Director: David Heinz
MPAA Rating: PG
Runtime: 99 mins
The most evocative image of David Heinz’s American Folk comes from the meet-cute between our protagonists, which sets its thematic direction diligently. Beleaguered musician Elliot absorbs himself into the music coming from his Walkman (the first sign this film is a period piece) that is resting in the seat next to his on a commercial flight to New York. Joni, a stranger occupying the aisle seat, connects their headphones together in an act of spontaneous intimacy that throws off the isolation music gives him.
As succinct as they come, this opening exchange illustrates the power music has as both a divider and connector among people, and Heinz establishes a sweet, airy romance to unfold as these two strangers travel together. Then, to put it as bluntly as possible, 9/11 happens, and our couple, delirious from what took place at their destination, are stranded and decide to journey via the back roads of America.
From Joni’s aging, flower-child Grandmother, they receive a Volkswagen bus filled with folk instruments and reminders of another turbulent time in American history, and, uncertain of what awaits them when they arrive, they begin their cross-country drive. By hitting you with this hefty dose of seriousness from the get-go, the film sets itself up to fail, as inevitably, based on the pieces it sets into place, the film devolves into the romantic road movie it was always destined to be.
Its status caught between the political reality of its setting and the inconsequential nature of its narrative is what makes Folk such a tonally strained conundrum to sit through. The World Trade Center terror attack is not something you want looming over the budding romantic relationship between two folk musicians. It kinda kills the mood.
Their journey through the now-forever-altered America serves a similar purpose to most road films charted through the central states in that it concerns itself with finding a tangible “real America” to prove that it still exists. Narratively sparse though it may be, American Folk conjures two solid episodes to express this theme through as our couple crosses paths with a hermit Vietnam vet who can repair their overheating Volkswagen and are momentarily joined by a young lesbian couple who are on their way to come out to one of their parents.
These moments are suitably didactic to the film’s resolve, hammering home that, in America, we 1) never forget our veterans and that 2) we are tolerant and accepting, but our couple inexplicably lack agency in these episodes. They are akin to passengers, and the minor thrill of the “will-they-won’t-they?” that threaded its way throughout the film is put on a backburner, much like it does whenever the film periodically reminds of what happened in New York.
Despite his emphasis on this tumultuous period in relation to folk music, Heinz harnesses the soundtrack of classic acoustic tunes as a means of escapism for Elliot and Joni rather than a response to the tragedy in question. In that regard, you could almost accuse him of historical revisionism, sanitizing the radical political roots of American folk music’s appeal in order to utilize it as a source of simple anthems of unity in trying times.
Its surface message boils down to the necessity of music to communicate what an unspeakable present cannot put into words, that as long as we can find a reason to sing together in a round, that slice of what we label “the true America” can never truly dissipate. While that may be a suitable moral for a Disney film, grafting it onto the complex emotions spawned from the World Trade Center attack borders on the naïve for my tastes.
Heinz, try as he might, is no more focused a director as he is a storyteller. He routinely falls for the trappings of that “fresh out of film school” style that instills directors like Terrence Malick as the pinnacle of American movie making. His reliance on interludes composed of extreme close-ups rendered in slow motion as points of emphasis certainly look aesthetically pleasing, but they are thematically vacant in his usage.
Much like his extensive usage of dialogue-free, soundtracked montage, they seem only useful to liven up the dead spots of Joni and Elliot’s multi-state trek. The implementation of style without substance befalls many a debuting director, and Heinz is an example of its most detrimental.
With no other way to say it, 9/11 is a dangerous thing to introduce into a narrative. Many who initially had noble intentions often come out on the side of being tasteless, disrespectful or dangerously simple minded in hindsight. While I don’t believe American Folk borders on bad taste, although the inclusion of archival memorial footage toed a line, use of the topical period as a plot device makes the film resistant to any entry point.
Too serious to be lighthearted but too nonchalant to hold any weight, American Folk is an anomaly that doesn’t work either way.
