Over the GW is a near failure of a debut feature, and not because it's not without trying...Actually, it is. It's a shamble all the more because it's writer/director/technical everyman Nick Gaglia went through the same rehab cult that he depicts in the film. Sometimes a first time filmmaker, full of the vigor that comes with getting a thumbs up or two from fellow film students, goes headlong into style that is way too disjointed, unsure, and dramatically frustrating that the personal side of the story, the extremely personal side, gets smudged in the purpose of telling a good story. Gaglia, who was 13 when put into a horrid program that basically tortured and brainwashed their "patients" with crazy group scare tactics, psychological mind-f*** sessions that could go on for days, and attitudes from the rehab leaders that would make most Nazis cringe, escaped finally when he was 15. I'm glad he got out, though it might help if he now goes into a real rehab for his film-making skills, if only for a couple of days, to learn things like, say, structure, proper lighting, fluid camera movement, subtlety with actors, and other basics that are perpetually lost here.
It's all the more frustrating because Gaglia is dealing with a subject that should be shown more to the public (there was recently a Newsweek article referring to a similar AA cult-rehab). Many times one wonders if certain personal character studies might work better as documentaries as opposed to narrative dramas. This is an ever-nagging sensation throughout Over the GW, where it almost feels like Gaglia wants to tell the truth but doesn't know how to communicate it properly through his characters. The character that one would think is closest to him, Bronx teen Tony Serra (Gallagher), who is taken by his mother to a rehab in New Jersey, would be closest to Gaglia, is actually much more of a one-dimensional being, where there is very little back-story (we see a brief freak-out, in black and white, in his old home) and little connection to his mother (Moriarty), who has more potential that is never tapped aside from a cold stone who passes her kids off to another. But there is a story to go with his two-year crisis, I guess.
Right off the bat things get rough (a nude cavity search in the first five minutes), and soon it's clear that instead of medical care it's more like a cross between anger management and some bizarre religious sect, where the head doctor Hiller (Insinnia) is a total over-controlling loon. But soon Tony's sister Sofia (Donohue) gets thrown in to the program, and as opposed to Tony's repeated moments of outrage and supposed non-compliance, she goes head-on through the whacked-out three step program and once released becoming a runaway. At times there are bits in this fractured nightmare, where there's one woman, a 22 year old mother who has been in the program a year and a half finds she's become a prisoner not allowed to leave, and when the father of the main siblings comes and pays an enraged visit to Hiller when Sofia finally returns to them, that do contain some raw power, very brief glimpses of Gaglia being able to at least garner some leverage in pure melodrama.
But these are moments few and far between. It's not just the unsuccessful characters, who are mostly reduced to stereotypes that veer into being like hysterical D.A.R.E. rip-offs (maybe some of them, like an angry black youth, the passive-aggressive counselors, or even Serra's older sister who is ratted out by the siblings as having taken a hit off a joint and almost thrown into the program, would resonate more if there was more time given to develop any of them). It's that Gaglia is so unfocused in his multiple roles on his tiny $30,000 budget that not one side of whatever potential talent he has can come through. He over-uses tints, mostly with a shade that looks urine-coated), he jiggles his hand-held DVX camera as if it's supposed to be intense ala City of God, occasionally a character will just shoot into frame randomly, his choices of music are like the worst selections possible from pseudo-indie soft-rockers, and there's even inane fake interview scenes with Nicholas Serra (inspiration ?) and Krakowsky that feel about as false as possible.
Could Gaglia just not get any interviews with the real victims he was with and resort to would-be artistically cathartic plan B? Bottom line, no matter how much from-the-heart true life stories may appeal to you, don't bother seeing it in the theater, or even on rental, unless you love a final scene with two kids staring off into the digital-hued Hudson river sunset with the final words reading: Dedicated to the Kids. Oy.
It's all the more frustrating because Gaglia is dealing with a subject that should be shown more to the public (there was recently a Newsweek article referring to a similar AA cult-rehab). Many times one wonders if certain personal character studies might work better as documentaries as opposed to narrative dramas. This is an ever-nagging sensation throughout Over the GW, where it almost feels like Gaglia wants to tell the truth but doesn't know how to communicate it properly through his characters. The character that one would think is closest to him, Bronx teen Tony Serra (Gallagher), who is taken by his mother to a rehab in New Jersey, would be closest to Gaglia, is actually much more of a one-dimensional being, where there is very little back-story (we see a brief freak-out, in black and white, in his old home) and little connection to his mother (Moriarty), who has more potential that is never tapped aside from a cold stone who passes her kids off to another. But there is a story to go with his two-year crisis, I guess.
Right off the bat things get rough (a nude cavity search in the first five minutes), and soon it's clear that instead of medical care it's more like a cross between anger management and some bizarre religious sect, where the head doctor Hiller (Insinnia) is a total over-controlling loon. But soon Tony's sister Sofia (Donohue) gets thrown in to the program, and as opposed to Tony's repeated moments of outrage and supposed non-compliance, she goes head-on through the whacked-out three step program and once released becoming a runaway. At times there are bits in this fractured nightmare, where there's one woman, a 22 year old mother who has been in the program a year and a half finds she's become a prisoner not allowed to leave, and when the father of the main siblings comes and pays an enraged visit to Hiller when Sofia finally returns to them, that do contain some raw power, very brief glimpses of Gaglia being able to at least garner some leverage in pure melodrama.
But these are moments few and far between. It's not just the unsuccessful characters, who are mostly reduced to stereotypes that veer into being like hysterical D.A.R.E. rip-offs (maybe some of them, like an angry black youth, the passive-aggressive counselors, or even Serra's older sister who is ratted out by the siblings as having taken a hit off a joint and almost thrown into the program, would resonate more if there was more time given to develop any of them). It's that Gaglia is so unfocused in his multiple roles on his tiny $30,000 budget that not one side of whatever potential talent he has can come through. He over-uses tints, mostly with a shade that looks urine-coated), he jiggles his hand-held DVX camera as if it's supposed to be intense ala City of God, occasionally a character will just shoot into frame randomly, his choices of music are like the worst selections possible from pseudo-indie soft-rockers, and there's even inane fake interview scenes with Nicholas Serra (inspiration ?) and Krakowsky that feel about as false as possible.
Could Gaglia just not get any interviews with the real victims he was with and resort to would-be artistically cathartic plan B? Bottom line, no matter how much from-the-heart true life stories may appeal to you, don't bother seeing it in the theater, or even on rental, unless you love a final scene with two kids staring off into the digital-hued Hudson river sunset with the final words reading: Dedicated to the Kids. Oy.
