Fear not the actor/director's preciousness
If David Lynch made a film about talking kitties and disaffected dancers, it might be a little bit like Miranda July's new movie The Future (opening in New York this Friday). Soaked through with the dazzling Los Angeles sunshine, July's work is often disarmingly lovely with an undercurrent of faint dread creeping through out. So why then have her movies been described as " perfectly twee" and "precious?" A recent, complimentary New York Times Sunday Magazine profile pegged her as "the unwilling exemplar of an aggravating boho archetype: the dreamy, young hipster whose days are filled with coffee, curios and disposable enchantments." The artist is a bit like the cilantro of indie film: a divisive, acquired taste.
The Future tells the story of Sophie and Jason, a couple living in a dingy LA apartment. Trapped in the humdrum existence of unfulfilling jobs and unfulfilled potential, the two decide they will adopt a sick cat in 30 days. This gives them a month to change their lives and become the people they've waited their adulthoods to transform into. Sophie will create a dance and document it for the world to see. Jason will live his life guided by fate, unmoored, no longer bound to his couch and his computer. But with no jobs and no internet, the couple soon find themselves paralyzed by the looming deadline of the cat, Paw Paw, and the responsibility he represents to them.