UNMADE BEDS (74)

Directed by: Nicholas Barker

Starring (as themselves): Brenda Monte, Aimee Copp, Michael Russo, Michael DeStefano

The Pitch: The lives of four New Yorkers, all of them single and trying hard not to be.

Theo Sez: The intention, as suggested by the voyeuristic interludes scattered throughout (equating window frames with the cinematic kind), is to strip its subjects emotionally naked - the twist being that, as with those interludes, the nudity is both real and, almost certainly, staged for the camera. Clearly it's no ordinary documentary - everyone's far too articulate, for one thing, rehearsed rather than spontaneous - yet the camera probes these people's lives, from their bodies to the wallpaper in their rooms to the books ("The Joy of Pasta") on their bookshelves, even as Barker's stylistic interpolations make it clear what we're watching isn't necessarily the Truth. A good equivalent is perhaps Kiarostami's CLOSE-UP (though there are also affinities to Mike Leigh's "method"), in that the characters are playing refined versions of themselves, not so much dramatised as streamlined - but the nature of the film's themes (the fact that we're basically judging these people, trying to determine what they're doing "wrong" that makes it difficult for them to find partners) adds another dimension, making our judgment, in effect, a character in the movie. The question is, are we being suckered or are they? - are they playing a part, or just victims of their own self-delusion (and a film-maker canny enough to exploit it)? When the rather tiresome, pedantic DeStefano spends ages primping himself before a date, trimming nose-hairs and so on, then blandly announces that, with him, "What you see is what you get", is he in on the joke or not? Does the other Michael, tacky and creepy, realise how offensive he sounds when describing women as "mutts"? When the fat, loveable Aimee breaks down on a park bench, are we privy to genuine emotion or just its re-enactment, the way people break down on Oprah? The answer, fascinatingly, seems to be that the subjects do realise what they're doing, are playing a part (viz. "themselves"), yet, out of pride or vanity or just habit, don't bother to conceal or airbrush : one watches with a kind of guilty raptness - it's like hiding in a closet watching someone talk to themselves in the mirror, trying out pick-up lines or putting on different voices. What you're hearing may not be Truth, but it has its own honesty - and what's unsaid makes it all the more interesting.