Stop Mumbling

[September 12th, 2007]

Every so often, an ominous new word menaces the English language—a solecism so vile that it instantly reawakens the capacity for annoyance. This year that word is “mumblecore.” The term, I am sorry to say, does not describe a low-talking variety of tuna. Instead, it is the descriptor—coined by a sound mixer and foisted upon an unsuspecting populace by The New York Times —that encompasses all those low-budget movies whose characters have a hard time saying anything. If the phrase was intended to critique these movies at precisely the same level of lucidity they contain, it is a resounding success. It has certainly resulted in some very memorable writing, including Times critic Stephen Holden’s evaluation of Aaron Katz’s new film Quiet City : “Tender and sad, it is a fully realized work of mumblecore poetry.” If this were true, it would make Quiet City something of an achievement, since poetry by definition tends to include real words.

What Quiet Cit y actually does accomplish is to crystallize the elements that have characterized the movies of Katz (Dance Party, USA ), Andrew Bujalski (Mutual Appreciation ) and Joe Swanberg (Hannah Takes the Stairs ). Here we have the non-professional actors, the digressive, inconsequential conversations, the tentative love story and the Brooklyn hipster neighborhoods—all in one 78-minute package. Two people meet, they make some sandwiches, they go to a gallery exhibition and then they go to a house party. This is not very different from the plot of Dance Party, USA , which Katz filmed in Portland—and which, come to think of it, also featured a house party. In fact, the movies made by Katz and his partners-in-mumbling feel like house parties themselves: A group of friends gets together and tries to define its generation through collaborative art. Some of them end up at festivals.

Aside from its genre-defining status, Quiet City represents a strong progression for Katz as a visual storyteller. He and cameraman Andy Reed have sprinkled their tale of wandering with crisp, handsome images of New York City in the fall. Many of these shots, and the way they reflect the fleeting connection between the new friends, bring to mind the most lyrical passages of David Gordon Green. But Green’s movies—especially All the Real Girls —showed his callow heroes at their most devastatingly vulnerable. The second-most honest conversation in Quiet City is about the virtues of coleslaw.

It feels repetitive to complain again about a small, improvisational movie containing characters who lack the ability to articulate a complete sentence—but then watching Quiet City feels repetitive, too, especially since the last time Katz told a story of kids meeting and connecting, he allowed them to finally erupt into tormented language. This time they keep mum. And yes, their connection is sweet and affecting. But presumably some of these kids—who have enough money to rent lofts in Brooklyn—have been to college. Presumably they have the ability to converse about matters loftier or more intimate than cabbage salad. The entire aesthetic of “mumblecore”—and even the damned phrase itself—suggests that some things are too profound for words. To which I can only beg: Please, please give words a try.