Dear Pillow (2004)
Edgy, dark, troubling, perplexing.
Words that might very well describe Brian Poyser's
"Dear Pillow" might also easily define the
reality of teenage sexuality. In a cinematic world
where teenagers get drunk and go wild ("Eurotrip,"
"The Real Cancun") or engage in numerous
ways to defrock themselves of their virginity (a million
other films), "Dear Pillow" is one of the
few films that is so grounded in reality that watching
it is comparable to the shock of a bucket of cold
water in the face.
The film works for two key reasons.
First, the script is phenomenal, like nothing we have
ever seen or heard in movies before. And secondly,
lead actor Rusty Kelley, who plays teenager Wes, is
a revelation. Combined with these winning elements
is solid acting support from a smart and talented
supporting cast and Poyser's script's ability to shock
yet never seem forced or fictitious when it counts
and "Dear Pillow" becomes a compact thesis
on modern sexuality. And in doing so, it also remains
unlike any film you will ever see.
The script and the film (much of
which was improvised) takes chances at every turn.
Sometimes witty, sometimes amusing but just as often
frank, sorrowful, complex and angst-ridden, the piece
allows us to enter the world of teenage sexuality
almost as voyeurs. Wes is our portal and Kelley injects
perfect pitch reactions and ideals into the character.
His look is perfect, the boy next door of the new
millennium. Neither conventionally beautiful nor unattractive,
Kelley is indeed the embodiment of teenage contradictions:
Shy yet bold, detached yet intrigued, virginal yet
sexual, cynical yet hopeful, wise yet ignorant, assured
yet inexperienced, verbal yet inarticulate. Kelley
draws us into the film because, ultimately, he makes
us care about the character. We see ourselves in him.
We see the future in him. While his eyes at first
seem to reflect a vapid nothingness they are soon
filled with
mirrors, reflecting our former teenage selves and
all the confusion, frustration and vulnerability that
this implies.
Here's a perfect example of why the
film is amazing and Kelley is perfect within it. After
the young writer Wes that Kelley portrays discovers
that his older, probably gay neighbor, Dusty, writes
pornography, he accepts the man's invitation to his
apartment for a beer. After waiting to take a few
sips and gather his thoughts (we think he is going
to ask the man for help writing dirty stories), he
becomes indignant and accusatory. "I think you're
a sick fuck," he tells Dusty, rising to storm
out the door. This film not only goes in direction
we never expect it to go, it also does so by being
honest, free and daring. Wes reaction here, fueled,
as we will learn, by his confusion, shame and embarrassment,
is exactly the reaction that would occur if the film
were reality. There is example after example of this
kind of realism in the film. With Wes, Dusty, and
a couple of other secondary characters, Poyser
creates a fascinating story that continually goes
least where we expect it. Indeed, it is our cinematic
expectations that are belied here, not reality. There
is not one false idea here, not one cliche, not one
script-writing convention. Not when it counts anyway.
Poyser proves himself not just adept as storyteller
but also creative, calculating and bold.
Albeit expectations were less as
the film was marketed (at the 2004 SXSW Film Festival
where I experienced it) as a teen sex romp. The story
is suggested to be about a 17 year old boy who gets
a job writing pornography. The tagline on the promotional
postcard says, "Try to think of something that
makes your dick hard." And while I appreciate
the marketing ideas to sell this film and even concur
that they are wise, these really do nothing to promote
the film for the truly exceptional work that it is.
The titillating set-up to the film and the sexually
explicit dialogue it contains may evoke some laughter
here and there but the film slowly and skillfully
winds tighter and tighter as it unspools to create
more and more dramatic tension. Ultimately the film
implodes from this tension and yet even in this only
manages to tangle even more, winding still even tighter.
This is a film that spirals, not out of
control, but deeper and deeper and tighter and tighter
(God, no pun intended) until it finds Wes is a spring
and the contraction of his inexperienced sexual psyche
seems destine to explode into all directions.
Poyser creates a world of constant
sexual flux in "Dear Pillow," exposing the
dark underbelly of modern American sexuality. His
film is built upon the expectations reflected in pornography
and the sexual fantasies that the medium explores
(i.e. a teenage boy's brain) yet relentlessly and
almost tragically it instead exposes a world in which
such fantasies cannot possibly exist. Wes has something
to learn that we, as adults, all must learn in our
own time, in our own way, and in our own personal
situations. While Wes struggles to find his place
in the adult sexual world (his 18th birthday is a
part of the film's plot), we continue to be reminded
that in finding that place we never arrive at what
was expected or intended. In Poyser's cinematic world,
a true reflection of our own, we are forced to accepting
that sexuality is never easy, that sex is never as
simple as it seems in pornography or our fantasies,
and that nothing is what it appears to be. Dark, complex,
perplexing and continually under pressure, the sexual
subconscious of "Dear Pillow" exposes only
frustration and confusion yet does so not in haeavy-handed
morality based ideals but in new, unique and engrossing
ways.
This film is nothing less than a
masterpiece. As dark as any sexual thriller. As exhilarating
as "Y tu mama tambien." As valid as real
life.
Notes:
Also with Gary Chason, Viviane Vives
(who is also a producer), Cory Criswell and John Erler.
Produced, photographed and edited
by Jacob Vaughn.
Recognizable (to me anyway) Austin
film names in the credits include Alex Holdridge (who
plays a small role), Kyle Henry, Justin Hennard, and
David Zellner among others.
Recognizable Austin locales in the
film include the Stephen F. Austin Intercontinental
Hotel, The Alamo Drafthouse Downtown (bathroom), the
, 2020 South Congress apartments, and Sugar's adult
night club among others.
Filmed and projected on video. The
film debuted at Slamdance 2004.
Viewed at the Alamo Drafthouse in
March 2004 where it screened during SXSW where the
Zellner Brothers' "The Virile Man" short
was also screened.
