‘Stress Positions’ review: Not even John Early can generate much emotion in a frenetic comedy about a queer pandemic

A queer satirical comedy about gender, identity, sexuality and existential paralysis, set in Brooklyn at the feverish height of the pandemic lockdown? It seems like it has potential. Add a starring role to the talented John Early, whose radical madness, keen social observation and easy-going swagger have made him an influential figure on the comedy scene, and he looks even more promising. Unfortunately, the first feature film from writer, director and star Theda Hammel, Stress positions, he never manages to make a virtue of his chaotic style, no matter how hard he tries. and he tries hard.

Part of the problem, at least for this reviewer, is that nothing gets old faster than COVID humor. Perhaps some audiences will still chuckle at the combat gas masks, mists of disinfectant spray, and ritual banging of pots and pans to greet essential medical workers on the front lines in New York. But I’m over it now.

The film travels in territory familiar to many of the best recent New York-set debuts, such as Desiree Akhavan. Appropriate behavior or Emma Seligman’s baby shiva, indies about a generation prone to ironic self-awareness and destined to forever continue analyzing questions of identity and sexuality. Whatever their strengths and limitations, those films were unequivocal about the central characters they chose to examine. While Hammel could aspire to an ensemble comedy, Stress positions lacks concentration; the director can’t seem to decide who should be the heart of her shapeless narrative, a feeling compounded by the dueling voiceovers.

Early plays Terry Goon, abandoned by her husband Leo (John Roberts), but forced by his poor finances to live in the latter’s “party house” in Brooklyn. He introduces himself to Terry as he attempts to purge the brownstone of all traces of his ex’s hedonistic excesses by clumsily rolling a large mirror ball across the entrance. This sets the tone for a performance that swings wildly between cringeworthy physical comedy and smug hysteria.

Eccentric upstairs tenant Coco (Rebecca F. Wright) came with the building, and Terry installed her Moroccan nephew Bahlul (Qaher Harhash) in the basement, where the 19-year-old model is recovering from a broken leg. Much of the opening action involves Terry in a dispute over a series of minor crises: a maskless Coco entering the pandemic pod, an internet outage, a wayward chicken tenderloin that causes him to slip on the kitchen floor. .

That painful fall leads him to call his trans friend Karla (Hammel), who arrives with a yoga mat, supposedly to solve Terry’s back problems, but Bahlul, the subject of much curiosity in Terry’s circle, stops him. instantly diverts.

Hammel is an engaging screen presence, throwing out inappropriate comments with gleeful abandon and making Karla the kind of endearing and infuriating friend: her affection is often barbed and her opportunism remorseless. (The first thing she does upon arriving at Terry’s is steal a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet.) But Hammel’s merits as an actress (and composer, contributing an engaging synth score) overshadow her unrefined instincts as a director. Is there a more obvious way to describe messy lives than manic handheld camera work?

Even in a tight 95 minutes, Stress positions spreads between the main characters, bringing everyone together at a backyard barbecue on the 4th of July, where Leo appears and Karla causes concern by burning an American flag and posting the video on TikTok. But that scene never amounts to much, and the film remains too uneven in tone to find a satisfying rhythm. The chapter titles that punctuate the comedy – “You are not connected to the Internet”, “Welcome to your twenties”, “I come to join the revolution”, etc. – seem simply arbitrary.

The much-used parallel voiceovers are from Karla, ironically commenting on Terry’s life while also describing her own disenchantment in her relationship with the writer Vanessa (Amy Zimmer), whose first novel crossed some personal boundaries; and Bahlul, piecing together her mother’s past, beginning with a fleeting image of her in Terry and Leo’s wedding video.

Bahlul is the character who comes closest to having a discernible arc, not one that feels fully developed or psychologically solid. The funniest moment of the film is when Karla pushes him to explore the feminine side of him, to leave behind the “hell of men” and join the women. Terry’s nervous response: “Not everyone is trans!” – I think it was the only time I laughed out loud. But Stress positions it feels threadbare, neglected and underdeveloped. The phrase “fiction is freedom” emerges, although this brief snapshot of directionless millennials, goaded by pandemic panic, doesn’t do enough with that license.