Your Sister’s Sister
Written and Directed
By: Lynn Shelton
Starring: Mark
Duplass, Rosemarie DeWitt, and Emily Blunt
Director of Photography: Benjamin Kasulke, Editor: Nat
Sanders, Production Designer: John Lavin, Original Music: Vince Smith
Rosemarie
DeWitt doesn’t need dialogue. The unconsciously beautiful actress, perhaps best
recognized as the titular character of Rachel
Getting Married, seems to transcend scripts with her ability to shoot her
eyes across the room. She never goes for big dramatic scenes; her best moments
are the way she moves the hand across the table, or fixes her hair, or simply
moves in an unexpected way. Even after delivering the “big monologue” in Your Sister’s Sister, it’s the emotion
registered in her face that gave me chills.
And
given that Your Sister’s Sister is
mainly an improvised film (more on that later), it’s no wonder that DeWitt shines
throughout this amusing and often touching comedy that sadly shoots itself in
the foot (definitely more on that later). The film comes from Lynn Shelton,
last seen bringing us the odd and fascinatingly fresh Humpday, which followed two best friends who dared each other to
make a gay porn. Both Humpday and Your Sister’s Sister start off with
premises that sound not too far from the world of Judd Apatow, but as soon as
you enter them, you understand what makes her fresh.
Your Sister’s Sister begins with a
eulogy of a man who passed away a year ago, only to be interrupted by the man’s
brother, Jack. Played by Mark Duplass, Jack is bitter and drunk, not because he
actually hated his brother, but because he can’t let go of him. After making
everyone awkward, Jack’s friend Iris (Emily Blunt) checks up on him. Iris used
to date Jack’s brother, though both Jack and Iris have formed a friendship that
is playful. Iris sends Jack up to her father’s cabin, an isolated location
where he can free his mind and let go of the past.
Except
Jack isn’t alone; Iris’s older sister Hannah is also there, and after an
awkward nude interaction (one Shelton plays to big laughs, though not obvious
ones), the two bond over a bottle of whiskey. It turns out Hannah has just got
out of a seven year relationship with her partner, hoping to get her own alone
time. Shelton, a queer filmmaker herself, handles the fact of Hannah’s
sexuality terrifically in a way few films manage to do; it weaves it into the
structure of the narrative without ever calling attention to itself. It simply
feels like it’s a natural part of the script, instead of forcing it into the
story (something I thought the “naturalistic” but very self-conscious Weekend lacked).
Without
spoiling much, Your Sister’s Sister
then becomes a very tense and very awkward comedy when Iris, Hannah, and Jack
all end up at the cabin, and emotions come to the forefront. Shelton, who
certainly belongs to the mumblecore generation, has talked in interviews about
the improvisational format she uses (scenes are written with beginning and
ends, but leaves a lot of room for openness). And she finds a beautiful craft
piecing together the film’s visual language, constantly capturing the perfect
reaction shot to a line, relishing in the double entendre.
It’s
a real shame though, that Your Sister’s
Sister takes a bold third act twist, one that while a bit unnatural,
could’ve led to some, truly poignant sequences, and then shoves them into a 10
minute montage drowned out by music (it felt even longer). This montage—stylistically
different from the rest of the film—feels like a complete cop out, and
Duplass’s final speech feels just as unearned (as much of Duplass’s constantly
smug performance, the complete opposite of the honesty DeWitt brings). Did
Shelton not know how to end her story? Did she feel pressed for time? It’s a
shame how frustrated I felt by this third act, given how much I appreciate the
warmth and subtlety of the friendships displayed by Shelton in most of her
film. There’s such an organic vibe throughout the film,
along with the visuals that capture both comedy and melancholy, that Your Sister’s Sister’s ending feels like
a total trainwreck, and there’s no way around that. It’s a shame, because
DeWitt is simply radiant, capturing the fear of the unknown with the flash of
an eye.
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