There's a certain stripe of indie cinema which endeavors to accentuate the lyrical by virtue of a "less is more" modality. Laudable examples tend to be deeply personal and affective, typically meditating on particulars of the human condition. To succeed, these films depend on intimately fleshed-out characters and impactfully expressive dialog...failure to provide those essentials reduces "less is more" to "not enough". Case in point, a 1987 Canadian amateur effort called WHEAT SOUP.
A century has passed since "the great flattening", an informal appellation given to an unspecified apocalyptic event. Among the Nth generation of survivors is a young wheat farmer who exterminates anyone attempting to pilfer from his immensely valuable crops. Years of isolation have left him restless and piqued about the world beyond the wheatfields, so he drops his hoe and hits the road, eager to bore every oddball character he meets with prolonged sessions of pointless, meandering backchat.
This black-and-white backyard home movie could possibly have some sort of message or meaning to put forward. Perhaps it's hidden among the many deficiently postmodern directorial curlicues, or within the vast expanse where a story should have been. It may be a pearl of infinite wisdom cryptically encoded in the ceaseless stretches of unfunny, impertinent dialog. If you can find it...then you've earned it.
3/10...the eager spirit of indie cinema does variably shine through, and points given for shooting it on film. Understanding that bringing ANY film to fruition is no easy task, I acknowledge determination and effort, whatever the upshot.
A century has passed since "the great flattening", an informal appellation given to an unspecified apocalyptic event. Among the Nth generation of survivors is a young wheat farmer who exterminates anyone attempting to pilfer from his immensely valuable crops. Years of isolation have left him restless and piqued about the world beyond the wheatfields, so he drops his hoe and hits the road, eager to bore every oddball character he meets with prolonged sessions of pointless, meandering backchat.
This black-and-white backyard home movie could possibly have some sort of message or meaning to put forward. Perhaps it's hidden among the many deficiently postmodern directorial curlicues, or within the vast expanse where a story should have been. It may be a pearl of infinite wisdom cryptically encoded in the ceaseless stretches of unfunny, impertinent dialog. If you can find it...then you've earned it.
3/10...the eager spirit of indie cinema does variably shine through, and points given for shooting it on film. Understanding that bringing ANY film to fruition is no easy task, I acknowledge determination and effort, whatever the upshot.