Published at 6:05 PM on January 22, 2008

Sundance: Downloading Nancy

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I think I’ve figured out why the three characters in Johan Renck’s Downloading Nancy scream and flail and swing golf clubs at people and engage in masochistic behavior. It can’t be explained through simple psychology. (In her notes, Maria Bello’s psychiatrist writes “patient thinks she’s unattractive.” “Duh,” Bello says in unison with the audience.) It can’t be the ominous droning score, which could almost be soothing in a different context. It might be the hideous decor of every single location, but that would probably elicit mere chuckles from most folks: those lamps, that wood panelling, that putting green in the basement.

No, the only thing that can explain such skin-cutting and total dysfunction is the oppressive green tint of the picture. It’s like working under fluorescent lights for 72 hours straight. After a ninety-minute sample I wanted to claw out my eyes, so I’m sure it would drive anyone who had to live in it toward self mutilation. The same hue covered The Wackness, but those characters were self-medicating; the folks in Downloading Nancy are trying to tough it out, and they’re failing miserably.

I’m not sure why green is in, but I’m surprised that even reliable cinematographer Christopher Doyle would succumb to the trend. Maybe someone saw the opening of Last Life in the Universe, the Thai film that Doyle shot for Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, paused the DVD and said, “Yeah, like that,” without pressing play and discovering that it’s the rich, brown middle where the film shines.

Downloading Nancy has no such visual break, and in some ways that’s fitting. Nancy’s marriage seems far beyond the point of resuscitation. She escapes from her distracted, insensitive husband to the Internet for conversation and virtual sex that often involves hurting herself physically, her own form of self-medication. But we don’t see much of that because the film picks up later, when all of the above is a foregone conclusion and Nancy has left home to meet her Internet companion, not for simple sex but for destruction.

This is a grim film from beginning to end, but it’s not without its merits. The performances are fully committed to the darkness, the fractured timeline is deftly conveyed (the presence of a dog and the marks on a forearm become signposts), and the dreaded green hue probably has the intended effect.

And yet I wish I understood how or why things came to this and knew more about the rope whose end Nancy has reached. I wish I’d been able to slip into the head of one of the characters, past the abraded skin and vibrating skull and into the hurting brain, but the psychobabble offered no entry, nor did the “Inspired by True Events” title that appeared at the end, thumbing its nose at anyone who’d been thinking, “Right. Give me a break.” There’s no abstracted subtext like in Marina de Van’s In My Skin, no emotional surface to caress.

There’s only pale green pain.

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