We never meet the narrator (Nick Offerman) of Bob Byington’s film Frances Ferguson. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing or uncommon, but I couldn’t shake the idea that we should. It’s because he isn’t some omnisciently objective voice telling us a story. He interjects opinions, giggles, and often meanders to the point where his subject (Kaley Wheless’ Frances) must speak up to help him along. In one instance he mentions a “We” as though his (and another’s) entrance on-screen was imminent. It’s not. He means us, now … maybe. The film never acknowledges the weird duality of his presence as someone and no one simultaneously. It’s probably just a quirky choice for comedy within a dryly-quirky film I’m reading too much into, but it frustrated me without end.
This probably stems from my being frustrated right from the start as that glibly,...
This probably stems from my being frustrated right from the start as that glibly,...
- 10/12/2019
- by Jared Mobarak
- The Film Stage
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