JIMMY AND STIGGS – Directed by Joe Begos
Filmmaker Jimmy’s (Joe
Begos) downward spiral into booze, dope and all sorts of ill shit is unceremoniously
interrupted by an alien abduction in his L.A. apartment. Fearing they’ll return,
he enlists the help of his estranged and recently sober friend, Stiggs (Matt
Mercer) to prepare for war against his nightly invaders.
I had this sort of idea
a few years ago, primarily inspired by the films of Joel Potrykus (APE, BUZZARD,
RELAXER), that there exists a small niche subset of films that I have began referring
to as “Dirtbag Cinema”. Essentially, lowlife characters attempting to overcome
obstacles and triumphing over challenges, while ultimately remaining largely
unchanged. I’ve considered many Begos’ films in this category as well. And I
would hope that the contextual clues provided by everything else I’ve ever written
make it clear that this phrase was always meant as a term of endearment. JIMMY AND
STIGGS certainly fits this description. It kind of defines it, even.
The film is book-ended
by these very long and fun POV sequences. First, the pre-title scene that sets
the stage of Jimmy’s apartment, his substance abuse and general attitude projected
to those on the other end of his phone introduce us to his character. The final
scene, by switching back to POV serves to nicely juxtapose the two contrasting
visuals, accenting just how much has gone wrong in this small space over the
course of just one day. This was a neat trick, and I think it also shows how
much creativity, care and craftsmanship went into the film overall. While some specific
aspects come off as very camp and low budget, there are plenty of times this
film pulls off effects and techniques that prove an experienced hand. The
artistry in films like this is too often overlooked. I hope to highlight this in
my writing as much as possible.
The overall look of the
film, established by Brian Sowell & Mike Testin’s cinematography and the
lighting of the set was hyper kinetic and gave no room for the audience to take
a breath. The set looked as if it was lit entirely by a combination of neon
beer signs and black light posters (although I’m sure there was much more to it
than that). And the shots were primarily long single take handheld, floating around
the action quickly, but not to the point of confusion or disorientation. Everything
that happens in this film, happens on camera, in your face and in clear view.
The pace is powerful
here as well. It comes and goes with the exact same intensity. And at only 80
minutes, the whole thing is over before you really know what hits you. I’m
usually one to commend a film for its softer touches, for the wisdom and beauty
of moderation, prudence and sobriety. You don’t get any of that stuff here and
we’re all better for it. Sometimes it’s nice to have a film slap you in the
face with reckless abandonment and absolutely zero restraint, to remind us that
in fact sometimes, more is more. In the end, this may be the gooiest movie I’ve
seen since Peter Jackson’s DEAD ALIVE.
As I bring this back to
my previous ramblings, I did have to wonder a few things: Has there ever been a
film that could be categorized as “Lovecraftian Dirtbag Cinema”? And more
importantly, did they get their security deposit back?
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