In the wake of Moonlight’s Oscar win, the independent film scene seems to be swelling with a push towards human stories. Restless under the regime of sequels and franchise schlock, the archetypal “indie film” has shifted to stories devoted to the austerity of existence that often border on meandering drivel. Thankfully, The Florida Project continues down the path established by director Sean Baker’s debut picture Tangerine; a minimalistic narrative approach assisted by actors that feel impossibly real and cinematography tempered in scope and budget for imaginative, cinematic visuals. It’s no surprise it’s getting Oscar buzz, because it actually deserves it.
The Florida Project follows a young ill-tempered mother and her precocious daughter, Moonee, over a summer spent in the podunk outskirts of Florida. The film is deliberate about the chartierazaion of Moonee’s mother Hailey, never painting`with broad strokes or allowing your contempt for her to linger. Hailey is at times reprehensible, and I don’t mean in some Byronic sense where her abject behavior is always informed by some genius or greater good. Baker crafts a self-serving, impulsive and self-destructive protagonist that cares very little about earning our sympathy.
In fact, her redemption is sort of incidental. Between scenes of Hailey hooking while her six-year-old daugher bathes in the next room, or vandalizing property, or physically assaulting someone, there are these quiet moments. Not scenes mind you, but mere moments when she’ll look at Moonee in a way you might look at someone you care deeply about, and all of a sudden abhorrence is washed away.
It doesn’t hurt that said daughter, played by Brooklyn Kimberly Prince, is an undeniable movie star. She’s an integral piece of the illusion that makes The Florida Project’s inevitable conclusion all the more gut-wrenching. A great deal of the film shadows Moonee and her restive comrades as they gallivant through brightly-colored apartment complexes and summer scenes, and for a while you become beguiled by its rhythm. Despite the writing on the wall, you begin to think maybe this is the movie: a collection of innocuous set pieces, that are sorta funny, but ultimately lead nowhere. Without giving anything away, I will say only that this is decidedly not the case.
Willem Dafoe is the good-natured Bobby, manager of the motel at which Moonee and Hailey reside. He tries his best to remain patient and empathetic with a family damaged beyond his means: a mother both reckless and unfit, and a kid thrust into the complexity of adulthood before she can comprehend it. The Florida Project forces us to identify with characters in ways we’re no longer used to. Ways that are uncomfortable. It’s no accident the film takes place right outside of The Magic Kingdom and the majority of its settings are vibrant homages to classic fairy tales.
The Florida Project cast is a careful mélange of first-time actors, and complete non-professionals, both anchored by veteran Willem Dafoe. Dafoe doesn’t act circles around the newcomers in the way you might expect, though this is one of his best performances. His seasoned talent feels less like upstaging and more like a masterclass in motion. He’s both our POV and our tether to the “cinematic.” The Academy should take note.
The ambitious realism attempted by Baker and The Florida Project further cements A24 as the lone vigil in a sea of sentiment-fueled commercialism. It has garnered some significant Oscar buzz, even being compared in some circles to last year’s best picture winner Moonlight,
The Florida Project is the sort of humanist fable we could stand to see a little more often. Painting a portrait that sheds light on a very real, solem existence without ever forgetting to feel cinematic.
