What makes a good New York film? It unquestionably takes much more than just setting a film in New York. Of course, the city looks great and will likely elevate any film by some unquantifiable amount. But to tell an inherently New York story requires something more. There has to be an innate element to the story that feels unique to this special place. More importantly, the filmmaker has to understand the ins and outs of the highlighted element and showcase the city for all its worth. For all the benefits it can provide, there’s more than a fair share of annoyances and traits worthy of mockery when it comes to New York City. When a film hones in on both sides of this city is when magic happens. And that magic can be felt in Kent Jones’ Late Fame, celebrating its North American premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival.
To be quite honest (and a bit biased), there might not be a better place to see this film on the planet. Of course, the actual quality of any film is mostly separated from the location it’s viewed in. But there is a special quality to seeing a film in Alice Tully Hall or Walter Reade Theater. And it’s only compounded in this instance of screening such an inherently New York-centric film. Feeling this inextricable factor during its screening partly exhibits why Jones’ film works such wonders. This is a massive city where anything can happen, anybody can be anywhere, and everything we could ever want to do can be experienced with a quick (or frustratingly delayed) subway ride. In all that excitement comes a raw anonymity that New York provides in such a distinct fashion. Amongst crowds of locals and tourists alike, any random individual sitting at a movie next to us or crossing the street in our direction is just that: a random stranger going about their life. We encounter hundreds of fleeting moments with strangers on the daily, and are rarely ever fully aware of the story we might never know exists. It’s nobody’s fault, but we all have our own places to be, our own things to do, and our own circumstances to deal with. We all embrace the fun that comes with living here, but for the most part, practically everybody in New York City also deals with the more hellish elements of it too. There’s no escaping it. It’s this anonymity, this opportunity for stories wherever we look, and this balance of maintaining lifestyle, that Jones and screenwriter Samy Burch use as the foundation for Late Fame.
Excitingly, Jones’ sophomore narrative film extends itself beyond merely being an ode to the greatest city in the world. (Of course, there’s no bias here.) For all the beauty that’s showcased in Late Fame through the potential New York provides to all its residents, it has equally mocking and sardonic thoughts to lay before its audience. In fact, Burch pokes fun at the city in a way which displays an incisive and amusing understanding into one of the many frustrations that comes with living here. It’s depicted with such unrelenting obviousness that Late Fame feels like more of a satire than anything else. But this is just one side of Late Fame. And much like the character at its center, this film exhibits a dual-faceted interest in so many of the subjects it delves into. None of this exploration would be possible without the delightful Willem Dafoe performance the film gravitates around.
Ed Saxberger (Dafoe) was a writer who published a book of poems in October 1979; but his moment simply wasn’t meant to be. In the decades since, he has worked with his head down at the post office. Putting his documentarian skills to good use, Jones opens his film with a montage of everything changing. The artistic freedom and excitement of seeing archival footage of downtown New York in the 70s and 80s makes way for an expressly modern, repetitive sequence of Dafoe working silently and commuting back-and-forth with little change to note. The world, and the city, as it was, no longer exists. Reality was instead replaced with something far more mundane. But Saxberger carries on stone-faced, seemingly comfortable with the anonymity the city, and time, has granted him. It’s not until Meyers (Edmund Donovan) shows up randomly on Saxberger’s stoop that he finds himself a bit blindsided. Meyers is part of “The Enthusiasm Society.” They’re a group of young writers who discovered Saxberger’s work and have fallen head over heels for the man. They consider his work not breaking through a travesty against the arts, and Meyers gushes in a way that even feels awkward (but somewhat touching) to the audience. Dafoe performs this interaction, and the many more that will follow with Meyers and his group, with such delicate honesty. You can see Saxberger in real time having a part of his heart warmed which has long been dormant. Despite seemingly coming to terms with his reality (although Burch injects some intriguing dramatic tension throughout to show this may not be the case), Saxberger can’t help himself when it comes to the enthusiasm that arrives with feeling seen and understood. But the more Saxberger and the audience get to know this group, the more strange it all begins to feel. And Burch and Jones waste no time poking fun at their group of creatives and any New York residents that might fit a similar bill.
Late Fame presents an exciting prospect in Saxberger’s rediscovery. It shows that, in the modern age, it truly is never too late for anybody. But with such wide-reaching audiences merely a swipe away from discovery, there’s an innate artificiality that comes alongside possible appreciation. Through this group of creatives, Jones and Burch force the audience to grapple with whether or not any of this appreciation is legitimate or earnest in the first place. The inherent drama and potential excitement that comes with Saxberger’s second chance clashes against whether or not the way it’s happening is just another version of real art being bastardized by modern trends and the rich, upper class in search of a new “hobby.” The more time we, and Saxberger, spend with Meyers’ group, the more they reveal themselves as deeply insufferable. Some may actually want to contribute to the art world in a legitimate and meaningful way, but it’s clear that the aesthetic most commonly linked with radical artistry is what the majority of them are after. It’s most prevalent in Meyers himself. But in the all-too-perfectly named Gloria Gardner (a deviously fun Greta Lee channeling her “Homeless Heidi” character from the great High Maintenance), Jones and Burch provide plenty of additional intrigue as to what drives individuals to fall into the traps of fetishizing fame and artistic spirit. Ultimately, Late Fame is a film that examines the power art (and the potential for fame) can hold over an individual. It highlights the importance of knowing when to leave the past in the past, and when to let the future fend for itself. The days we hoped for may come around for another opportunity, but they may also remain a fleeting memory to smile about. In the end, either scenario makes for a compelling story. Late Fame thrives in getting to explore both with equal pleasure and emotion among the beautiful streets of New York City.
Late Fame is celebrating its North American premiere at the 63rd New York Film Festival as part of the Main Slate section.