I'd love her if it weren't that I bind myself to a single joy

The trailer for Old Joy that ran before the recent screening of Jonestown at the Red Vic was enough to attract me for another budget-priced matinée today. I hadn't seen Will Oldham in a movie since his memorable turn in Matewan, and the Yo La Tengo soundtrack seemed like another vote of confidence from a familiar artist.

From the outset, Old Joy sucks you into its world with its impossibly slow tempo. It depicts a young father-to-be heading out on a brief camping trip in Oregon with an old friend, the drifting but insightful character strongly portrayed by Oldham. Mark is the responsible one who needs a little downtime outside Portland; Kurt, lost in his own emotional interiority, mostly needs a hot meal and ten bucks. Within the first five minutes of the film, we've already seen people sitting around waiting for something to happen. You'd be forgiven if you left the theater feeling like you'd been doing exactly that for the film's 76 minutes, as the boys get lost on the road, camp out, reminisce about old times, get breakfast and hike out to some hot springs for a dip.

I liked both characters. Both are familiar; they may be two sides of oneself. They remind me of people with whom I went to school, some of whom don't take themselves too seriously today, some of whom have taken on more work than they can handle. In some ways, characterization is one of very few things Old Joy gives you, besides scenery. (It also gives you Air America, by the way, to frame Mark's existence in the distressed detachment of contemporary life, delivered via radio feed.)

There is a fair amount of subtlety in the film's dialogue, and in its woodsy scenes. Minutes go by with shots of trees, water, leaves, big slugs and dogs, as well as people drinking beer and smoking pot. I hesitate to say this is wasted time; a lot of it is quite pretty, and some of it is highly revealing. I've often been bothered to hear people say they didn't like The Station Agent, one of my all-time favorites, because there are too many shots of people staring into the distance and smoking cigarettes. But in the case of Old Joy, there is simply not enough happening that made me feel like I'd experienced much at all. Both people, in the end, return to where they've been, and it's not clear whether they've changed much at all, whether they remain friends or not.

That said, I didn't share the exasperation of the one-star reviewer on IMDB, who seemed to think the worst aspect of the movie was that the filmmakers played fast and loose with the geography of the greater Portland area. Man, I hope no one tells him Dustin Hoffman drives the wrong way on the Bay Bridge in The Graduate.


[UPDATE: It's almost a week later, and I have to admit that Old Joy has really stayed with me. The film did lack action, but it was made of highly contemplative material, and it has continued to provoke reactions in me all week long. At this moment I actually have the urge to see it again. Consider me a DVD ownership candidate.]