Wendy i Lucy

Michelle Williams is an experienced veteran of American cinema, who, despite her age, could be called the princess of the American independent scene with a touch of exaggeration. With her talent, she effortlessly takes on the main role of that shaggy girl who simply wanders, survives, and doesn't care about the future, and you tend to believe in her. Stories about the friendship between a person and an animal are among the reliable attractions, and this film also offers the right dose of emotions. However, the problem lies in the screenplay, which is a bit empty and doesn't offer many reasons for satisfaction. As a final work of a film directing student, it would be worthy of five stars, but as a drama by an adult creator, it is a bit lacking. Overall impression: 60%. (23.03.2014)

Due to the economic crisis, a young woman with no home and no job (and no past that we know of) is left with only her car and her dog, a female named Lucy. The car has broken down and the repair will clearly cost more than she can afford (because she can’t afford anything at all). When Wendy attempts to steal a few cans of dog food for Lucy at the supermarket, she is arrested and taken to the police station. Upon returning to the store, she finds that Lucy has disappeared. Now she has no money, no car and no dog. All she has left is the hope that she can find her dog and a job and not have to incessantly worry about where to lay her head and how to get something to eat. This grim social drama is characterised by its relatively loose dramaturgy, which gives the impression that the protagonist is merely reacting to situations that happen to her instead of pursuing a certain goal and thus fulfilling the larger plan of the screenplay. Wendy’s interaction with her surroundings, which is taken into consideration and enhanced by Michelle Williams’s distanced shooting and ambient sounds (replacing nondiegetic music), is of key importance. It helps to understand why the film is included in the cycle of neo-neorealist dramas about protagonists living in constant uncertainty about how they will survive the day and what will happen to them next, usually because of a system in which there is no place for them (see also the films of Debra Granik and Courtney Hunt). Of course, this does not involve a random layering of moments (just as that was not the case in the relatively classically constructed films of the Italian neorealism movement). Out of simple scenes, usually depicting a particular process in detail, Reichardt only manages to build an emotionally layered narrative that conveys at least part of the existential burden that the protagonist must bear. Her films are unobtrusive; seemingly nothing happens in them and, unlike other festival dramas, they do not make a bold point or offer catharsis. With their verity, precision and melancholic mood, however, they manage to slowly get under your skin and stay with you long after the final credits have rolled. 80% (11.05.2021)