For people who love film, I cannot recommend that you get The Criterion Channel enough. In the great streaming service debate, I think that the service is easily near the top, especially if you like titles that cater to independent, classic, or world cinema. For me, it’s a great place to grow and learn about the history of this wonderful medium. My personal advice is that while you should ask for recommendations, but also don’t be afraid to just dive in there and discover something. I’m not promising that they’re all masterpieces, but more often than not you’ll find something mesmerizing in its authenticity, desiring to learn more about the artist’s career.
More than that, I personally believe that The Criterion Channel is better than most competitors because of how many short films they have on the service. Along with work by The Safdie Brothers and Martin Scorsese, it’s a chance to explore how certain filmmakers got their starts, managing to shoot with limited access and create some of the most provocative art imaginable. I think in general most services are lesser for not allowing these voices to be heard, or at most done in a way that’s easy to access and navigate from the endless more conventional content.
Among the voices that I’ve discovered over the past month is Jennifer Reeder. As I do, I’ll surf through the various options and find something that I’m in the mood for. When you have 15 minutes to spare like I do, it becomes an interesting chance to explore art that is more ambitious, taking risks that work in the short-form narrative. In most cases, I come away really liking what I see but not necessarily feeling awestruck, like I’ve just discovered a brand new favorite. Somehow since starting my journey on January 2, Reeder has gone from a shot in the dark to someone that I’m deeply obsessed with.
If that name sounds familiar, it’s because of a specific Indiewire article that made the rounds following Bong Joon-ho’s incredible Oscar run with Parasite (2019). He listed off a series of filmmakers that he thought were very promising, and Reeder’s name was on there. I’ll confess that I only discovered this after watching all nine of her shorts on The Criterion Channel when I visited her website and became eager to see more. I’m glad to know that I’m not alone in loving her work because it really is something astounding. She’s an artist who explores the emotional complexity of relationships in ways that appeal to me and I think speak to my general ethos of what cinema should strive for.
I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t start my journey at A Million Miles Away (2014). For starters, it is the perfect overlap between my own goals as a writer and the things that I love about Reeder. It starts with teenage girls looking through a box of vinyl, critiquing the various media. Everything is abstract as it cuts to one of them singing an acapella cover of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” Given my affection for said song, I was already curious to know how this story would unfold, taking us into the prism of a substitute teacher who has trouble relating to her choir class singing a breathtaking cover of Judas Priest’s “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming.”
There is so much in the presentation of this that far exceeds the sometimes slightness of the story. It was also when I knew that Reeder and I would form this deep relationship for the next few weekends, watching her explore the human psyche in such fascinating ways.
Among the most noteworthy is how she deconstructs youth culture by using its media in artful manners. There are whole passages of film that are only presented in subtitles, reflecting an interior monologue, as actors walk down hallways and wear these smiles. The insecurity of those words reflects a divide that becomes equally clear when the substitute teacher enters a room where every teen has their own world, reading books and gossiping about life. Even if there is one singular moment of harmony and unity, the rest has this insecurity, this inability to relate to each other. The teacher is an outsider, and the way that she becomes more accepted is subtle but effective.
Another tool is how Reeder uses those subtitles to convey the changing tone. While most of the subtitles are presented in conventional form, there are points where it changes color, where words or emojis begin to levitate away from the rest. By the end, an acronym flashes across the screen as its message is decoded. While some could argue that this is all style that accentuates a conventional narrative, I’m personally impressed with how she used it to convey internal emotion. Everything was purposeful, whether contributing directly to the story or making me get an atmospheric feel for this world. Reeder made something special, and the way that it has lingered only showed me why I continued down this path.
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| Jennifer Reeder |
The more that I saw, the more it became clear that she had so many ambitions in the idea of loneliness. With Tears Cannot Restore Her, Therefore I Weep (2010), she takes a similar approach by having an ASL translator have a mental breakdown mid-session. It’s easily the most hypnotic and dreamlike of her work, conveying the struggle to be understood in a room full of people who just want to learn science. There is a vulnerability to Reeder’s work that speaks to me, and I love how she conveys the real world not only through character drama but by understanding our relationship to media. The way that most of these shorts crib from rock songs, playing with subtitles to challenge dual emotions, only reflects how much she has to say and how effectively she does in such a short period.
Other shorts like Blood Below the Skin (2015) and And I Will Rise If Only to Hold You Down (2011) have this captivating way of capturing the human drama, finding home and social lives clashing in these angst-ridden ways. It’s the struggle to hold onto sanity and joy amid a changing world. Reeder’s ability to look into the lives of teenage girls and find something more substantial definitely elevates her work into a unique class. She paints these snapshots that are unlike anything else I’ve seen, where a pop song can become dreamlike, repurposed into fantasy and reality with differing meanings. It can be cathartic and healing, serving as an escape from real-world pain. There are even segments of dancing, all conveying something abstract but ultimately useful in understanding this world.
I will end by talking about Seven Songs About Thunder (2010), which is one of the starkest shorts on this list. Whereas most can claim to be more sketches of a moment in one’s life, I think that this one is conversing with something unspoken and real. Her dreamlike style is there, but it feels grounded in real feelings this time around.
The most noteworthy way is how the protagonist stumbles upon the body of a dead teenage girl. She begins conversing with her in this affectionate manner, wanting to believe that this is bringing her some solace. The protagonist is later seen becoming pregnant, going through very blunt conversations about the process of birthing. The imagery is very clear. It’s more about the process than anything resembling joy for the life that’s about to come. Once again, it’s also about the conflict between the relationships around this decision, but it ultimately leads to a story that has one very striking yet simple scene. I have my own personal read of the short and why the dead girl is important, though I wish you to discover it yourself just to know how bold Reeder can be. Even the fact that she summarizes it emotionally with her singing Guns ‘N Roses’ “Sweet Child O’ Mine” only reflects how in tune with world symbolism she actually is.
This is obviously an overview and one that barely begins to scratch the surface. I am confident that there’s a lot more where this came from. If you take nothing else from this post, I hope that you’re encouraged to watch more shorts and expand your overall tastes to include these smaller artists. Every now and then you’ll stumble across someone like Reeder, who connects with your ethos as a creator and makes art that captivates on a human scale. If you’re having trouble getting started, I recommended any of the ones discussed here.
I won’t suggest that I love all of them equally, but the idea of discovery is thrilling and I hope that I can find more artists like Reeder who inspire. For now, I am curious to check out her feature-length work, including her most recent Knives and Skin (2019) which sounds like a detour from her recent work. Even then, I go in blindly and know so little. What does she have to say at feature-length? Will she play with the form with as clever of a result? I really want to know. While this week’s column may not necessarily be about one movie, it would be disingenuous if I didn’t dedicate it to her. She has made the past three weeks much more enjoyable and I look forward to discovering more along the way.
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