When you’ve let someone close to you down, and disappointed yourself in the process, the path to acceptance and re-establishing an emotional equilibrium can seem monumental. In a culture suffused with wellness mantras and self-care walkthroughs, glossy packaging and soft colors often don’t acknowledge that righting a wrong or taking the steps toward healing the scars inflicted by a mistake or lapse in judgment can feel overwhelming. Canadian filmmaker Heather Young taps into those nuances of the redemptive path in her debut feature “Murmur.” This finely-tuned, observational drama is a compelling portrait of a woman trying with quiet desperation to rebuild the fallen pieces of her life. However, what this film understands with clarity is that even the most well-intentioned paths can often exacerbate the most misguided of coping mechanisms.
At first glance, Donna’s (Shan MacDonald) life seems as non-descript as the basement apartment in which she lives. But when she uses a hammer to smash open a wine bottle with a stubborn cork, and then carefully strains the contents through cheesecloth to remove any errant glass shards, it’s clear this is no mere evening digestif. A few glasses of wine later, she sends another missive in a string of unanswered texts to her daughter Julia, pleading with her to call. Donna keeps her problems to herself when, the next day, she shows up to start work at an animal shelter where she’ll log the community service hours she owes as part of a DWI conviction. It’s in this manner that “Murmur” pulls its narrative threads together, in quiet reveals, in unexpected moments that unveil a whole world beneath the surface.
Unfolding in gentle, almost episodic segments, we fall into the routine of Donna’s day to day life. She goes to work, talks to her parole officer, exercises, and makes devastating attempts to reach her daughter by going to her apartment and hoping that a chance buzz from the lobby will force an impromptu interaction. In a bid to make a positive change, Donna quits drinking cold turkey, explaining to her parole officer that Julia doesn’t like it. “She’s my heart. She’s my only baby,” Donna says about her daughter. But as one addictive door closes, another opens. Donna starts taking animals home from the shelter and buying them at pet stores. Soon she’s soon caring for a small army of creatures — a few dogs, a cat, even a hamster — with each addition to her makeshift family making her formerly spotless apartment that much more misshapen. If alcohol numbed the emotions she was grappling with, the absence of it has opened up the fountain of love previously reserved for Julia, with Donna finding a new place for it to flourish. Her life now has some meaning and purpose, but the situation is tenuous and unsustainable, and it’s not long until it starts to fracture.
Filmed in a boxy 4:3 aspect ratio, Young and cinematographer Jeffrey Wheaton don’t exploit or over-indulge in the intimacy that framing allows. The takes are modest in length, and the pacing is methodical, allowing the viewer to step into Donna’s world without being pressed up against it. MacDonald gives a performance that’s authentically subdued, communicating the complex emotion landscapes Donna navigates internally while keeping a brave face to the world. Peppered with a cast of non-professional actors, many playing themselves, MacDonald is the needle pulling together this patchwork drama that eventually reveals a graceful and humane design.
As we follow Donna through her routine at the animal shelter, there are more than a few lingering shots of beautiful and lonely dogs and cats — abandoned, forgotten, and waiting for a home. It’s a stark reminder of how callously people can disregard another living creature, and if they can do it to a dog or cat, it’s not a stretch that humans could also be just as casually swept under the rug. Donna, just like each animal under the roof of the shelter, longs to be heard and seen, no longer forgotten by the world that’s going on outside. The greatest gift of “Murmur” is that it sees Donna and empathizes with her, even as her journey is continually perilous, one more bad decision away from forcing her to start all over again. [B]
