Frownland and Disability

So far the only feature directed by Ronald Bronstein, Frownland (2007) is one of the most powerful films from the 2000s, and from the independent scene in America. Bronstein spends over an hour and half tearing its audience apart with its lead character, played to painful affect by Dore Mann. Frownland won the Special Jury Prize at SXSW Film Festival.

Bronstein, in his feature, creates a film that not only makes you hate the characters, but hate yourself for hating him. Dore Mann plays Keith, who although never stated, seems to have some sort of disability that prevents him from dealing with apparently simple and easy day-to-day social encounters. Although you are aware that you should feel sorry for him as he struggles, it is almost impossible not to wish to lash out like the characters around him. This conflict has stuck with me since first seeing Frownland. Should I feel sorry for him? Am I bad for feeling sorry for him? Does he even deserve any sympathy?

Keith is treated badly, lives in mess and poverty, and yet it seems impossible to have any sympathy for him. Bronstein however seems to be attempting to empower Keith by removing his disability from the equation. It becomes a background factor, and rather we judge Keith on his day-to-day actions. Disability, when featured in a film, is often the key feature to that film, the driving force behind the narrative, something we, the ‘normal’ can belittle and sympathises with. We attempt to fit them into a spectrum we understand, making ‘them’ more like ‘us’. We watch a film like Rain Man (1988) in order to see him ‘overcome’ his terrible life, attempting to ‘normalise’ him instead of embracing what he is. The Intouchables (2011) is a more recent high-profile example. Very few films embrace its main character’s disability or refuse to sympathise with it. Whereas Frownland normalises by making us not feel sympathy for Keith, Beeswax (2009) does this by almost ignoring the fact our main character is in a wheel-chair, or Punch-Drunk Love (2002) placing its character in a traditional rom-com situation, while embracing its slightly off-kilter lead.

The ugliness of the characters, Keith’s struggle to understand what is happening around him, is matched by the direction of Bronstein, who never allows the viewer to settle. We are constantly presented with blurry, hard to understand images on scratchy film. This is done more than for aesthetic reasons, but rather to give an idea on how hard it is for Keith to understand daily social situations. When we can’t focus, Keith can’t focus, we panic, are frustrated, confused. We can understand Keith, yet not can’t as well. It’s beautiful, painful, tormenting and destroying. For a short amount of time, you are placed in the mind of someone who cannot deal with simple situations, and we quickly begin to hate ourselves for becoming part of it. Just as Keith clearly hates himself for living. The only difference is after 110 minutes.

All done on a tiny-budget.