Trust (4/8)

Would you describe yourself as both high-minded and hopelessly childish? Indignant, yet lethargic? Not apathetic, but withdrawn in disgust and wishing you could sucker punch every asshole you meet or lock the door and read Tolstoy until the ozone burns off and humanity finally toasts itself? If so, you might be a Hal Hartley character. The two star-crossed young rejects in Trust fit the bill, suffering so stylishly you almost forget she accidentally killed her dad and he carries a grenade around in his jacket “just in case.” Every withering deadpan comeback, heartfelt guitar line, absurdist lyrical flourish and photographic étude of color and geometry feels precision-tuned and laser-guided, thanks to Hartley’s obsessive command of the form. Firmly rooted in its ‘90s Gen-Xer scene, yet totally fresh today thanks to its singular rhythms, this one’s an anthem for all you slackers and drop-outs.
Dir. Hal Hartley, 1990, digital presentation, 107 min.

Watch the trailer for “Trust”!
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