The Future - movie review

Usually as you leave a film you have a strong sense of whether or not you liked it. Sometimes a film takes a little longer to percolate; hours, days – even weeks. And then there are the strange and challenging few that require more than one watch - and a pretty big conversation - before you get an idea of what just happened and how you feel about it. These movies can be described, in the words of Mr Diddy, as a “mind fucking” and depending on the movie, the day and your mood, you are either up for a fucking of the mind or you are not.

If this review had been written immediately after the first screening it would probably go something like this:

The Future, writer/director/artist Miranda July’s sophomore release, looks at the challenges that face a thirty-something couple about to adopt a cat they lovingly dub Paw Paw. Consider this another kooky movie about hopeless hipsters who spend way too much time deliberating the should/would/could and way too little time actually doing anything. Every character has 5.5 too many quirks and speaks like they were home-schooled, and every metaphor seems to be dressed in doilies and wields powers of confusion. Sure it all means something, insists July, but with all that ukulele playing in the background who can tell what the hell that is?

But that’s all hogwash – believe none of it because after several viewings, some serious workshopping (most of which has taken place in the mind of the writer, and to a lesser extent with some dogs and cats she has met on the street) and about five drafts – this new review reads very differently.

Yes this film is kooky. And yes there are metaphors masquerading as other metaphors that, after ten coffee dates and a romantic weekend away, suddenly reveal themselves to be entirely different metaphors. There is a talking cat, and heed these words readers: s/he will break your heart, put it back together with tears and craft glue only to break it again. This film will confuse you, enlighten you, make you sad at nothing in particular only to suddenly uplift you when you least expect.

There hasn’t been a shortage of films waving banners that read: “Hey Gen X/Y – you better stop talking and start doing something before you get to forty and realise that red wine and big words aren’t an occupation” – in fact they seem to be multiplying, but what July manages to do here is more, well, more meaningful. July touches tenderly on notions of abandonment, loneliness, dissatisfaction and sexual desire. She wants you to be uncertain and insecure during her film because she’s confident she will make good on her promise to inspire you. And not in some evangelical way that will have you sporting a blue tooth device from one ear, but something more honest. You will suddenly have a sense of time and for better or worse you will feel like this new awareness will stay with you forever.

To watch a film once and dislike it only to let it sit, unravel, knot up, unravel again and finally weave its way into your heart permanently – whether you willed it there or not – is a special thing in cinema. An experience increasingly hard to find these days. So if you’re open to a different kind of film experience, one that will require some of your time after you’ve left the cinema, then see The Future.
The Vine