Waves

Writer/director Trey Edward Shults's previous films, the unconventional Thanksgiving drama Krisha (2015) and the brilliant but poorly marketed post-apocalyptic thriller It Comes at Night (2017) would seem to have little in common with the more social realist concerns of Waves. However, all three share the same thematic DNA, focusing as they do on a family under intense pressure. And as with those films, if you're into formalism, you'll find plenty here to keep you happy; elaborate camera moves, varying aspect ratios, unusual colour correction, striking shot composition, a sound design which bleeds into the soundtrack/score (and vice versa), a quite audacious shift in focalisation at the half-way point, and a stunningly concise closing shot. On the other hand, it's emotionally bruising and takes its sweet time getting anywhere. It also asks much more of the viewer than your average Marvel movie, and some simply won't want to put in the legwork. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but if you consider cinema as entertainment only, I'd imagine Waves will leave you bored and frustrated. However, if you have the patience and are willing to take the journey on which the film wants to bring you, the cathartic rewards are many.

In a middle-class suburb in Florida, Tyler Williams (a brilliant Kelvin Harrison Jr.) is a popular high school senior and skilled wrestler, who is deeply in love with his girlfriend Alexis Lopez (Alexa Demie). At home, he has a good relationship with his sister Emily (a heartbreakingly sweet Taylor Russell) and stepmother Catherine (Renée Elise Goldsberry). However, his relationship with his domineering father Ronald (a sternly intimidating Sterling K. Brown in full-on stare mode) is somewhat strained due to Ronald, himself a former athlete who was forced to retire due to a knee injury, constantly pushing him to succeed. As the film begins, Tyler's shoulder is causing him problems, and although he keeps it a secret, he soon learns he has a Level 5 SLAP tear, with his doctor telling him he'll need surgery and a few months off from wrestling, or the damage will become permanent. However, he ignores the doctor's advice, continuing to wrestle and starting to self-medicate with Ronald's painkillers. Meanwhile, he becomes increasingly acerbic and starts drinking heavily. At around the half-way point of the film, the focalisation then shifts to the shy and socially awkward Emily, looking at her burgeoning romance with Tyler's wrestling teammate Luke (a passive and pensive Lucas Hedges). Meanwhile, the Williams family must try to come to terms with a horrific act of violence that could change all of their lives.

The most noticeable thing about Waves is the aesthetic audaciousness. What's especially interesting about the narrative bifurcation is that Emily barely appears in the first half and Tyler barely appears in the second, forcing the audience to completely recalibrate themselves vis-à-vis the film's milieu. However, for all its narrative gymnastics, it's Waves's visuals that really pop. Working with his regular cinematographer Drew Daniels, no matter how elaborate Shults's use of form becomes, it's always in service of the story, with the camera being used thematically rather than as a passive tool of observation. For example, the opening shot is inside a car occupied by Tyler and Alexis, but rather than shoot the scene in a shot/counter-shot format, Shults positions the camera between the duo, spinning in circles, and completing multiple 360-degree rotations. This immediately inculcates us into their sense of abandonment and exuberance. Before a single line of dialogue has been spoken, Shults has already started telling us who these people are. It's pure visual storytelling, showing rather telling.

This kind of form/content correlation occurs throughout the film. For example, in the first half, which is focalised by the restless and propulsive Tyler, the handheld camera rarely stops moving, reflecting his frenetic energy. However, when we shift to the quieter and more withdrawn Emily, Shults uses more static tripod shots and a much slower editing rhythm, which reflects Emily's calmer disposition. He also has the palette reflect this shift - whereas the first half is awash in garish blues, reds, and greens, the second has a more naturalistic look. A crucial part of the film's visual identity is the very unusual use of aspect ratio(s). Beginning in 1.85:1, the frame gradually reduces in width until it gets to 1.33:1, which is how Tyler's section ends. Then, at the start of Emily's section, it starts to widen again, eventually reaching 2.35:1. The narrowing ratio of the first half reflects how Tyler feels he's being progressively trapped as things continue to go wrong, whilst the widening ratio of the second half reflects Emily's determination to recover from tragedy and reconcile her family. In short, the first half symbolises an ever-increasing restriction, the second half a gradually discovered freedom.

And all of this is to say nothing of the diegetic lighting, the shot compositions and camera blocking, or the blending of Johnnie Burn's immersive sound design, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's discordant score, and the exceptional 32-song soundtrack.

Thematically, the film looks at the pressure to succeed, particularly in men. Ronald equates masculinity with strength, mocks Catherine's job, and barely acknowledges Emily. Instead, he pours all his effort into Tyler, through whom he's trying to live vicariously, pushing him to be the successful athlete that he himself could have been before injury ended his career. He's also acutely aware that as an African-American man, things won't come easy to his son, telling Tyler, "we are not afforded the luxury of being average." However, Ronald is by no means the villain of the piece. He seems to genuinely feel that raising Tyler in this manner is the best thing, telling him, "I don't push you because I want to, I push you because I have to". The problem with all of this is that neither Tyler nor Ronald have a backup plan, so when things start to go wrong, Tyler immediately falls apart. And as things get worse and worse, he becomes a pseudo-Job figure, with the big difference being that Job was self-aware and understood his suffering.

In terms of problems, there are a few blatantly expositionary scenes. An especially egregious example is the scene where Ronald outlines how hard it is for a black man to get ahead in the US, using that as justification for why he pushes Tyler so hard. Whilst the sentiments are fine, it doesn't ring true that this is the first time Ronald has said this to Tyler. Surely he would have given him this talk in his youth? It's a well-acted scene in isolation, but in the context of the overall script, it's too literal and seems out of place. Additionally, Shults tends to use the stuff of daytime soap to propel the plot - the end of a sports career, the prospect of having a child at such a young age, a family tragedy. The performers make the material work, but the film does come close to melodrama on occasion.

Nevertheless, although it's initially bleak, looking at loss and disintegration, Waves ultimately reveals itself to be about the ability of love to conquer despair, about how life can persist no matter the circumstances, about the importance and restorative power of family. Shults uses this framework to build a quite audacious monument that celebrates the ordinary without ever overshadowing it.

31-year-old director Trey Edward Shults didn't decide to go modest with his third feature. Waves is a big, broad movie, about many relationships, many deep feelings, many social issues. It doesn't always succeed, but boy, it was worth the effort!

Shults focuses on an upscale African-American family in an affluent suburb in Florida. The son's a HS wrestling star, the daughter is quiet and sweet, the dad's successful but tough on his kids because he knows the cost of success particularly for a black family, and the mom, who's in medicine, is an empathic parent. But this seemingly idyllic set-up is shattered in the first minute by the jumping camera and raucous music. The tension is palpable. Something is going to happen throughout this film, but we don't quite know what. (Fear of the unknown was a hallmark of Shults's other notable film, It Comes at Night.)

So this movie is not for the faint-hearted, but it's got a lot to say. About fathers and sons, parents and children, young love, sharing (or not sharing) secrets, hate, anger, and forgiveness, and the effects that great pain - physical and psychic - have on the soul. Needless to say, with this ambitious an agenda, some things work better than others. Some silly plot errors bugged me, but maybe it just doesn't matter much. Another issue that's been raised: a white director working with a black-centric story; didn't bother me, but it's been talked about. Still, the film is never boring, never static, and never mails it in. Even if 75% of the plot and message works, that was good enough for me. It is NOT easy to watch, but it has a lot to say.

Fasten your seatbelts!

I found the first part of the movie really captivating, intense, credible and very well acted. When the focus switches to the second teen in the families the whole plot becomes very mellow (still very well acted though but diminishing the overall impact).

There's some exquisite lighting effects in "Waves," from a crackling fire to police light bars and rainbows, which is complimented by occasionally kinetic montage and hand-held camera movement. Quite a few shots tracking behind figures' heads in this one. And all of the bobbing of the frame coalesces with the rhythm of the soundtrack. The narrative is something of a rigmarole, though. Following the oscillations of a suburban African-American family in crisis, from teenage son wrestler abusing painkillers for his injured shoulder while fighting with his girlfriend over pregnancy, to the daughter dating one of her brother's teammates, I guess, while the father and mother struggle with their relationship and business. The melodramatic climax actually occurs in the middle of the picture, and it's intense. Even the aspect ratio closes in from the usual rectangle to more of a square tending to frame the characters' faces.

Yet, tracking the immature emotional waves of teenagers for over two hours, in what is essentially two pictures in one with two separate protagonists, is exhausting. Nary any intellectual engagement is to be had. The score is all over the place and generally prominent. Maybe you'll like the music and maybe you won't, or perhaps you'll be like me and like some it and not the rest. The problem, however, is that the picture relies too heavily upon it. Teens, their music and feelings. Lots of scenes merely of figures riding around in cars. Drama frequently trying to be wrought from texting and social media. When the tortuous theatrics are, at last, wrapped up, it comes as a relief.

After my wife and I walked out of the movie theater, completely devastated (in the best possible ways) by what we had seen, there was a group of teenagers (the perfect audience for this film) buying tickets and I couldn't help but think about how lucky they were to be seeing Waves. It's the type of film that if one sees it in their youth, it could change how you view movies, art...life.

I will say nothing more about Waves except it is an absolute must-see, and if it finds its audience, it has the chance to be a generational touchstone film.