Like most who discovered the work of actor/writer/director Adrienne Shelly, I first noticed her in the breakout 2007 film “Waitress,” a (literally) confectious film starring a pre-“Americans” Keri Russell as the most decent woman ever to begin an affair. While technically Shelly’s third directorial feature, “Waitress” announced a bold — and, more importantly, humane — filmmaker who may have trafficked in the pretensive whimsy of early aughts Sundance dramas, but also overcame those limitations through sheer force of personality. That film both announced, and tragically bookended, a burgeoning career that saw Shelly move from ‘90s sexpot to Hal Hartley collaborator and, finally, an indie force in her own right with shocking speed. Her murder in 2006, merely three months before “Waitress’ had its premiere, at the age of 40, not only sent shockwaves through the indie film community but also unfolded with the types of twists and turns typically reserved for an episode of “Law and Order.”
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Tacking its cue from her more grounded filmography, the documentary “Adrienne,” directed by her first-time director husband Andy Ostroy, doesn’t linger too often on the gruesome details of Shelly’s murder — which was initially ruled a suicide based on how the murderer, Diego Pillco, staged the body before the scene was reexamined at the constant behest of Ostory. Instead, the film begins with Shelly’s creative afterlives, taking stock of the Sara Bareilles penned Broadway adaptation “Waitress,” before moving backwards to contextualize her burgeoning career, creative output, and – perhaps most importantly for Ostroy — her marriage and relationship to daughter Sophie.
Instead of a more traditional hagiographic approach, Ostroy is never far out of frame, using his own memories as an organizing structure, jumping around with Shelly’s life to showcase how she collaborated and lived. Cutting between interviews with her collaborators — Hartley, Russell, Nathan Fillion, Cheryl Hines — clips of her films, and home movies, “Adrienne” is a deeply emotional watch, fixating on Ostroy’s attempts to not only personally cope with the loss, but to also have Shelly remain a presence in Sophie’s life, as well. Interspersed are animated segments that recount Sophie’s questions about Shelly as she grew up, the only false move in a film obviously made with aching love.
Not only does Ostroy contextualize her life outside of filmmaking, but he also centralizes Shelly’s steady and progressive growth from actress-for-hire to independent filmmaking force, noting how creative autonomy allowed her to develop her own projects but also slowed down the development time in-between movies as she scraped together financing. Yet, Shelly’s life was obviously one of constant invention, as she worked through scripts, staged readings, and, even before she died, worked on a documentary about happiness — a fact that even Ostroy didn’t know — consistently plugging away at her passion.
“Adrienne” works not only as a gentle introduction to a filmmaker whose work oddly exists both on the margins of indie film and, paradoxically, the mainstream — a scene in which Ostroy polls theatergoers in line for “Waitress” about their knowledge of Shelly is simultaneously heartbreaking and uplifting — but also a self-portrait of Ostroy’s own grief. What will perhaps get the most headlines is his decision to visit Diego Pillco in prison. Coming late within the film, the dialogue between the two eschews theatrics or melodrama in favor of a concise confrontation. As Ostroy even says, he doesn’t want to meet Pillco to forgive him, only to let him know who she was as a person. “Adrienne” works along a similar trajectory, giving voice to compassionate filmmakers outside of the salacious details of her death. [A-]
“Adrienne” is available now on HBO and HBO Max.
