and forms an instant connection with her one fun-filled night. They make plans to meet again the following day, only for Sam to find that Sarah, her roommates, and all of their possessions have mysteriously vanished from the apartment. The night wasn't Sam's imagination; the landlord agrees that Sarah and her roommates lived there, but sees absolutely nothing odd about their disappearance. They had pre-paid for the month, so as far as he's concerned, everything's copacetic. But over the course of the night, Sam had fallen in . . . . well, maybe not love, exactly, but deep like. He has to find out what happened to Sarah.

    What follows is, in some ways, a tribute to the film noir mysteries of classical Hollywood cinema. An intentionally retro score reminiscent of Bernard Herrmann (he who composed movie music for Hitchcock and Welles) plays as Sam's amateur investigation uncovers hidden codes, mysterious strangers, secret societies, a murdered millionaire, a grieving heiress, a mysterious, wealthy villain, and other tropes familiar to anyone who's watched a movie directed by Hitchcock or starring Bogie.

    But! This is no straight-forward pastiche. Director/ writer David Robert Mitchell packs this story with narrative and visual oddities that Hitchcock or Hawks never would have dreamed of: a dancer obsessed with balloons. A sexy, possibly supernatural serial killer who kills her victims while wearing nothing but an owl mask. Whereas detectives played by Humphrey Bogart or Jimmy Stewart might encounter a stalker dressed in a trench coat, the two mysterious strangers Sam keeps encountering are dressed as a pirate and a medieval king, respectively. Yes, other people see and even interact with the pirate. No, nobody but Sam notices that there's something odd about the fact that a man dressed as a pirate is wandering around the high society of Los Angeles.

    As for the time period the filmmaker's going for, that's intentionally all over the timeline, just like the Songwriter's alleged repertoire. The existence of Google and laptops firmly establishes the setting as modern day, but the protagonist dresses like he's in the early 80s, his favorite band is from the early 90s, and, as observed, the music score is made to sound like it's from the 40s or the 50s. When people in this movie listen to music, it's always on vinyl, never on CD or digital download. When they watch movies or TV, it's always from yesteryear -- early sixties at the most recent, but the 50s and 40s are also represented, and Sam even settles down to watch a silent film or two during his breaks from his investigation into Sarah's disappearance.

    Sam's investigation is fascinating as it unfolds, but equal parts maddening and satisfying for fans of the mystery genre. Much of his investigation follows a convoluted but undeniable logic as he goes from clue to clue, deciphering one code only for it to lead to another. Yet there are times when the ups and downs in Sam's life seem to depend entirely on coincidence. His mother obsesses over the films of Janet Gaynor, and when Sam passes out after binge drinking, he wakes up on Gaynor's grave. Not once but twice, Sam jumps through myriad hoops to learn of and gain access to a highly secret club, only for a couple of his friends to casually walk up to him once he's inside, and Sam chooses to accept this rather than rail at the unnecessary lengths he'd gone to. And coincidence, and coincidence, and so on, and so on.

    As for Sam himself, he's thoroughly believable, perhaps because, despite his own multiple quirks, he seems like the one normal person in contrast to the insanity all around him. He's unemployed, days away from being evicted, and he doesn't seem to care about or even register that those are bad things. He dresses so casually that he spends half of the film dressed in an undershirt and pajama pants, and yet even then finds a way to fit in at fancy cocktail parties and nightclubs, as in L.A., dressing fancy is respectable, but dressing differently is admirable.

    Yeah, that distinction is a fine line, but this whole movie is about establishing fine lines and then boldly walking over them. The contradictions run fast and furious here. Sam is a charming loser, a thoroughly irresponsible young man who has admirable tenacity when he sets his mind to something, capable of being at once flummoxed by his situation and easily adaptable to it. The movie is inherently fun and goofy and deadly serious about it. The sum of all those contradictions is that, like most films, this certainly isn't for everyone. As for me, I thoroughly enjoyed this movie, and whole-heartedly recommend it to anyone who wants to see something new and creative and different.