Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic No genre of the last few decades can get on my nerves like the indie quirkfest. You know: those movies that keep poking you in the ribs to giggle at their cutely addled characters with their adorable eccentricities — I’m talking woe-is-us hipster comedies like “Pieces of April,” “Lars and the Real Girl” and the pop-crossover “Citizen Kane” of the genre, “Little Miss Sunshine.” The trouble with these movies is that even as they pretend to be lifesize, they’re too conscious about packaging their prefab weirdness; they’re edgy sitcoms minus the laugh tracks.
But Rebecca Miller’s “She Came to Me,” which opened the Berlin Film Festival today, demonstrates how the indie quirkfest can be resonant and real, with characters who have soul instead of a chewy center.
The movie’s main figures aren’t just suffering from off-kilter dilemmas — they have problems we might characterize as everyday mental illness.
The film’s gentle audacity is that it dares to posit mental illness as the new normal. We’re invited to laugh at what we’re seeing, yet Miller works in such a heartfelt and unassuming way that we’re never standing outside the quirks.
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