POSSIBLE WORLDS CANADIAN FILM FESTIVAL: The oddly and evocatively titled Small Town Murder Songs is a stark, sad, and powerful drama that in brief outline can sound – mistakenly as it turns out – very much like a police procedural. Instead it’s a character study about a man desperately trying to hold onto some sense of himself; fighting his own heart of darkness.
Set in a tiny Mennonite community in the bleak, quietly lovely rural heartlands some driving time from London, Ontario, the plot has an aging cop, Walter (Peter Stormare), investigate the murder of a twentysomething girl, whose naked body was found dumped in the weeds on the outskirts of town. Walter is convinced that Steve (Stephen Eric McIntyre), the local 'go-to" bad guy, has had something to do with this brutal crime. Trouble is, Steve is now going with Rita (Jill Hennessy), Walter’s ex. So if Walter starts making moves it’s going to look like it’s spiteful vengeance, not righteousness.
Complicating matters further is Walter’s own history of violence. Large and powerful looking, he has a hulking bear-like presence, the kind that brings disquiet, rather than calm to all those he makes contact with. People keep their distance. Gossips make poisonous suggestions about his past. We quickly learn that these stories have a scary truth, which leaves his sweet-natured waitress wife, Sam (Martha Plimpton), full of fear and nerves. As for Walter, he remains eager to prove his worth. A born-again Christian, he pretends not to be wounded by the suspicion and doubt that seemingly swirls around his every glance and move.
There’s a sense of a great unnamed force pursuing the characters here; it may look like it’s the fear of God, but there’s something about the movie’s salty sensibility that keeps this kind of speculation earth bound. You get the feeling that the troubles that plague the folks here start closer to home, with damaged childhoods, drugs and alcohol and a universe that ends at the highway.
Writer-director Ed Gass-Donnelly punctuates the action with bible quotes in title cards, done in a bold font, which all but fill the screen: 'God meets us where we’re at," for instance. Then there’s 'Repent and profess your faith," and pointedly, 'If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn and offer him your left." Obviously Gass-Donnelly has afforded himself a lot of irony here, but it’s the kind that does not condescend or turn ugly.
Part of the movie’s feeling of authenticity and sincerity lies in the imperfect performances; they feel lived in, even if each character seems, at least in broad stokes, a small town archetype. But part of the film’s success is what Gass-Donnelly has done with the mood that surrounds his cast. The town atmosphere – of isolation, suppressed anguish and uneventfulness – is so superbly rendered it throws the characters into high relief. There’s a lot of pain here and it feels real and so does Walter’s desire to make himself over, psychically speaking. Trouble is, you get the feeling Walter is scared of what he might find; he’s using God as an alibi.
Gass-Donnelly uses Canadian band Bruce Peninsula throughout, whose swooping mutant gospel sound brings a menacing ambience to the proceedings; their scary melodious incantations make Nick Cave’s similar musical atmospheres sound downright wholesome at times.
At just a tick under 80 minutes Small Town Murder Songs is short and punchy; every scene carries a weight, nothing seems wasted or glib. It’s a movie about haunted characters desperate for deliverance.
That doesn’t sound like fun, but that kind of intensity can produce its own unique kind of high, and besides, there’s a love of people here that’s seems rich and true. That’s rare. In its own melancholy way, it’s a hopeful film, and a very good one.
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