By Amanda Ack, Columnist
Lena Dunham must hate her life. That’s the only reason I can come up with for the overwhelming ennui that characterizes her body of work—particularly her latest endeavor, Nobody Walks.
Like Tiny Furniture and HBO’s Girls, it’s a standard Dunham original: bland, selfish people doing bland, selfish things, with no sense of personal accountability or growth.
Co-written by Dunham and director Ry Russo-Young, the film’s story is essentially a series of tangled love triangles, with Olivia Thirlby’s “Martine” at the center of the knot.
“Martine” is a 23-year-old artist who temporarily moves into the home of family man “Peter” (John Krasinski), who, at his wife’s request, has agreed to assist the young woman with the sound effects for her art film. Predictably, Martine’s presence disrupts the balance of the household, shattering the family’s delusions of happiness and sending everyone into a state of ambivalent angst.
It’s the sort of movie that’s obviously aiming right for the gut, but it’s just too weak to hit the target.
The characters’ ages range from early childhood to the cusp of middle age, yet everyone suffers from the same existential crisis, making them all feel like permanent adolescents. What’s more, no one changes or matures, so the actors have nothing to do except wander around throwing yearning glances at each other.
Perhaps the most disappointing thing about the film is that, although it’s poorly written, it’s a sensorial delight.
Russo-Young and cinematographer Chris Blauvelt have a cozy, intimate style, as well as a keen knack for shot economy. Similarly adept is sound designer Rich Bologna, who creates a full aural world that shifts abruptly between lush ambience and stark silence.
Despite its technical brilliance, Nobody Walks fails to hit home. It may be beautiful, but it suffers from a severe case of the doldrums—or, perhaps more accurately, a case of the Dunhams.
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