*Spoilers intentionally vague*
I first saw this film at a pre-release screening in the filmmakers Jamin and Kiowa Winans' hometown of Denver, and I could not recommend it more highly. (Note: I have no personal connection to the Winans, and had never met them before the screening.)
As an inveterate film junkie, I'm tempted to place this comparatively low-budget indie venture in the same class as some of the greatest modern science fiction films I've seen, like Blade Runner and Dark City. Like them, it tackles timeless, universal themes with clever allegorical relish - not to mention packs an emotional wallop. In addition, the deft cinematography and effects hold up against the mega-million-dollar blockbusters Hollywood has gotten us all used to. It's a work of art and a labor of love. And like many of the best works of art, it invites viewers to examine their own unconscious assumptions about reality, and even, perhaps, to approach their own lives with greater courage.
Obviously "frame" is a filmmaking term...but for those not familiar with this particular definition of the word, within the fields of social and cognitive science (as well as linguistics), a frame is also a way of mentally structuring experiential input in a coherent way, of giving it a narrative. The way we "frame" any given situation can determine whether we're depressed, angry, or happy about it, as well as dictate what choices we make and actions we take. In short: we believe the stories we tell ourselves. "The mind," as John Milton wrote centuries ago, "is its own place, and in itself can make a heav'n of hell, and a hell of heav'n." This is the concept, I believe, at the heart of THE FRAME. The movie asks: how much control do we really have over our stories? And what if we could burn the manuscript?
Filmed in Denver, THE FRAME takes place in the fictional city of Los Perditus (Latin for The Lost) in a state called Animas (Latin for Souls, as well as Jung's word for the archetype of the unconscious feminine in men). The protagonists Alex and Sam (I suspect their gender-neutral names are no accident) are played with fierce conviction by relative unknowns David Carranza and Tiffany Mualem, talented young actors who are that unassuming sort of gorgeous that grows on you. You fall in love with them as they're falling in love with each other.
Alex in particular seems lost, in an all-male underworld of crime, keeping his old resentments alive, rationing his tenderness, suspicious of Sam. This is a man who needs his anima. He can't stand to listen to beautiful music
but he likes listening to Sam sing.
I expect that religious types will claim some kind of overtly religious message in the film - certainly some thorny theological questions are raised - but I'm not convinced that the concepts of God or the Devil as presented here (or for that matter the shady Mechanic, played with restrained menace by Christopher Soren Kelly in a triple role) reflect much more than Alex's own rather traditional and Catholic frame of reference regarding the tension between nihilism and hope, between creating beauty and succumbing to despair. (If the film were intended as some kind of simplistic Christian fable, I'd actually be sorely disappointed. It'd be a bit like turning the cosmos into a cops-and-robbers show.) But is he truly trapped in a narrative not of his own making?
Sam refers to these opposing dark and light elements as chaos and miracle. The inky goo that seeps insidiously into the landscape, blotting out objects in its path, seems representative of the former, while the extraordinary meeting of the two protagonists - and the metaphor that might represent - is clearly the latter. But even then, Sam is still the only approximation of a deus ex machina in obvious evidence; she alters the fates of others daily in her job as an EMT, and refuses to accept a fatalistic script. Her story is literally about hope. The most powerful beings in this universe still appear to be the humans...whether or not they know it.
If anything, I think it may be the New Agey quantum-mysticism crowd who walk away most justifiably satisfied with the film when the credits roll; in the end, as it turns out, it really is all about the vibrations.
But even if you're just an irreligious humanities sap like me who believes in the power of art, beauty, and human love to effect paradigmatic and even cataclysmic change, go see this film. It will move and hearten you. And maybe even inspire you to change your story.