But that passionately defended and derided movement never defined the limits of her sensibility. Like a lot of filmmakers closely associated with mumblecore, the school of American independent cinema that flourished in the early 2000s, she had a natural affinity for self-absorbed young hipsters and slackers bumbling their way through life and love. “Humpday” was a perfectly imperfect example of Shelton’s knack for making movies that were both rough-hewn and fine-grained, and for locating uproarious, often preposterous comic situations in everyday reality. Her less obvious talent was for teasing out the unexpressed feeling behind all those words: Again and again she found the resonance in what her characters weren’t saying, in what they were trying to hide. She was a master of the tetchy and the loquacious, a deft orchestrator of blurted revelations and frayed nerve endings, which is all the more remarkable considering how often she encouraged her actors to improvise. Over a film career typified by formally modest, emotionally perceptive relationship studies like “Humpday,” “Your Sister’s Sister” and “Outside In,” Shelton gave us a lot of chatty, unfiltered types like Deirdre, characters whose thoughts and feelings came pouring out in restless, alternately delightful and infuriating waves.
The poignancy is made even more unbearable by the fact that Mel is played - beautifully - by Marc Maron, Shelton’s romantic partner and frequent collaborator, with whom she was writing a new movie. That she made an exception this time felt like a gift then and feels like even more of a gift now. Shelton, who died Friday at age 54 of an undetected blood disorder, was a director who loved actors and an actor who sometimes appeared in other directors’ movies, but she rarely appeared in her own. None of us could have guessed at the time that “Sword of Trust” would be the last picture Shelton would ever make, or that Deirdre - who in one six-minute scene manages to convey a longtime struggle with addiction and loss - would be the last character she would ever play. “It’s not what you think.”Īnd now, the unthinkable. Mel isn’t having it, and before long his refusals have reduced Deirdre’s desperate pleas to a quiet murmur: “It’s not what you think,” she says, her eyes barely meeting his. After some strained small talk, Deirdre tries to pawn a piece of jewelry, chattering on about how great she’s doing in her new job and how she just needs some money to get her car fixed. The owner, Mel, receives her in stony silence, and their awkward, lopsided conversation lays bare a painful shared history. It begins with a woman, Deirdre (played by Shelton herself), strolling into an Alabama pawnshop, flashing a big, twitchy smile and radiating nervous energy.
IINA L. SHELTON FOUND DEAD MOVIE
One of the most wrenching scenes I saw in any movie last year arrives a few minutes into “Sword of Trust,” the eighth independent feature written and directed by Lynn Shelton.
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