The Secret Society for Slow Romance (2022)
Pace, Love, and Happiness
An hour before I introduced the 2019 Chicago premiere of Werewolf Ninja Philosopher, I interviewed filmmaker Sujewa Ekanayake in the offices above the Facets theatre, along with the werewolf himself, actor Art Shrian Tiwari. Partway through the conversation, Sujewa pulled out a sheet of paper and began drawing Paul Schrader’s “Chart of Non-Narrative Cinema” from memory. Many of the directors on the diagram were pioneers and practitioners of “Slow Cinema”, which, I soon learned, wasn’t just a fancy way of describing “long, boring movies”. Who could’ve known that those hastily scribbled names, concentric circles, and dotted lines would change my life?
Soon after, Sujewa and I began a monthly podcast series called “The Slowdown”,* in which we reviewed expansive and imaginative indie epics from around the globe by the likes of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Jim Jarmusch, and Lav Diaz. In a flash, I had rocketed past my self-imposed “independent film” boundaries that had been largely defined by Fox Searchlight and A24 releases.
“The Slowdown” was also a platform for Sujewa to discuss his next film, Slow Romance (during the COVID-19 pandemic both the movie’s scope and title expanded to The Secret Society for Slow Romance). We chronicled the casting, scripting, shooting, and long post-production/release process. And when I finally got to see the finished work toward the end of last year…I thought it was okay.
It was an awkward position to be in, for sure, and I held off writing a review of Slow Romance until I could watch it again. You’re right in thinking this isn’t a courtesy I extend to every movie that fails to knock me out on the first viewing. And, yes, my friendship with Sujewa factored heavily into that courtesy.
Now that all my cards are on the table, how does the movie hold up in round two?
A lot better, I’ve gotta say, and the secret to appreciating this particular Secret Society (for me, anyway) lies in context. Werewolf Ninja Philosopher was a black-and-white slow cinema comedy about a lycanthrope New York detective investigating the murder of a film critic. Decked out in a suit and low-tech Halloween Headquarters makeup, Art Tiwari created a deadpan absurdist icon whose encounter with a public that does not at all find him strange was the cherry on top of a hypnotically joyous experience. Slow Romance, by contrast, was partially inspired by Louis Malle’s 1981 opus, My Dinner with Andre, leaving the fantastical behind and centering almost exclusively on conversations between two New York creatives.
Rene (Ekanayake) is an established independent filmmaker who was voted “Happiest Man in North America”. Allyson (Alia Lorae) is a younger auteur who, despite having directed an eyebrow-raising 29 features and 150 shorts, hasn’t managed to find a voice or a community within the NY scene (despite having been voted its “Most Productive” filmmaker). As Slow Romance opens, they meet at Rene’s place. He lends her some equipment. They talk about movies. They agree to meet again.
Besides walks in the park, meals at his place, and the occasional interstitial of Allyson alone in her apartment recording story ideas into her phone (a welcome holdover from Werewolf), the focus is on dinner table musings about the state of Hollywood, the uphill search for contentment in everyday life, and, eventually, a plan to end global poverty via independent film and the titular secret society.
What they don’t talk about, surprisingly, is their relationship. That bothered me subconsciously the first time around, and sprang to the fore on second viewing. Rene and Allyson date out of convenience (not surprising, since the movie takes place early in the pandemic), and despite a couple of makeout scenes and a comedic exchange involving cellphone nudes, there’s no evolution, no drama, no stakes to their coupling. In short, there’s plenty of physical intimacy but no romance.
It’s not a huge hurdle (Ekanayake is already hard at work on at least two sequels, so Slow Romance could just be a chronicle of the couple’s “honeymoon phase”), but when thinking about My Dinner with Andre and the high-water mark of know-and-grow dramadies, Richard Linklater’s so-called “Before Trilogy”, the lack of emotional connection between Rene and Allyson (and Rene and Allyson and the audience) is weird.
Yes, this is a light comedy that makes allusions to time travel and revels in ridiculing the entertainment industry (Allyson pitches Rene a TV show called “So You Think You Can Masturbate”), but there’s such a lack of attention to detail in the love department that Ekanayake could just as easily have made his movie about two platonic friends. Even then, I would’ve expected a bit more spelunking into the effects of COVID restrictions on artists who are used to getting out and about with other people; perhaps some lockdown-related tension here and there—or even one point of genuine disagreement during the numerous conversations to which we’re privy.
Ekanayake sprinkles his scenes with mind-bombs disguised as asides:
“The indie scene can be just as exclusionary [as Hollywood].”
“Approaching life like it’s a war 24/7 is probably not a good idea.”
These jumping-off points could be whole films unto themselves. But they’re just seeds in a narrative garden that feel planted for the sake of burying rather than cultivating.
Hell, for all their talk about filmmaking, we could’ve used at least one scene of Rene and Allyson actually making something, either together or separately (especially given the obscene creative schedule Allyson would need to maintain if her resume is to be believed). Beyond the opening’s equipment pickup, the most technology we see at play in Slow Romance is Allyson’s cellphone.
Sure, My Dinner with Andre was ostensibly about two theatre friends catching up after a prolonged absence, but Malle’s screenplay dug deep into the conflict between primal human connection and modernity’s emphasis on convenience and the self—not to mention the existential dread left in that battle’s wake. Contrast this with the too tidy, too naive solution to worldwide poverty here, and Slow Romance starts to feel like a series of well-meaning, beautifully shot** webisodes pasted together into a narrative feature.
Don’t get me wrong: Ekanayake’s dialogue is as sharp as ever, balancing high-brow philosophical humor with drink-spitting dick jokes, delivered by characters who speak from places of genuine ambition, inspiration, and searching. It helps that I also recently caught up with the writer/director’s 2014 film, Breakthrough Weekend, which not only provided some context for what Ekanayake can do in crafting more fully realized relationships, but also helped me better understand the performances of himself and Lorae in this movie. Unlike Andre and the Before films, Ekanayake eschews realism in his Slow Romance characters and leans into theatricality. It’s a definite style and a deliberate choice, and it took some getting used to.
That brings me back to the beginning, to the kind of film critic I was before discovering slow cinema. Despite its title, Slow Romance isn’t slow cinema—but it has the relaxed, anti-product sensibilities of a film that’s comfortable with its voice and doesn’t care how much you compare it to mainstream romantic comedies. Even my gripes about its lack of convention concerning character depth are meaningless in the face of a film that doesn’t cater to focus-grouped demographics. As Rene says, “I can’t really control what audiences do or what critics do.” And, later: “Almost anything can be done if you approach it with enough positivity”.
It’s a challenge to the baggage that audiences bring to the experience of watching a movie (or indeed evaluating any kind of art). I thoroughly enjoyed the film’s chill vibe, even as I struggled with my long-established expectations of what I look for in relationship stories. In a way, it’s an upending of the romantic head/heart paradigm:
I love The Secret Society for Slow Romance, but I’m not in love with it.
*We’ve since rebranded and expanded the series to cover all kinds of independent film.
**Ekanayake should be named New York’s official 21st-century cinematographer. His love for the city shines through in lovingly photographed interstitials of city life. And when Allyson soaks up the morning sun, freed for a moment of her facemask, the joy radiating from and around Alia Lorae’s face is guaranteed to uplift those who may have forgotten what it means to breathe unencumbered in a world of normalcy and limitless possibilities.
You can rent The Secret Society for Slow Romance on Vimeo.
