Review of Submarine (2011) by Andrew M — 30 Jan 2012

Remember swimming as a youngster when youâ(TM)d submerge your head underwater to make a silly face to a friend? What eventually happened? You ran out of breath because your amusement exhausted your oxygen supply. Well, this is essentially what unfolds in Richard Ayoadeâ(TM)s directorial debut narrative. We are initially forced underwater (letâ(TM)s say by an malignant red-headed step-uncle) by the filmâ(TM)s despondent subject matter yet our physical instinct reminds to return to the surface by means of its brisk and acute humor. The wry aura of Submarine is no surprise, as Ayoade was an accomplished stand-up comic. *.

Oliver. Heâ(TM)s an expressive yet coy 15 year-old lad whoâ(TM)s flooded with more problems than the current Euro. Dysfunctional, undersexed parental control? Check. Timid virgin? You betcha. Distorted sense of reality? In spades, amigo. Really, the only good news is that Oliver is dogged in solving these misfortunes. He has all the wily tools to redress, like his keen ear (loves to eavesdrop), keen eye (loves to spy), and wild imagination (during an early scene, Oliver envisions his classmates reacting to his hypothetical death). Given these assets, Oliver chooses still to conform and make no outstanding endeavors. It seems as though heâ(TM)s going to sink.

Problem 1: Parents. His father, a miserable yet sublime marine biologist who pursued the profession because his daily strife made him feel âunderwater.â? (More of this later). His mother seems constantly uninterested until a âmarvelousâ? mystic-neighbor moves in, who fills a new threatening role as the âflirty, seductiveâ? mullet-headed hunk. Suspicions arise from all angles, as the family is gently pulled apart like taffy. Throughout the process, Oliver makes thoughtful and, ultimately, futile stabs at re-stitching their former love: forges an apologetic, sexy epistle from Dad to Mom; quizzes his Mom in a transient, defeated exchange before school. At one point, we believe the similar Oliver and Dad will continue to concede through life, while the familyâ(TM)s pariah, Mom, will do whatever she damn pleases.

Problem 2: Girl. Jordana is red pea coat-donning amalgam of insensitivity and sweetness that owns a paralleling family crisis: mother with cancer. Before this is revealed, Oliver is concerned with one, single thing: crush his virginity to smithereens with a bludgeon. And this he does, but not without an emasculating display of âromanceâ? as he predictably arranges roses leading to the upstairs bedroom; no surprise, Jordana storms out of the house with puzzled disgust. This touches on the stellar dynamic between Jordana and Oliver, one hates PDA, the other embraces it. Watching these two play verbal Pong is tantamount to a rocket scientist mixing with an equally brilliant drug pusher. Awesome.

The denouement is contrived beyond belief but thatâ(TM)s not the point. Ayoadeâ(TM)s intent was to explicate that everyone feels drenched with stress, some more often than others, and that the subconscious is a frequently condoned voice of human form. Scrutiny of this film will tell that at least half of what we see in the frame, during those 97 minutes, is an illusionary projection of Oliverâ(TM)s central nervous system. And without those seemingly outrageous thoughts and brainchildren, Oliver wouldâ(TM)ve drowned long ago. In actuality, it is the inevitable submarine that bogs us down to the point where, with a little appetite, we can rebound in ways greater than ever imagined.

*(You may feel immersed within a hyperstylized, pedantic, less charming Wes Anderson flick. And thereâ(TM)s absolutely nothing wrong with thatâ¦or at least nothing worth shredding another half star for. Ayoade distinguishes himself adequately, despite the potential âswaggerjackingâ?).