Originally a short film she worked on with Karen Maine and Elisabeth Holm, Gillian Robespierre’s talent and continued passion for the film shines through the feature length version of Obvious Child. Perhaps as a result of creating the short, the story of film’s final form is complex yet solid.

Set in Brooklyn, the film follows Donna Stern (Jenny Slate), a comedian in her late twenties going through several crises at once: getting dumped, getting fired, and getting pregnant. Though Donna seems to be going through a dark time, the comedy isn’t necessarily always dark—yet the story isn’t unrealistic, either.

From start to finish, Obvious Child induced non-stop laughter from the audience as a result of the perfect combination of a brilliantly organic performance from comedian and actor Jenny Slate, with a solid screenplay from writer and director Gillian Robespierre. In the Q&A following the screening, Robespierre described the first time she and the film’s co-writers saw Slate perform her stand-up routine. “We either wanted to be her best friend or put her in our film.”

Robespierre also mentioned how she was “fed up” with most of today’s romantic comedy films, especially ones that involve girls getting accidentally pregnant. Slate agreed with Robespierre that “[the film] has everyday comedy” and realistic dialogue.

When Donna meets Max (Jake Lacy), it’s obvious that he’ll be the love interest. The two do have chemistry; even in spite of what Max accidentally does to Donna in the alley when they first meet. But though their relationship is charming and not unlike that between the main characters of Knocked Up, it is definitely not the main focus, or most interesting aspect, of the story.

But vastly unlike romantic comedies—and in particular, accidental pregnancy—centered-films, Obvious Child includes abortion. Not all accidental pregnancies end with the woman having the baby, Robespierre pointed out. Abortion is a touchy subject, but somehow Robespierre included it without giving off a political tone. In fact, the film itself didn’t really give the impression that the story was just about abortion or that it was a “comedy about abortion,” as the Q&A moderator suggested.

Like Slate implied, the comedy of Obvious Child is present throughout in a natural flow, lacking any sitcom-y vibes. With that comes with female-centered comedy bits—both in Donna’s stand-up routine and in her life in general—that haven’t really been spoken about in other comedies with strong-leading ladies. The brilliant comedy and multi-dimensional character all come together through a role literally made for Slate, which she fits perfectly with her wittiness and despite her lack of acting experience.

Bridesmaids and Pitch Perfect were just the beginning. Not only does Obvious Child destroy the weirdly common notion that “women aren’t funny” —it redefines what romcom should be.

By Zoe Halsne

The post Obvious Child at Rooftop Films appeared first on NY Arts Magazine.

Those with rooftop wristbands followed signs through the long halls and winding staircases of the factory, operated and maintained by XØ Projects Inc, before stepping into the open-air theater. Plastic folding chairs offered a decadent escape, thanks to generously spaced rows, no doubt painstakingly placed by a team of hungry volunteers pursuing filmmaking careers.

In its 17^th year, Rooftop Films is a non-profit film festival and production collective based in Brooklyn, New York that teaches filmmaking to young people, and rents equipment at low-cost to artists and non-profits. It is also well known for screening a summer-long series of films, rotating through a cache of 20 different venues around New York City.

There was plenty of behind-the-screens effort, as a team managed the synchronized broadcast of the film onto the courtyard screen at the same time it was playing on the roof. The rest of Brooklyn carried on with itself. Planes made their descents, while saxophone music and laughter from a neighborhood gathering somewhere in nearby punctuated the quiet moments.

The last of seats were filled as the music ended and Program Director Dan Nuxoll approached the microphone to introduce the film, Cutie and the Boxer, its director Zach Heinzerling, and subjects Noriko and Ushio Shinohara. “I feel very at home here,” Noriko shared, “where I live opens onto a balcony which is the roof of the next door factory.” She was confident, yet demure, the epitome of a Japanese wife, welcoming the audience into the life that Heinzerling captured on film.

Cutie and the Boxer is a brief chapter of the difficult symbiosis of Noriko and Ushio, two flowers struggling to thrive in a single pot for close to 40 years. Introduced to the artist couple by a journalist friend, Heinzerling approached the Shinoharas in 2008 with cameras and began an obsessive collection of footage. A young cinematographer, Heinzerling was compelled to focus on a relationship that has little time for romance. He saw their meager DUMBO home as a perfect backdrop for the life of a starving artist.

Ushio Shinohara has been making inroads to the art scene since the early 1960s, with cardboard motorcycles and Boxing paintings, which grasp at the fury of Jackson Pollock, if Pollock had tapped into a meditative state, dipped foam-covered boxing gloves in pans of paint and boxed his way across a blank canvas. Early in his career, his colorful irreverence attracted young Noriko, an affluent student who quickly fell into a passionate affair with her countryman.

Right hooks and left jabs trademarking Ushio’s brand of action painting seemed to lack the punch Heinzerling was searching to power the story.  He instead relied heavily on art-docs from the 1970s and 80s to help describe the Japanese Neo-Dadaist character.

Reflecting on her past, Noriko uses calligraphy to illustrate the life of the impressionable “Cutie” who came to New York City and fell passionately in love with the volatile “Bullie,” an ineffectual artist who is often sprawled beneath a table, having emptied bottles of wine.

Heinzerling used Noriko’s art to animate the narrative, and the film is able to hint at the sadness that tints the life Noriko and Ushio have shared through the years. The young director exploits the light pouring into the couples home to expose the complicated kind of love that has sustained the creative dependence Ushio and Noriko work to cultivate. When the wind ruffled the outdoor screen, it gave the projection a shimmering quality.

However, Heinzerling tends to dehumanize his subjects, a fact that was exposed by listening to him describe his methodology while seated beside Ushio and Noriko. Ushio apparently felt a bit misled by Heinzerling. The 80-year old artist was under the impression that Heinzerling was composing yet another art-doc, but to Ushio’s dismay, it turned out to be a love story. The lovers are a fascinating example of the breadth in what constitutes a healthy relationship. There is no lack of complexity to the film.

Ultimately, it isn’t hard to forgive the young director. It is clear that he has much to experience, much to learn about love, but Cutie and the Boxer is a worthy effort at attempting to contribute something powerful to the world of art.

By Brette Weinkle

The post Cutie and the Boxer: Enduring Love Against the Ropes appeared first on NY Arts Magazine.