For the 87-minute duration of Share, there’s barely a moment when the camera isn’t absorbed in capturing Mandy (played by Rhianne Barreto). At the beginning of the movie, when Mandy comes to while lying facedown on the lawn outside her parents’ house, the first glimpse of her exposes her fingers, alien and abstractly arranged among blades of grass. When she goes inside to take a shower, the camera captures her silently processing her physical state—the bruises on her arms, the uneasy jolt of realization as she takes off her jeans. It stays with her at school, where she goes to basketball practice and regains her composure. And it fixes on her face, later that night, after Mandy starts receiving a string of texts from friends about a video of a girl who seems to be her. Barreto’s unblinking, freckled face dominates the screen as Mandy tries to untangle what she’s seeing.
The most striking thing about Share, the debut feature from Pippa Bianco airing on HBO tonight, is how it subverts the logic of viral videos. The medium tends to dehumanize, taking people—complicated mulches of flesh and foibles and desires—and reducing them to the essence of a single moment. Share does the opposite. It fixes on Mandy as she realizes that something terrible has happened to her, and that videos of the event are circulating among virtually everyone she knows. It offers up her interiority, but also her experience. Viewers hear the frantic pings of her cellphone, sense how rooms get quiet when she enters them, feel the eyes on her at all times. Bianco forces audiences into an intimacy with Mandy that suffuses the film. Everything she sees, everything she feels, is everything that happens.