Hola all. Massawyrm here. Ordinarily a film like Daltry Calhoun wouldn’t even be worth mentioning. Typical of the post-indie slice of life explosion, it is yet another venture into the “sweetly retarded” south that Yankees love to giggle about incessantly and explore since the big city coffeeshop culture has done been played out about as far as it can go. But as this particular film is executively produced by one Quentin Tarantino and stars one Johnny Knoxville, this will most certainly draw in those indie fans looking for something new and different. However, despite the indie power behind it, Daltry Calhoun proves to be anything but different.
As confused and mixed up about what it wants to be as it’s characters, Daltry Calhoun is the story of a young girl reconnecting with her rags-to-riches father as her mother is dying and his empire is crumbling. Unfortunately, this film lacks the emotional punch of even the most clichéd of After School Specials. Despite what on the surface appears to be an interesting concept, the film meanders past any potential conflict or emotional moment to focus only upon the saccharine sweetness of the situation, attempting to tell a very mature story from the point of view of a fourteen year-old girl. Yet the film fails at every opportunity to even remotely capture the confusion of youth, trying instead to be funny about the awkwardness of it rather than getting anywhere near the truth.
Among the films many problems is a complete lack of focus. While certainly many great films can tell the stories of multiple characters at one time, Daltry Calhoun cannot. Here, first time director Katrina Holden Bronson falls prey to the worst of amateur traps, telling us - rather than showing us - the characters’ histories and conflicts. Narrated by the films least interesting character, Daltry Calhoun’s fourteen year-old daughter June (played by Sophie Traub), we’re told all about how Daltry Calhoun (Johnny Knoxville) went from being a white trash three time loser to head of a highly lucrative sod (golf course grass) company and his town’s (Ducksville U.S.A.) chief celebrity. But while we’re told about Calhoun’s search for redemption and enlightenment (as shown briefly in a goofball montage done much better in a recent Stainmaster carpet commercial) we’re never given the chance to feel or experience it for ourselves. It’s simply backstory – when in fact, it should be the bulk of the story. At the same time, we’re given the story of June who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot going on with her apart from her love of music, reading and Calhoun’s Australian horticulturist.
While we’re supposed to feel for June and her ‘emotional journey’, the film breezes through the death of her mother, her awkward reconnection with her father and the one thing that might keep her out of Julliard – her inability to read sheet music. Oh sure, she talks about these things on occasion, but never shows much emotion about them or even how she manages to come to grips with it all. Things simply happen and we’re given brief snippets of her moping and a whole lot of her playing harmonica – interspersed with shots of Johnny Knoxville looking conflicted. Then, for no apparent reason, she takes off running down the street. Ah, youth.
And as complicated as this film could have been, every complication has an easy and immediate fix. Magically, as if with no effort at all, everything just works itself out. This is a coming of age film in which no one actually comes of age - -a character piece in which no one manages to escape their stereotype. Bland, uninspired, and lacking any real substance, Daltry Calhoun is a meandering mess lost in the sea of the director’s own confusion. And the sad part is, Daltry Calhoun is actually an interesting character. The idea of a worthless low life who manages to start anew, trying to both forget and pay off the karmic debt of his past is always a good one. Bronson, however, isn’t sure if she wants to tell that story, or if the story she wants to tell is that of the motherless daughter of that man. So she tells both, and gets neither right.
So when this thing pops up at your local video store with the large blaring letters “From Executive Producer Quentin Tarantino” know that despite whatever money or support he threw it’s way, it doesn’t for one second show. Vapid and meaningless, I can’t think of one single thing worth seeing it for - nor mentioning again.
Until next time friends, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. I know I will.
Massawyrm
