A meandering microscope on pleasure, pain and simply dealing with people, Joanna Arnow’s “The Feeling That the Time for Doing Something Has Passed” is a crisp, commanding fiction-feature debut. Arnow, who wrote, directed, edited and stars in the film, crams a veritable career-manifesto worth of ideas—on sadomasochism, relationship power dynamics and foolish work jargon—into a tight, no-frills 88 minutes. And although Ann (Arnow) spends a good deal of that time in the nude, sex—or lack thereof—is not deployed as a gimmick or a simple provocation. The agenda here likewise isn’t rote autofictional navel-gazing, instead, Arnow unveils such intense self-reflection that the story sometimes slips through our grips, the next move belonging so much to Ann it takes time to catch up. Still, Arnow’s wandering eye and mind rewards focus, never wavering from the end goal of auditing—not judging—the bare-naked private lives of others.
Arnow has mentioned that “All That Jazz” (1979), Bob Fosse’s autobiographical meta-masterpiece, is a favorite film. Here, Arnow doesn’t so much pay homage to Fosse’s tell-all death fantasy, as she does reshape and strip down Fosse’s antic chaos, outlining some light-touch theses through a delightfully plotless arc. Ann is a mid-30s, Wesleyan-educated Brooklynite whose joyless days in an office are supplemented with nights spent in the bedrooms of her “masters.” Allen (Scott Cohen) commands the most time—starting and ending the film—which makes sense since they’ve been seeing each other for a decade. Anytime Ann hints at a more evolved relationship—meaning, whenever she tries to talk—Allen bats it away. He claims to want to know “what’s going on” in her life, but concludes that ultimately, she’s “a lot.”
Endearing, Childlike Excitement
And he’s far from the only one who takes from Ann without giving much in return. Ann’s parents (played by Arnow’s real-life parents, Barbara Weiserbs and David Arnow) complain about never seeing her, then ignore her when she visits. Ann suffers through these interactions with an enviable detachment, an almost giddy curiosity about how long she herself can withstand these people before imploding. Moving on from Allen, Ann meets Thomas (Peter Vack), a musician, then Elliot (Parish Bradley), a churlish by-the-books-daddy who makes Ann don a pig costume and masturbate on the roof of his apartment building. Ann’s willingness to submit, or, play along—among lovers and parents alike—implies not so much desperation as optimism, following the collective whims in hopes that something will blossom.
What everyone seems to be missing is that beneath Ann’s droll reserve is an endearing, childlike excitement, when she’s allotted time to show what brings her joy. After dispatching Elliot, Ann’s friends help her make an online dating profile. After she tells them to write that she “doesn’t like when people get too upset about 9/11,” one friend bristles, and the other laughs, encouraging Ann to put her uncensored self out there. On the strength of that profile, she meets Chris (Babak Tafti), a nice guy whose avant-garde artistic tastes contrast with Ann’s more mainstream flavor. Or, perhaps she’s just putting him on, gleeful at Chris’s subdued, loving disdain for Ann’s rendition list of favorite plays (“Big Andrew Lloyd Webber fan?”), movies (“‘A League of Their Own’ … the best cast!”) and songs (“Batter up/Hear that call … To play ball!”).
A Fresh Take on the New York Film
The film’s earnest curiosity about offbeat—as opposed to the insidious designation alternate—lifestyles and hobbies is best captured in these sequences. Ann embraces Chris’ performance art and poetry, while he even suggests that she sees her other masters, if she misses them (“What if I don’t?”). Arnow’s daring project doesn’t mock its subjects, welcoming their quirks without cynicism, a subversive strategy which presents a mature, ambitious film that can show sexual subservience without only being about that. It’s a fresh take on the New York arthouse film, deemphasizing the pithy banter and heightened nerves of Woody Allen and Noah Baumbach in favor of a deadpan realism which evokes the cutting autobiographical sketches of Jean Eustache. Arnow’s controlled, ambitious creation feels like—if we’re lucky—an early entry in a lengthier, expansive catalog, replete with ten-word titles and pitch-imperfect Broadway imitations. That, to quote Joe Gideon, would be showtime, folks.
“The Feeling That the Time for Doing Something Has Passed” is now in theaters.
