by Cain Noble-Davies
Worth: $15.00
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Cooper Raiff, Dylan Gelula, Amy Landecker, Logan Miller
Intro:
The only bombing taking place here is inside the chests of the audience.
In social situations, there are few things that feel worse than when you tell a joke, and no one laughs. Maybe it’s because of bad timing, a reference that is under- or over-explained, or it was too risqué for the other person’s tastes, but whatever the reason, that vacuous feeling of external silence and internal screaming is about as close to actual death as a person can go through without flat-out flatlining. It feels, to borrow this film’s original title, pretty Shithouse to go through.
Using this as pre-amble for an indie rom-com might give the impression that this is just 100 minutes full of that same dead air, and to a degree that’s accurate, but not in the sense that the film itself is bad. Rather, that misfired joke scenario is primarily used here as the main example of the lack of connection between people.
Focusing on Alex (director/writer/co-editor/star/caterer, probably, Cooper Raiff) as he navigates his way through college social life and customs, the way the writing and performances meld together is devastatingly impressive. It’s a movie made by introverts, for introverts, depicting interpersonal awkwardness uncomfortably, almost painfully. Raiff, along with Dylan Gelula as love interest Maggie, takes up most of the run time over two nights of low-key conversation, but in that tight space lies a breadth of honest and occasionally heartbreaking pathos.
Raiff’s filmmaking taps into the post-Judd Apatow brand of coming-of-age cinema, where the prospect of learning about oneself and one’s surroundings doesn’t have an age limit, and the lessons are palpable. The struggle to make new friends, the bizarre irony of sticking around old frenemies, selfishness vs. selflessness and the pain shared by both, and where the seeds of isolated loneliness are planted in earlier life… There is little-to-no sign of the drama being artificially ramped-up through contrivance.
Freshman Year is on par with Eighth Grade, a modern indie that understands social anxiety and how much of a battle it is to deal with, especially in predominantly-socialised environments like college. Every actor is excellent, including a very well-utilised Logan Miller as Alex’s roommate, and Raiff’s extensive contributions behind-the-scenes highlight a serious talent worth keeping an eye on. The only bombing taking place here is inside the chests of the audience.
