Funny how intimacy can, in the right circumstances, subject to the right influences, become utterly terrifying, as if the very thought of opening up to another human being means putting yourself in harm’s way. There’s risk in vulnerability, no doubt. Vulnerability means risking yourself, your pride, dignity, and self-worth; it means, for one brief moment, exposing your interior fears and embarrassments, and the impact of that brief moment can last a lifetime, the way water ripples over a lake after you upset its surface calm with a stone. But vulnerability often goes hand in hand with anxiety, muted and undeniably there all the same. That’s what Carol Brandt‘s film “Pet Names” gets after: The creeping panic of emotional processing.
Leigh (Meredith Johnston) has dropped out of grad school to care for her terminally ill mother (Stacy Parish), who lies bedridden but possessed of a winningly wry sense of humor. Prior to the film’s events, they’d planned on going camping together, but mom’s condition has thrown their vacation awry. So, Leigh starts doing the rounds to find a replacement buddy for a weekend of outdoor recreation, landing eventually on her ex, Cam (Rene Cruz). In no world does inviting your former flame to share a tent with you for a couple of days sound like a good idea, but after bumping into each other in the neighborhood, they slide into their past rapport with ease, their banter and bullshit like a security blanket they wrap themselves in with minimal hesitation.
It’s cute, the way that they get on, but in its fashion, it’s also dangerous. As natural a pair as Leigh and Cam appear at a glance, there’s unspoken hurt between them. It’s inevitable that eventually, the hurt must be spoken aloud, that their mindless idling means revisiting old scars and opening them afresh. As touching as it is to see them tease and cozy up to one another, it’s also nerve-wracking, such as a naturalist micro-budget independent film can actually wrack one’s nerves. Every minute they spend together threatens impending collapse; every night they fall asleep side by side in their tent, we sense that we’re a hair’s breadth away from lighting a powder keg. For a production founded on a tried and true indie formula – start with your characters, add in existential malaise, substitute plot with antics and awkward conversation – “Pet Names” is made with remarkable urgency.
Perhaps that’s because Johnston, who wrote the screenplay, has no time for sprawling dialogue filtered through mumbles and has chosen her words concisely, sanding down one line after the other until all that’s left is what absolutely needs to be said. It takes time for Leigh and Cam to express themselves regarding about anything meaningful, but when they do they tend not to beat around the bush; even the gawkiest exchanges are composed using the most direct language possible. “Are you afraid to die?” Leigh asks Cam as they sit around their campfire, tipsy on liquor, entranced by the crackling embers. “Just, you know…it’s completely new and different for every person. We’ve reached a point where we’ve felt all the possible feelings we can feel, and it’s the last new thing we’ll ever experience.” Another writer might have tortured that monologue, stretched it until it snaps, but Johnston lets Leigh speak her piece and then moves on.
There’s economy to “Pet Names” that suits its material. Most movies like this tend to wear out their welcome. “Pet Names” clocks in at about an hour and ten minutes, but as the credits roll, Johnston and Brandt have both enraptured us so much that we’re loathed to say goodbye. They take their time. They’re in no hurry to get where they need to go. Scenes meander along, much as Leigh and Cam meander through the woods, rehashing bygone days, tripping on mushrooms, skinny dipping in ankle-deep water, or chasing around Goose, Cam’s delightfully plump pug, poorly adapted for the film’s setting by dint of his determined laziness. At one point they lose him and frantically search the grounds, only to find that the plump little pooch puttered by a nearby campsite and into the hearts of its occupants (Lilliana Winkworth, Christina Seo). In keeping with the film’s semi-episodic structure, that adventure leads into another, into another, and eventually into conflict.
But each episode informs the other. “Pet Names” isn’t a film about twenty somethings bumming around sans purpose; it’s about the painful process of facing the present by reconciling the past. Leigh and Cam have a purpose: Avoiding the task of facing up to their shame, their long-simmering grievances, their dissatisfaction with their lives. They also know, and so do Brandt and Johnston, that they can only avoid that task for so long, which means we the audience watch most of “Pet Names” wringing our hands, wondering when the confrontation between the two leads will happen and what innocuous reminiscence might trigger it.
It’s also a deceptively simple effort, no frills, all impeccable craftsmanship, the kind of DIY indie film worth seeking out and savoring on the festival circuit (and if there’s justice, in theaters, too). Brandt emphasizes the film’s wistfulness and overarching suspense with a 4:3 aspect ratio, confining viewers through her presentation, cramming us into every single beautifully composed frame alongside Johnston and Cruz. That decision has a two-pronged effect: It reinforces the film’s personal scope and emphasizes its dread-inducing proximity, from moments spent in company with Leigh and her mom to Leigh’s trip with Cam. By consequence, we better appreciate the film’s building tension as well as Johnston’s and Cruz’s sterling performances, neither flashy nor ignorant of how much “Pet Names” hinges on their chemistry. They’re as unfussed as Brandt’s filmmaking, revealing only as much of themselves as necessary for the story’s particulars to strike true. [A]
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