Tallulah

I'm not sure how I feel about this whole "Netflix Revolution" that's been happening over the past few years. On one hand, I like how it's been able to expose my friends to some older films and indie films that they likely would have never seen otherwise, and in terms of TV I like being able to watch quality television like Breaking Bad and House of Cards in the way that one would read a book. On the other hand, I think that Netflix going into new film distribution is really troubling and disheartening. Yes, there are certain films that would be better seen on your 32-inch television or laptop. And yes, going to the movies is expensive and it's easier to just sit on your couch and watch Netflix. However, seeing a movie in a theatre, on a big screen in a dark room with a crowd of strangers, is something that's incredibly special and dear to me. The movie theatre has been my home-away-from-home since elementary school. It forces you to unplug from the world for a couple hours and embrace yourself in a story. It's the most beautiful communal art form that brings people together in a way that most art forms don't anymore.

I thought a lot about this while watching Tallulah, a Netflix pick-up from this year's Sundance Film Festival. It's a powerful film, and I think an important film, but throughout it's running time I kept thinking of how much more I might have enjoyed it if given the opportunity to experience in a dark theatre with a crowd of people.

Here's the basic set-up: Our main character, a homeless twentysomething drifter named Tallulah (or "Lu" for short), is living out of the back of her van while traveling across the country stealing credit cards and eating out of dumpsters with her boyfriend Nico. One day, however, Nico decides he's had enough of this life and takes off in the middle of the night, leaving Lu alone in a train station parking lot with no money. In response, she takes off to New York City, where she finds herself stealing room service leftovers (mainly food to tide herself over) from outside hotel rooms while trying to track down Nico's mother who lives in NYC.

While doing this at a high-end hotel, she is mistaken for housekeeping by a hotel guest named Carolyn, who is staying in a room with her one-year-old daughter, Maddy. While going on a drunk, profanity-laced, and incoherant rant to Lu about how she's going out tonight to impress a man since her husband is away in Cancun, Carolyn asks Lu to babysit Maddy, and Lu agrees once she sees how much money Carolyn is going to pay her (and also once she sees what a horrible, neglectant mother Carolyn is). Once Carolyn comes back from her affair even more drunk and passes out on her bed, Lu, having formed a connection with Maddy while her mother was away, quickly packs Maddy's things and takes her from the room. Once she finds Nico's mother, Margo, who lives in her ex-husband's 5th Avenue apartment while separated from him, Lu tells her that she is the biological mother of this baby and she needs a place to stay for the night. Margo obliges Lu, and gives her and Maddy the guest bedroom. 

That's about as far as I want to go into the plot, because what the film really becomes about is not only the beauty of motherhood, but also parental and societal responsibility for children. While the plot may have the makings of a Lifetime movie, writer/director Sian Heder is able to transcend the tropes by providing the audience with two fully developed and three-dimensional human beings as main characters. Ellen Page and Allison Janney (reunited from Juno, a similarly life-affirming film) show much more complete chemistry here than they did in that film, mainly because they just have a lot more time to spend together. Tammy Blanchard does a similiarly sublime job as Carolyn, even if I didn't quite buy her transformation by the film's end.

Overall, I believe Heder has crafted an insightful, absorbing film with her debut, painting characters with many shades of gray and giving a beautiful message that life is precious and worth living even if things don't go as planned. This would actually make a great double feature with Ellen Page's other 2016 indie film Into the Forest (which I reviewed a few weeks ago) as both are unequivocally feminist films that also honor the beauty and value of all human life. While I still believe some of the film's most intense scenes would be best viewed in a theatre, I also think this could be great Netflix viewing on a rainy day. However you decide to see it, this is one absolutely recommend.