“True confession: I spent a week and a day at the Sundance Film Festival with my ear to the ground, chasing the buzz, following my passions, going to close to 30 movies, all in an attempt to watch and report on everything of conceivable significance â€” and I still never got to see the two films that ended up as Grand Jury prize winners, Frozen River (dramatic) and Trouble the Water (documentary). That's the way it goes sometimes. There are more than 100 films at the festival â€” I could name a dozen that I heard great things about and that it killed me not to see â€” and predicting the award winners, or even attempting to chase them, is a fool's game.
I did see one superb film I thought would win an award, and it did â€” Ballast, which took the dramatic jury's directing prize â€” as well as one other film that took home a very different sort of prize: Hamlet 2, the dementedly hilarious, let's-put-on-a-show-so-terrible-it's-great high-school comedy that was purchased, by Focus Features, for $10-point-something million. (Not being a business reporter, I can't tell you precisely how much that something was, but it was initially presented â€” by design â€” as being just enough of a smidge more than the price paid two years ago for Little Miss Sunshine.) Sundance, like Hollywood, is a dance of art and commerce, but at this festival it's a much happier dance (since the two forces aren't generally in conflict), and these two films, which generated vast amounts of enthusiasm in separate but equal ways, showed you how effortlessly that situation could exist.
It takes daring, as well as skill, to make a drama that allows the audience to get its bearings only gradually, and Ballast, written and directed by Lance Hammer, has the audacity and talent to render that process an arresting one. The film doesn't just bring three troubled, wayward characters in the Mississippi Delta to rich, gnarled, vivid life. It presents them as enigmas who come into focus moment by moment, scene by scene, and that journey of discovery forces us to cast away the clichÃ©s of race, poverty, and existence in the Deep South.
A portly, forlorn man sits in his house, nearly catatonic, as the body of his twin brother â€” a suicide â€” lays in the next room. A boy of about 12 rushes into that same house, waving a gun, threatening to shoot it. (You're scared because you think he just might.) He could be a baby thug out of South Central, yet moments later there he is, being cradled by his mother, his innocence as genuine as his threat of violence. The storytelling in Ballast is starkly realistic, with no background music and a minimum of dialogue, yet the beautifully spare images leap forward in time, filling in the relationships with every nervous jump. It's a style that owes an obvious debt to the Dardennes brothers, only without their Marxist didacticism, and with a sensitivity to the hidden compartments of despair in the lives of destitute African-Americans that suggests a deep affinity with the Charles Burnett of Killer of Sheep.
As we discover how thornily close these three characters really are, the movie, which starts off as a kind of imagistic poem, evolves into something we perhaps weren't expecting: a damn good story. Ballast, as its title suggests, is about depressed, knocked-over lives that need, and find, a new kind of balance. Michael J. Smith Sr., Jim Myron Ross, and Tarra Riggs give performances of no-frills purity, and the final shot may be the most subtle life-affirming ending I've ever seen â€” and, as a result, one of the most memorable. Ballast is a tale of melancholy and liberation that marks Lance Morrow as a filmmaker to watch.”
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