TCFF26 REVIEW: Morelife [20XX]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 92 minutes
Director(s): C.J. Renner
Writer(s): C.J. Renner

We paid for a pool, man. The room is free.

As Shawn (Jackson Whitman) takes a final drag on his cigarette after having removed and folded his clothes en route to hoisting himself onto a bridge’s railing, he glances to his right with a double take. Standing with similar intent is another man in Kermit Lancaster (Clayne Crawford)—and any ideas that he might be an angel like Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life are dispelled upon seeing he’s holding two cinder blocks that are also tied to his body.

Morelife writer/director C.J. Renner abruptly cuts to the two men driving in Kermit’s car rather than show us the conversation that gets them there. It’s a bit disorienting because the dialogue that commences during this ride almost makes it seem like Shawn was the only one about to jump. Kermit is engaging. He tries to lighten the mood. He admits he doesn’t want to simply leave Shawn alone for fear he might try it again … even though he probably will too.

It’s an intriguing dynamic that quickly proves crucial to what unfolds. Yes, Kermit is just as suicidal as Shawn, but he’s not as cynically nihilistic. Whereas the latter’s malaise is driven by the over-arching futility that rules present-day humanity, the former has lived long enough to appreciate that hope still has a place in the world. Kermit might not be able to find it for himself anymore, but that doesn’t mean he won’t still help everyone else do so.

He takes it upon himself to “trick” his new companion into agreeing to a deal. Both will postpone their task to see if a story Kermit heard about the transcendent experience of eating a morel mushroom is true. The fact that Shawn doesn’t just flip him off and leave for the closest bridge tells him there’s a chance to change his mind. Maybe it won’t be the fungi, but the thousand-mile adventure on the road getting there might be enough to shake away the fog.

Our hope watching is that this time will prove equally beneficial to Kermit too. That his sardonic nature is a barrier to avoid tough situations rather than proof that he’s already made up his mind. It’s a tricky balance to maintain insofar as depicting this shared journey with a generally aligned disposition in a way that always ensures we know these men aren’t the same. One delays because his mind is made up. The other allows for it because his isn’t.

The journey is therefore as bittersweet in its underlying somberness as it is fun in its nothing-to-lose attitude. Whitman is very good in his portrayal of tired and angry youth in desperate need of a release if he’ll allow himself the time to find it. But Crawford steals the show with a mix of pure-hearted paternal protector (for Shawn and strangers alike when an injustice is being made) and quietly unwavering resignation … all while wearing a rubber fish mask.

Oh. Did I forget to mention that? It’s a wild stylistic choice that’s not only never explained, but also never really acknowledged. Despite a Finding Nemo joke at the start and a couple seemingly telling moments of melancholy when Kermit gazes at a supermarket fish aisle or the expanse of a lake, it’s simply his face. His license photo is the fish mask. Strangers met along the way pay no mind—not even during sex. And it’s normal to his human daughter (Bella Maldonado).

I initially predicted a reveal a la the wonderful indie Sunlight from last year wherein its lead wore a monkey costume as a coping mechanism, but it wasn’t long before I stopped separating the man from the fish. It’s just who he is—a literal fish out of water who has tried for decades to fit in to no avail. Kermit sees himself as an outcast despite conversely having the gift to make others feel special. It’s a tragically authentic depiction of our emotional contradictions.

Will they get their mushrooms? Will they reach the other in a way that heals his pain? You must watch Morelife yourself to find out. Just know that Renner isn’t beholden to a mainstream studio mandate for mass appeal. This is a low-budget labor of love he co-produced with his actor that seeks to find truth in the overlap between pain and possibility by forcing his characters to react to the gravity of their circumstances rather than superficially glide above it.

So, the longer the road trip goes, the more Shawn and Kermit’s disparate wounds are exposed. As they detour to disappointing tourist traps and revel in the joy of a child’s roller rink birthday party, we catch the stark juxtaposition of a reluctant smile becoming more natural and the expressionless façade of a false surface somehow growing sullener. Because a distraction only works so long if that’s all it ever was. It either sparks a recalibration or confirms the inevitable.