WYRM bifurcates into two movies, both of which are very good but neither of which is great. The first is a comedic satire about sexual education for children. The second is an indie dramedy about grief and growing up. I haven't seen the short film on which this is based, but my guess is that it was mostly just one of those and that once writer-director Christopher Winterbauer secured funding to expand it to a feature-length, he whisked in through the back door what probably should have been a new, separate project rather than expanding what was already there. Which is fine, it works-but the second half of the movie does seem very different from what was promised at the start.
The first half is a lightly dystopian satire that's both sci fi and 1990s period film. The titular outcast Wyrm (Theo Taplitz) lives in a world where sexual development is front and center in the education of adolescents and is mediated through ostentatious technology that monitors their sexual behavior. The target of this satire is what queer theorist Lee Edelman would call "reproductive futurity": the idea that American society places a huge premium on procreative hetero-sexuality because "children are the future." In Wyrm's world, bureaucrats are driven to make sure that all children start engaging in healthy, age-appropriate sexual exploration at just the right time so that "no child is left alone": monogamous, moderate sexuality is the key to happiness and health. This world isn't anti-gay in the way one might expect, but it does sideline queer individuals such as the quasi-asexual Wyrm, who is currently struggling with bigger problems than trying to impress a new girlfriend or boyfriend. His developmental "delay," which is made extremely visible by the blinking, padlocked collar around his neck broadcasting his virginity, is only reinforced by his school's wrongheaded emphasis on incentivizing sexuality through shame; by the time the film starts, the fact that he is still a virgin is likely to be a major factor in making him stay a virgin. This aspect of the film is funny and weird and makes for some very memorable, surreal imagery. Halfway through the movie, however, Wyrm achieves the milestone that gets his collar to pop off. At that point, the whole dystopian premise essentially disappears.
The indie dramedy is present throughout the movie, but once Wyrm's collar pops off, it becomes the sole focus. In fact, almost everything in the second half of the film could just be a 1990s period drama with no sci-fi elements whatsoever. Wyrm is grieving the death of his older brother, which has estranged his parents in different directions and has made Wyrm's twin sister (Lulu Wilson) bitter and jaded. Wyrm records interviews with people who knew his very popular, accomplished brother, and in the end he presents his findings on the many complicated forms of grief and memory. This aspect of the film is perfectly fine! Sosie Bacon is excellent as the dead brother's surviving girlfriend, Rosemarie Dewitt is very convincing has Wyrm's lost mother, and Wilson gives a memorable turn as a sister whose grief has manifested as anger. It's all very realistic and touching, but it has almost nothing to do with the other half of the film, and when that premise is completely jettisoned midway through the running time, it leads to a jarring feeling that somehow outweighs the fact that each individual half was quite solid on its own merits. Taplitz, who had the quieter of the two leading roles in 2016's LITTLE MEN, sells every moment of the film and somehow manages to hold it all together, but the movie is nevertheless disjointed.
What I've critiqued is minor, and I would certainly recommend the film to anyone who's curious. But I hope that the next film Winterbauer writes has a more solid structure holding it all together.
The first half is a lightly dystopian satire that's both sci fi and 1990s period film. The titular outcast Wyrm (Theo Taplitz) lives in a world where sexual development is front and center in the education of adolescents and is mediated through ostentatious technology that monitors their sexual behavior. The target of this satire is what queer theorist Lee Edelman would call "reproductive futurity": the idea that American society places a huge premium on procreative hetero-sexuality because "children are the future." In Wyrm's world, bureaucrats are driven to make sure that all children start engaging in healthy, age-appropriate sexual exploration at just the right time so that "no child is left alone": monogamous, moderate sexuality is the key to happiness and health. This world isn't anti-gay in the way one might expect, but it does sideline queer individuals such as the quasi-asexual Wyrm, who is currently struggling with bigger problems than trying to impress a new girlfriend or boyfriend. His developmental "delay," which is made extremely visible by the blinking, padlocked collar around his neck broadcasting his virginity, is only reinforced by his school's wrongheaded emphasis on incentivizing sexuality through shame; by the time the film starts, the fact that he is still a virgin is likely to be a major factor in making him stay a virgin. This aspect of the film is funny and weird and makes for some very memorable, surreal imagery. Halfway through the movie, however, Wyrm achieves the milestone that gets his collar to pop off. At that point, the whole dystopian premise essentially disappears.
The indie dramedy is present throughout the movie, but once Wyrm's collar pops off, it becomes the sole focus. In fact, almost everything in the second half of the film could just be a 1990s period drama with no sci-fi elements whatsoever. Wyrm is grieving the death of his older brother, which has estranged his parents in different directions and has made Wyrm's twin sister (Lulu Wilson) bitter and jaded. Wyrm records interviews with people who knew his very popular, accomplished brother, and in the end he presents his findings on the many complicated forms of grief and memory. This aspect of the film is perfectly fine! Sosie Bacon is excellent as the dead brother's surviving girlfriend, Rosemarie Dewitt is very convincing has Wyrm's lost mother, and Wilson gives a memorable turn as a sister whose grief has manifested as anger. It's all very realistic and touching, but it has almost nothing to do with the other half of the film, and when that premise is completely jettisoned midway through the running time, it leads to a jarring feeling that somehow outweighs the fact that each individual half was quite solid on its own merits. Taplitz, who had the quieter of the two leading roles in 2016's LITTLE MEN, sells every moment of the film and somehow manages to hold it all together, but the movie is nevertheless disjointed.
What I've critiqued is minor, and I would certainly recommend the film to anyone who's curious. But I hope that the next film Winterbauer writes has a more solid structure holding it all together.