‘Dean’
Directed by Demetri Martin
Starring Demetri Martin, Kevin Kline, Gillian Jacobs
Rated PG-13
Playing at Angelika Film Center and Lincoln Plaza Cinema
“Dean” is the sort of heartfelt, personal film that makes it a little bit difficult to conjure up the honesty required to do this correctly.
While no one should question the sincerity of writer-director-star Demetri Martin or his movie loosely inspired by the experience of losing his father at the age of 20, it plays out like the warmed-over leftovers of “Garden State,” 13 years too late.
Zach Braff’s 2004 movie might today seem like a hopelessly dated and out-of-touch privileged white man’s lament, but the restrained quirky sensibility and indie rock soundtrack indelibly shaped the coming-of-age American independent subgenre of the period.
Martin goes all-in on the Woody Allen-like aesthetic and his movie submerges in clichés. These range from the comedian’s trademark simple line drawings, which are invested with forced levels of significance, to the feel-good aphorisms dotting the narration; the evocations of the protagonist’s withdrawn emotional state; and the magical love interest who swoops in to give him a measure of hope and contentment.
Martin plays the title character, an artist coping with the death of his mother, his father’s (Kevin Kline) subsequent decision to sell his family home and his dead-end professional life in New York City.
Circumstances show signs of shifting after Dean makes the impromptu decision to visit Los Angeles, where he meets Nicky (Gillian Jacobs), who has a kind heart and a winning smile and takes a liking to the shaggy-haired loner.
It all plays out in painstakingly milquetoast fashion. The presence of Kline, who captures the sadness and disorientation of massive loss with the sort of engaging subtle notes that escape Martin, and a winningly understated vision of the California metropolis, are the only points keeping “Dean” from the dregs of whimsical indie malaise.
There is no hard and fast rule against making movies like this in 2017, but this one simply feels out of touch.
It skates on the surface of profundity without actually offering much beyond simplistic sentiments about dislocation and finding oneself. The filmmaker makes no real effort to locate Dean’s story in any sort of larger context or to acknowledge the fact that the story of the angst-ridden straight white male made to feel better about himself, as conveyed in this form, is about the oldest and most tired one around.
