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There is so much wrong with “Putty Hill,” the feature film debut of helmer Matthew Porterfield, that one hardly knows were to begin its list of crimes against humanity. Pic centers on the gathering of the extended family and friends of a dead junkie, 24 year-old Cory, in Baltimore, MD, for his funeral. That sums up pic in its entirety. It is a plotless, cliché ridden mishmash of film school experimentation gone awry. Its unrated 85 minutes are torture to watch. It feels twice as long, and time spent watching it is time wasted.
This Jerry Springer version of a slice of life — the down and out, lazy, and formerly imprisoned in Baltimore — relies too much on fake reality and not enough on craftsmanship — as in writing, direction, sound recording, lensing, and editing. Much dialogue is off-mike. Ordinarily that would be a crucial lapse, but nothing in “Putty Hill” is worth hearing.
Porterfield seems to go for a “slice of life” as one after another the lens is turned on those who knew Cory. An off-camera male voice questions some of the cast as if filming a documentary. However, the purpose of the voice is never explained to auds. As a device it is a creepy dangling participle. It is at once voyeuristic and unemotional. Said “interviews” are interspersed with what is supposed to be real action. Unfortunately, thanks to the plotless screenplay, pic has no action — with the possible exceptions of some nicely choreographed “gravity game” stunts on bikes and skateboards and the late night break-in at the late Cory’s house by two female mourners.
In addition to poor sound recording, lensing leaves much to be desired. In his quest for “reality” Porterfield goes too far. Shooting a scene alleged to be lit by a flashlight with only a flashlight for lighting is but one example. A great many shots are static where reversals would add much. A great many more are so badly lit that it is next to impossible to see the actors face, let alone judge the work. Principals are routinely framed way off center without any apparent reason for the cinematic device.
Nobody in this bit of squalor has much of a resume — which may explain pic’s amateurish look. Edittor Marc Vives, whose cuts seem to go on for ever — also makes his feature debut here. It appears to be only the third feature for cinematographer Jeremy Saulnier. Better luck next time, gang.
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