Director: Rachel Wolther
Writer: Rachel Wolther
Stars: Aristotle Athari, Chloe Cherry, Catherine Cohen
Synopsis: Neighbors prank each other, situation escalates comically amid NYC apartment complex’s cutthroat politics, exploring absurdity of conflict between residents.
To live in New York is to deal with annoying neighbors. In most cases, the way it’s dealt with is just by ignoring it. I think back to the time when I lived beneath somebody who lived alone, and he would just shout in anger at all hours of the day and night. Having barely, if ever, interacted with him, I could only assume it had to do with the video games I could hear being played, or his professional life. If you’re wondering what that profession might have been, I can assure you it’s as nightmarish as you could imagine. Yes, he was a DJ. And no, the mixes my roommate and I became privy for the two years there were certainly not great. The constant loop of thrumming bass, over and over and over. It was awful. And what did we do about it? The same thing most New Yorkers tend to do: complain about it to everybody. Except, of course, to the person causing the problem. Personally speaking, that’s far too confrontational. I am of the belief that dealing with it internally is the best solution. We did once leave an anonymous note requesting, at the very least, that the loud music was played during reasonable hours of the day. Headphones do exist! It got better for a week or two, before starting from scratch yet again. The same bass looping ad infinitum.
What was I to do? Eventually, the bass became the soundtrack to my own thoughts about this stranger. Here’s a person who has no presence in my life, yet fundamentally affects my day-to-day thoughts on some level. It forced me to become curious about what he’s doing when he’s not DJing. The behavior of screaming into the void makes you wonder how self-aware he truly is.. I moved out of that apartment, and am living in a much quieter, and nicer, building. I haven’t thought about my DJ neighbor since then, but Rachel Wolther’s The French Italian certainly brought those memories back to me. And it’s in the curiosity and self-imposed helplessness of a New Yorker that this film lives. Valerie (Cat Cohen) and Doug (Aristotle Athari) live in a rent-controlled brownstone on the Upper West Side. Their idyllic safe haven quickly falls apart when their downstairs neighbors begin constant screaming matches and karaoke sessions. It’s an immediate way to garner sympathy and mine countless comedic moments. It’s in this central conflict that Wolther’s film takes shape, and examines the question of whether or not people do have self-awareness regarding their “private” lives.
The film opens with a delicious looking spread of baked goods from the legendary New York establishment, Zabar’s. Valerie and Doug are on their way to a friend’s dinner party with it. Upon arrival, they make the outrageous claim that the cookies are all homemade. It seems like a spur-of-the-moment decision on Valerie’s part, but Doug instantly backs her up. If this film is bolstered by anything in its rough patches, it’s in the relationship between our two leads. Described by another character as having achieved “mind-meld”, the two are completely in sync with the idiosyncrasies of one another. It’s incredibly endearing, even as Wolther slowly reveals the layers showing these lead characters aren’t necessarily bastions of moral integrity. The main reason we accept these two characters as the leads is because they’re who Wolther introduces us to. Going back to thinking about my DJ neighbor upstairs, I’m sure there were occasions where my films were played a bit too loud for his liking. Or maybe we did have a gathering that ran a bit too late. If we’re operating under the assumption that most people live their life as if they’re the main character, the chances people see their own harmless actions as being in the wrong are highly unlikely. So yes, once Valerie and Doug hear “La Bamba” (the perfect song for such a scenario) sung for the umpteenth time, the audience immediately sides with the two in their quest for revenge.
Admittedly, the central scheme The French Italian revolves around is a funny one. It makes for some really great gags, especially from theater actor/friend Wendy (a stand-out zany Ruby McCollister). Valerie and Doug decide to stage a fake play in order to lure ex-neighbor Mary (Chloe Cherry) into an audition and learn more about her, before eventually confronting her for the pain she and her partner had caused our protagonists. And while this makes for a lot of escalating hilarity, the film does feel at its strongest when grappling with these annoying neighbors through the lens of Valerie and Doug’s imagination. There’s perhaps nothing more relatable than crafting stories around the complete strangers in our lives who we just so happen to see or hear of regularly. And in that regard, we would learn just as much about Valerie and Doug through their “dissections” of the people around them. Some of the funniest sequences of the film involve just Valerie and Doug’s expressions trying to pinpoint their neighbors’ ins and outs, or an event that lies unseen and unheard to the audience.
New York, and the world at large, is full of enigmatic individuals we’re likely to never fully engage with. But that allows our imaginations to run completely wild and make up stories about who they are. In the fantastic riffing between Cohen and Athari’s performances is what allows Wolther’s film to occasionally soar. These two people are wholly committed to their own views of themselves. When thinking of the self-awareness I mentioned earlier, these characters have none. What’s worse; they feign having it, making their rationalizations amongst one another all the more funny. In reality, their scheme alone proves that they’re not all that great of people as they think they are. Constantly talking about having one’s life together doesn’t equate to the lengths in which they take their stunt. The goofiness in which they go through life feels like a very clear diversion from the anger and resentment they feel about their situation. But it feels like Wolther’s script is less interested in examining that than it is mining potential jokes for all they’re worth. It’s a comedy, so it can obviously coast on just being funny. But by the conclusion of the film, it does feel like The French Italian would benefit from an even slightly deeper layer of examination. But when Wolther’s comedic strengths do hit, it’s laugh-out-loud funny.
More than anything, The French Italian must be applauded for being a straight-up comedy. There’s obviously no issue with blending genres together, but so few comedies nowadays feel as if that’s all they are aspiring to be. And Wolther, who when asked about the conception of this film, expressly voiced her anxieties of feeling like a hack, admirably commits to being a goofy comedy. It builds up situations that are then comically torn down. It also happens to feature a variety of wonderful performances from many recognizable New York character actors. This is a New York film through and through, even going so far as to disrupt a dolly shot abruptly in fear of a rat encounter on the street. It’s moments like those, or in Cherry’s performance as a wildly obtuse actress, or the loving jabs taken at improv and poorly conceived plays, when Wolther’s great sense-of-humor can be felt. New York is such an odd place to live, and every day here provides us with a new ridiculous story to tell our friends and loved ones. While it does feel like The French Italian writes itself into a corner at times, the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and the countless laugh-out-loud performances within, make it a worthy film about one of the many painful New York experiences.
The French Italian celebrated its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival in the U.S. Narrative Competition section. Tickets for screenings and more information on the film can be found right here.
