Congratulations to Jed Dietz and Skizz Cyzyk and Eric Allen Hatch for pulling together yet another incredible program for this year's Maryland Film Festival. It kills me to not be in Bal'more this weekend, experiencing the friendly, casual atmosphere that the MFF provides. I will certainly be there next year, even if I don't have a new film ready to present by then (at this stage, all signs are pointing in that lackluster direction).

The Maryland Film Festival isn't just noteworthy for its laid back, well run vibe. Jed and Skizz's commitment to celebrating short films is what makes the Maryland Film Festival so important and vital. Once again, tomorrow night's opening night program is not a star-laden Maryland-centric feature; it is a collection of wide-ranging, inspired shorts. I think that's really cool and deserves to be written about more often.

I've seen too many films in this year's program to list them here, so what I've decided to do is finally post my review of Mary Bronstein's Yeast, which is screening at the following times:

Saturday May 3 1:30 PM Charles Theater 1
Sunday May 4 4:30 PM Charles Theater 2

Being that I operated a second camera for a majority of the film, I feel it's inappropriate for me to post this review over at Hammer to Nail. But I also stand firm in my appreciation of Mary's electrifying debut, especially after having had discussions with some people who responded to it negatively. I think a lot of people are missing the point. That said, here's my eight or nine cents on the situation...

YEAST -- Hate Rising

Trying to uncover a cinematic precedent for Mary Bronstein’s Yeast is quite the assignment. Has there ever been a film written and directed by a female--and perhaps most importantly, starring--that is so unflinching, unflattering, and uncomfortable? Barbara Loden’s Wanda? Marina de Van’s In My Skin? Jodie Foster's Little Man Tate? (Just kidding about that last one.) Yet those comparisons don’t apply completely, because while Bronstein’s debut more than deserves those blunt, abrasive adjectives, it also happens to be laugh-out-loud funny and somehow, against all of those seemingly insurmountable odds, surprisingly light. In Rachel, Bronstein has brought to life a character that makes Nicole Kidman’s Margot look like a sprightly, good-natured charmer. Her hilarious and confrontational depiction of this bottled-up young woman’s painful fall from a grace that never was is a refreshing elbow to the face of the screen’s typical portrayal of female friendships.

Bronstein’s Rachel is the type of person who makes you wonder how she ever had a friend in the first place. Apparently she did, in the form of current roommate Alice (Amy Judd) and reunited buddy Gen (Greta Gerwig), but it’s also clear that whatever it was that brought these three females together in the beginning–most likely random dorm room selection–it wasn’t the most godly source. Yeast captures, albeit in excruciatingly heightened detail, that moment when a relationship has run its course and there is nothing anyone can do but accept that fact and move on. Underneath the disgusting glaze, Bronstein’s ultimate point seems to be a pure one: If it ain’t working, why force it?

While Rachel is clearly stunted on a level the likes of which the screen has rarely seen, everyone in Yeast is suffering from some form of emotional constipation. Judd’s Alice knows that she is through with her tormentor, but she is finding it impossible to break free. Gen is a spoiled pothead who doesn’t appear to have many goals in life. But this immaturity isn’t relegated to the females. There is a confrontation during a camping trip between Rachel and Gen and two random guys who are building a dam (filmmakers Josh and Benny Safdie) that feels like it could have taken place on an elementary school playground. This staggeringly juvenile exchange might have actually made more sense if it had been acted out by a cast of eight-year-olds. Just as stunted, albeit in a much different way, is Tony (cinematographer Sean Williams, delivering a wallop of a performance), who recognizes his power over Rachel and does his damnedest to get under her skin. Which he does.

A common gripe I've heard is that each scene in Yeast is a repeat of itself. In a superficial sense this is true, but in a deeper sense, it's the fucking point. While the situations happening here are reflecting a heightened representation of life--or at least any life I've ever encountered--the reality is that we as human beings are stupid and stubborn and overstay our welcomes in relationships of every shape and variety (romantic, platonic, familial, etc.). For me, one of Bronstein's most groundbreaking narrative choices is in the way she delays and manipulates our preconceived notions of drama and conflict. In a typical film, the first act or two would be a quiet, respectful, gradual build to the eventual melodramatic confrontation when the relationship has reached its shattering point. Here, we begin at that shattering point with every single character and every single exchange. When Gen uses a big rock to hammer a tent stake into the ground, or when Alice washes a knife as Rachel verbally abuses her from just a few feet away, we expect the inevitable. But Bronstein won't give it to us. It is this running tension that makes Yeast so riveting and playfully twisted. My hunch is that the viewer who embraces Bronstein's conscious tugging of our strings of expectation will get a kick out of the film. For those viewers wearing different goggles, maybe not so much.

While all of this might sound awful and unbearable and abrasive, it most certainly is. But what keeps Bronstein’s experiment from suffocating under the weight of its own thick, sweaty skin is its unyielding sense of humor. Yeast is funnier than most supposed comedies. Rachel’s inability to be anything other than horrifically offensive and abusive is so preposterous that one can’t help but laugh at her. One must give credit here to Bronstein the actress, whose expressive performance feels humane even at its most off-putting and cruel. This humanity is evident in Bronstein’s role behind the camera as well. She establishes, without music, without camera trickery, without any artifice, a tone that is nearly impossible to describe. Like the most worthwhile art, Yeast is certain to cause a reaction.