By Joe Hammerschmidt
There are moments throughout a year that tend to stand out better than most. As a surveyor of film, the Seattle International Film Festival has made for a sizable fraction of those moments over the last five consecutive years. Between experiencing films that have yet to reach a proper release date, or even a distributor to call home; and hearing the direct opinions of the filmmakers closest to their work, patrons, and to a slightly larger extent, local critics, have a leg-up. In its first five minutes, Jeff Baena’s The Little Hours will show oneself how its place on this year’s festival lineup was rightfully earned.
Loosely inspired by a segment of Boccaccio’s The Decameron, it starts out simple enough with the daily life of nuns at a convent on the Italian countryside, but quickly shows its bite with f-bombs a-flying. And man, do they fly. Fernanda (Aubrey Plaza) is almost like the captain of her respective cabin, taking no guff for anyone or anything; as would her equally level-headed friends Genevra (Kate Micucci) and Alessandra (Alison Brie). Their superiors, jovial Sister Marea (Molly Shannon) and secretive Father Tomasso (John C. Reilly) are left with a figurative nightmare in their wake the moment the pair blindly welcome a stray servant from one kingdom over. Massetto (Dave Franco, Brie’s wife) is escaping a bad relationship with once master Lord Bruno (John C. Reilly) to whom he had shown disloyalty to the lord’s wife (Lauren Weedman). Pretending to be a deaf mute, Massetto’s raw sexual energy may strive to be the downfall of the entire convent, when he instantly falls for Alessandra.
From the start, the scenery and shot composition, a balanced pairing discovered through DoP Quyen Tran (The Night Stalker), is enough to quietly lure you into the world Baena sets to tear apart by the last frame. All the notes of a proper 14th century dark comedy are present, thanks to an energetic cast of highly respected comedic artists, young and slightly older. The only difficult thing I could’ve wrapped my head around was the reliance of raunch. Sure, this is meant to be a true “sex comedy” set in medieval times, yet the justification is missing for being so heavily overt with its content.
Not that this is a mindless dark comedy, there’s still plenty of intellectual quirk woven into the fabric of Baena’s script, or rather a rough outline to which each cast member simply goes hog-wild with the improvisation, which immediately makes up for the stunning shortcomings this effort is otherwise plagued to endure. Micucci (the clueless one), Brie (the stuck-up society girl), and Plaza (the stone-cold b****) make for the eagerest of mean girls, with Shannon as the watchful den mother who tries and fails to keep order. That dynamic, and the one shared between Brie and Franco, both spouses in real-life, deliver the greatest significance in preventing the story from nearly collapsing on the weight of its own smutty hubris.
The b-plot, involving Massetto escaping his past life would’ve benefitted from greater clarification. There’s enough sense to place him against his master, whom Offerman portrays with admirable restraint; yet there’s not enough time given to Weedman that would otherwise complete the equation of an adultery scandal that would eventually spill over to the convent. Still, Weedman’s presence is otherwise welcome for the few scenes she is involved in. Same goes for Reilly, whose character is otherwise facing many a moral crisis by inviting the stray in the first place. With individual performances overall, the third-act climax led by Fred Armisen’s Bishop Bartolomeo, as aggressive a positive-thinking PR official would be, is the pivotal stand-out protecting the pivotal ending from fizzling out too quickly.
Essentially, we’re seeing a summer camp comedy wrapped up in what would’ve otherwise been a lush period piece. The farcicality thankfully takes the edge off the tension and leaves the activity loose and freeing. Said disregard for ethics is where Baena and his collaborators excel most at, almost drawing a Monty Python-esque influence, even if Baena and Plaza themselves denied that at their respective SIFF Q&A. That formula between ethical and unethical is rather inbalanced, the further the plot is stretched out; it even lands at the point where the plot derails from staying logical, and the characters from maintaining likability, often an expected risk that comes with a film that’s almost entirely improv’d. Still, The Little Hours fulfills its promise of showing downfall in a medieval realm with bright eyes, and a stomach craving purposeful wit, with an army of rebellious comic chefs serving a bountiful multi-course affair guaranteed to please the eye and tickle a rib. Be advised, the content may be more carb than protein. (B-)
“The Little Hours” opens today, 7/7 at SIFF Cinema Uptown; rated R for graphic nudity, sexual content and language; 90 minutes
