Diane
(USA, 95 min.)
Written and directed by Kent Jones
Starring: Mary Kay Place, Jake Lacy, Estelle Parsons, Andrea
Martin, Deirdre O’Connell, Phyllis Somerville
Diane might not be
the best film to see with your mom on Mother’s Day. Sure, it’s a well-intentioned
portrait of a devoted mother who indefatigably does all she can for her son and
family, but it’s a bleak reminder that your mom will soon be buried under
flowers rather than receiving them. Film critic turned director Kent Jones (Hitchcock/Truffaut) makes his feature
dramatic debut with Diane and while
he scores a respectable performance from Mary Kay Place, his film is a lethargic
misfire. One depressing scene follows
another while tinkling piano music strains on the soundtrack and Place sits
sullenly with a beleaguered look on her face. The film’s existential questions
ultimately inspire one to sit up in the movie theatre and wonder, “Why am I
here?”
Place gives a thoughtful and introspective performance in
the title role. She carries virtually every frame of Diane and brings to life the existential longing that Jones seeks
to convey with the film’s repetition of hopelessly bleak scenes that soldier on
towards a parade of funerals. Diane’s ongoing encounters with death inspire her
to confront her own mortality. It eventually becomes apparent that her selfless
devotion is actually self-serving, since she spends time with friends and
family as acts of atonement. Place delicately conveys Diane’s exhaustion with
life and the great burden of guilt she carries. Jones reportedly wrote the part
specifically for Place and it shows in both her performance and the film
overall, but Diane leaves something
to be desired as the film isn’t nearly as interesting as its protagonist is.
Filmed mostly in dank interiors with muted aesthetic touches aside from that
annoying piano music, Diane is
frankly a bore that might have been better served as a play or short story.
Diane escapes her humdrum routine and tires to unburden
herself by channelling her anxieties into poetry. Jones infrequently cuts to
scenes of Diane as she picks up a notebook and writes about death and
loneliness like a wannabe Emily Dickinson. The poems are not very good, but
this comes as no surprise given that there’s nothing in Diane to indicate that the dowdy heroine has the mind of a poet.
As Diane becomes more poetic, so too does the film as Jones
sporadically breaks from the listless style and pace that defines the first two
thirds of the film. Diane surprises
with some formally and thematically ambitious scenes, but their power is
undercut by their sheer randomness. As the bodies pile up and Diane approaches
her inevitable demise, Diane is an
unpleasant reminder that life is cruel, pointless, and miserable. And then we
die.