A pre-apocalyptic love story set on the fringes of society, Bellflower is quite unlike most modern independent film. Although it shares much with the mumblecore movement (non-professional actors, low budget, digital cinematography, and a focus on character relationships instead of a traditional narrative), it differsdramatically from the naturalist aesthetic most films from the movement strive to attain. There is nothing naturalist about Bellflower, and that’s what makes it so brilliant.
As a tale of two Wisconsin transplants living in Southern California, Woodrow (Evan Glodell, also the first-time writer/director) and Aidan (Tyler Dawson), the film is a macho male bonding saga along the lines of Fight Club, though without that film’s distinctive social commentary or noteworthy twist ending. The two spend their days drinking whiskey, driving muscle cars, and building flamethrowers in preparation for the coming apocalypse, inspired, of course, by their childhood obsession with Mad Max. It’s easy to imagine a film wholly based around these two, following their increasingly insane antics as they gradually lose touch with reality, but Bellflower isn’t interested in that. At least, not totally.
As a blossoming love story between Woodrow and Milly (Jessie Wiseman), the film enters new territory, exploring the kind of destructive relationship favoured by most mumblecore works, although instead by emphasizing and literalizing the destructive element. As the two pass through the usual relationship cycle – meet-cute (at a cricket-eating competition), aggressive flirting (on a spontaneous cross-country road trip), consummation (impromptu and hungover), downfall (mostly passed over via jump cut), and eventual break-up – Glodell raises the emotional stakes, heightening the sensations of each stage and turning them into exceptionally affecting events. Thus, the break-up becomes borderline cataclysmic, fulfilling the disastrous expectations of Woodrow and Aidan, though not in the manner they had foreseen. Without treading into spoiler territory too much, it’s fair to say the film explores the same kind of beautiful dark twisted male fantasies as Fincher’s work; in that sense, Bellflower is simultaneously a call to arms and a warning bell for a new generation of disaffected young men. Some may call it dangerous, but I found it devastating.
Glodell’s talent is clear, and the aesthetic of his film is impressive and effective; he utilizes high-contrast cinematography, jittery, frantic editing, and the appearance of scratchy, low-grade celluloid (despite being shot digitally) to harken the work back to the exploitation era of the 1970s, referencing such works as the aforementioned Mad Max, Two-Lane Blacktop and Vanishing Point – all muscle car-centred films. By combining these traits with the extreme close-ups and roaming camera that are the trademarks of mumblecore, Glodell successfully melds the two forms, creating a new kind of modern cinematic movement – emotional exploitation, perhaps? The director also uses incendiary, somewhat melodramatic chapter titles to divide up his film, and while some might find that goofy and clichéd, it completely fits within the artificial aesthetic he develops. As with most mumblecore works, the acting is amateurish and juvenile (some would simply say ‘poor’), but it hardly matters in a film as focused on its craft as this one. The actors don’t make the movie, but they don’t ruin it, either.
Suffice it to say, Bellflower is a challenging, disturbing, affecting, and most of all consummate work of art. The pieces may not all be perfectly shaped, but the manner in which they fit together and form the whole is nothing short of masterful. Evan Glodell is a burgeoning filmmaker to watch, and an important figure for our pre-apocalyptic times.
