The Wolfpack could have been so many movies that it wasn't, and that seems to have pissed off a number of critics. Given the stirring potential of a documentary that principally follows six male siblings effectively imprisoned in a Manhattan apartment throughout their childhood, you sometimes find yourself frustrated that director Crystal Moselle doesn't sink her teeth into the sinister abuse or mental-scarring narrative the scenario clearly lends to-- where's the Law and Order: SVU of it all? Or as we learn the boys have a penchant for recreating iconic films frame-by-frame, you might hope that Moselle compels the boys to re-enact their experience growing up with no social outlet or window to the world but Quentin Tarantino's filmography. At the very least, you presume Moselle will take command of the narrative and squarely tell us "this is a story of survival," or "this is a story of redemption," or "this is a story of love." You expect her to tell you how to feel about the whole tragic? inspiring? unlikeliness of it all.
Moselle never does any of that. And for my money, it is not because she is naive or inexperienced, as some reviewers have suggested. She's simply not interested in being a didactic or a dictatorial filmmaker; she has too much respect for her subjects and too much faith in her audience. She instead wants us to form a relationship with The Wolfpack, like the one that she has cultivated over the past 5 years. It's a well-nourished friendship that respects boundaries, that does not permit speaking over or speaking for friends, that does not wish to see a friend disgraced, that is more interested in getting to know a friend than in making decisions about him. Journalisticly, it's problematic, but as an audience member, it's refreshing to see something so naturalistic and so respectful of its subject matter that you know nothing is revealed that wasn't graciously and enthusiastically shared.
I will concede that there's a certain amount of "dumb luck" in Moselle's approach, but I insist it's a dumb luck only accessible to a director who is caring, compassionate, attentive, and patient. While it was serendipity that first-time filmmaker Moselle encountered these boys on one of their first ever independent outings in the city, it takes a great deal of kindness, courage, and persistence to turn that serendipity into a 5-year relationship and the opportunity to freely film a distrusting family. And perhaps its happenstance that the boys are so insightful and reflective, so forthcoming, so bursting-at-the-seams to tell a story and finally be in their own film. But people don't share and people don't trust if you don't give them reason to. The only true impossible kismet of the movie, the spark that would set the film ablaze for even the most inept director, is the boys' passion and talent for film-making. It's the organic answer to this summer's forced, over-polished Me and Earl and The Dying Girl: a movie for film lovers, by film lovers, about the transformative force of cinema and the highs-and-lows of seeing the world as a movie. It radiates so desperately from the boys that you can't help but see it.
There's much to respond to in the film, much to feel. As someone who, in a less literal sense, relied on movies to discover the world and still sees things through lenses cinematic and poetic, I saw myself in these boys. I know what it means to see each person you encounter as both an archetype and a rich, realized universe, as a narrative you could never reduce to "good" or "bad" or to anything, really. And there's the conflicted joy and unexpected jealousy that creeps up in seeing these boys so free of self-consciousness. They are afraid of a lot of things, but never of being embarrassed, of reading foolish or melodramatic, of making an ass of themselves-- when they're remaking The Dark Knight they're uninhibited hams and when they're meeting other people for the first time they're spirited, inquisitive, and forthright. Then there's the powerful reminder that the forces that literally controlled us as children can continue to bind us, even when the visible threat of them is gone. Some of the boys remain confined to their home into their legal adulthood, beyond the time their father directly forbids them, beyond the time when their father would, physically, be a barrier to their freedom. There is an ingrained fear, an ingrained understanding, and a lingering sense of impossibility that life beyond the apartment could or should exist any time soon. But once it happens, once the fear of their father and the fear of the world is faced and conquered, a whole new world exists for these boys where they can be free of their father's constraint and abuse.
But the emotional epicenter of the film, for me, is the un-unique wildfire of love the boys share with their mother. They worry about her freedom, her safety, her sense of self-worth, and she worries she's forever harmed them by staying in a relationship she clearly feels trapped in. When they're able to experience un-caged moments together, in an endless apple orchard outside of the watch of their paranoid, controlling father, there's a rapturous joy in watching them celebrate the freedom and chance for discovery in each other. The boys especially need to know that their mom can still experience the world and that she can build something for herself outside of her sad, abusive, drunk of a father. It's a delight to see the boys (and presumably Moselle) create spaces for this freedom for her, but it's ultimately painful to realize she seemingly has no intention-- or feels she has no right or agency-- to truly begin a life without their father.
Moselle's film is never as structured, complete, or compelling as it could be. The questions she asks, while significant, are asked quietly, and she never demands an answer to any of them. We never know the extent of the patriarch's abuse or have our morbid curiosities indulged about the cost of the boys' social isolation. Nor do we leave the film with a comprehensive sense of what it means to be raised by Quentin Tarantino (though the answer seems to be that it's less violent or reality-distorting than you might expect). Instead, we just get to know these boys and their family for 88 minutes. Never really as individuals, but a cohesive, creative unit that is smart, brave, supportive, curious, and full of spirit and love. We care for them, we worry for them, and we're inspired by their earnestness, perspective, and talent. As with all our good friends, we see in them a potential for amazing things. But unlike most of our friends, the boys seems to see it in themselves, too, as if they've never imagined a world where people who put their mind to it don't achieve greatness. And in letting us see that, rather than pulling out any of a number of documentary framing tropes she could have wielded, Moselle has given us a real gift.
And, no disrespect, but there were no men in the film who I experienced as especially hot. So, instead, here's my apropos first childhood crush: Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf.
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