If Steve McQueen’s “Hunger” is one of the year’s toughest films to watch because of the physical atrocities its characters endure, then Lance Hammer’s “Ballast” may be the year’s most emotionally difficult film to sit through.
Much less lyrical than we expected—all those David Gordon Green comparisons threw us—“Ballast” is an arresting experience, suffused with striking performances of quiet discontent, in-the-moment handheld visuals, clipped, unsentimental editing, and hauntingly raw scenes of emotional desolation.
Visceral in a gut-wrenching way, “Ballast” is gutsy enough to keep viewers in the dark until its central relationships slowly come into focus on the film’s own timetable. This is no mystery, merely patient storytelling. Centering on a family whose connections are initially unclear, “Ballast” begins with Lawrence (an amazing Michael J. Smith Sr., delivering a heartbreakingly subdued performance), who attempts suicide after his brother dies from an intentional pill overdose.
The film’s other family consists of James (JimMyron Ross) and his single mother, Marlee (Tarra Riggs), who works as a janitor to scrape out a poverty-stricken existence in a small trailer home. Left to his own devices while school is out for the summer, James courts danger by stealing Lawrence’s gun while he recovers in the hospital, running with drug dealers, and smoking crack—seemingly more out of boredom and a desire to fit in with an older crowd than any real addiction.
Eventually, it naturally and almost nonchalantly materializes that Lawrence is James’ uncle and that his deceased twin was the boy’s father. Lawrence and Marlee have a difficult history, and now that his brother and her husband are dead, most of it reveals itself through her ugly fits of rage and his internalized sorrow.
Twins share an inexplicable bond, and when Lawrence quietly tells Marlee, “You will never understand my love for my brother,” the moment is disarming and packs a heavy emotional wallop. Through his encounters with his extended family—sometimes fractious, occasionally tender—Lawrence must decide whether life remains worth living without his other half. The answer is never clear and is sometimes simply despondent.
As bleak and heavy as “Ballast” is, the film delivers a succession of small heartbreaks rather than building toward one grand dramatic moment or “reveal” instructing viewers when they are supposed to feel sad.
The closely tracking, jarring handheld camera—which generally follows its characters from behind, à la the Dardenne brothers—keeps viewers firmly in the moment. When these people walk, we feel as though we are right behind them. The kinetic camerawork creates nervous, raw energy, while the gun still hidden beneath Lawrence’s couch sustains an undercurrent of anxiety.
Clipped and fragmented in its own brand of austere poetry, “Ballast” forces viewers to infer key parts of its narrative and its characters’ motivations, which is both bold and refreshing. Incredibly moving without forcing its emotions—the director never once tells the audience how to feel—“Ballast” is deeply touching, distressing, depressing, and electrifyingly alive. It’s no wonder the film received the most nominations at the 2008 Gotham Awards.
