In preparing my thoughts about writer/director Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy, in which Michelle William’s nearly indigent drifter, Wendy, becomes seriously waylaid in a small town on her way toward a new future in Alaska, I was fully prepared to lecture Reichardt about the lessons she could learn from the film Old Joy. There is a common tone and language between the films, such that Old Joy came to mind within the first few minutes of Wendy and Lucy.
Old Joy is a lovely film, one which engages you surreptitiously, almost in spite of its languid pace and nearly non-existent narrative. I thought that Reichardt would benefit from watching Old Joy, since her film lacked Old Joy’s tonal orchestration, leaving us cold and detached. Unlike in Reichardt’s work, I was prepared to say, Old Joy balances moments of melancholy with satisfaction. In the context of light and energy, moments of dark quiet become meaningful. Without the balance, quiet and darkness can, as here, excruciating.
Old Joy exploited the audience’s uncertainty with where the film was headed, and made for an experience in which the otherwise banal conversations between two old friends took on greater significance. Wendy and Lucy, on the other hand, contains nothing unexpected and builds tension (if it does at all) through the frustration of our disengagement with Wendy.
Then, to my surprise and embarrassment, I discovered that Reichardt directed Old Joy. I guess I was onto something by finding similarities between the films. But no matter who made them, the critical distinction between the dull masochism of Wendy and Lucy and the unassuming engagement of Old Joy remains. We don’t care enough about Wendy because she hasn’t shown the ability, even if circumstances were better, to experience happiness – or even passionate sadness or anger, for that matter. At one point she is meant to yell at the young punk who catches her shoplifting, but the scene falls – like Wendy’s psychological profile – completely flat. Even her love for her dog seems robotic. At the end of the film, when Wendy’s luck has gone from bad to worse and she must makes a decision that should engage the viewer, I (a self-professed sap) didn’t care. To have drained me of all empathy is certainly a cinematic feat, but something tells me it wasn’t the result that the director had in mind.
Here are this morning’s Oscar-nominated films, alphabetically. The nominees for foreign language film and documentary feature are compiled at the end of the list. (Short format nominees are listed in a 
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