TodayÕs Young Cookie Tossers

The Color Wheel, Carlen AltmanThe Color Wheel
directed by Alex Ross Perry


The Color Wheel is, thankfully, not about ghetto teens or suburbanites discovering a multicultural world. In fact, the nerdy brother Colin (Alex Ross Perry) comes right out with his racism (ÒWhat am I going to do with this black-man-sized erection?Ó). A notice is served ÐÐ you donÕt have to like this movie. And I didnÕt.

Co-writers Perry and Carlen Altman cast themselves as Colin and JR, a pair of bickering siblings who take their insecurities, long-term resentments and sexual frustrations on the road, predictably accompanied by bad music and bad camerawork, all held together by that opiate of the masses, ÒDesaturateÓ and ÒFilm GrainÓ filters. JR recruits her brother, who is suffering his own icy rejection from his girlfriend, to confront her lover, her former acting professor. JRÕs hope for patching up the relationship falls apart when she is greeted by a blonde girl emerging from her professorÕs bedroom. Following an obligatory crying-behind-sunglasses-in-a-park scene ÐÐ during which the talking is replaced by more bad music ÐÐ the pair do more confronting: first, ColinÕs racism (ÒTo me a beautiful black woman or a beautiful Asian woman is like a beautiful guyÓ), then JRÕs shambling aspirations, and ultimately ÐÐ drumroll ÐÐ their high-school peers.

Perry and Altman are good as the incessant-talking duo. But of course, they are the writer-producer-directors; they had no choice but to believe in their material. They are surrounded by a truly amateur cast representing the banal-est America has to offer: Bible-quoting motel owner, aggressively dismissive TV anchorwoman, high-school cliques and bullies.

A series of clichŽs ÐÐ JRÕs heart-stopping encounter with the TV anchor she worships; bullying sending Colin into the arms of his school crush ÐÐ delineates the siblingsÕ psychological baggage and brings them together, culminating in an incestuous intimacy. Oh yes, why not? WeÕre all liberals, right? You should have known. That Bible-thumper warned you about it. The next morning, they are better people for it: Colin even hugs his girlfriend tenderly upon his return.

Each individualÕs young-adult angst is his/her own. But just because you can talk about it for two hours nonstop doesnÕt mean you should make a movie about it. What matters, and what ultimately makes a movie, is how you show your angst. After all, stitching thin substance together with what passes for style has been hammered into us by Perry and AltmanÕs predecessors, the early Jim Jarmusch school of filmmaking which borrowed so feebly from the early Wim Wenders school of filmmaking.

Oh, by the way, there is also an abundance of vomit. ThatÕs probably what the title refers to.
ÐÐ Rika Ohara







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