a dark look at a sunny retreat



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Barbara Lochiatto in some kind of paradise

Barbara Lochiatto in some kind of paradise
Photo: Magnolia Pictures

Note: the author of this review watched A kind of paradise on a digital screener of the House. Before you make the decision to see it – or any other movie – in a movie theater, please consider the health risks involved. Here is a meeting in the matter with scientific experts.


Watching A kind of paradise, a fascinating new documentary about life in a huge Florida retirement community, the mind can drift into a whole library of films about the plastic unreality of suburban life. This is partly because the film Director, Lance Oppenheim, 24, clearly takes cues, visual and tonal, touchstones of the genre. But that’s also because its subject, the so-called “Disney World for Retirees,” was essentially constructed from the same psychic plane as those films: the nostalgic dreamy image of a spotless American yesterday, a boomer’s paradise more imagined than remembered. What Oppenheim found, in his first feature film, is a real place just as artistic as Blue velvet or Edward Scissorhands or American beauty. It’s like a Manhattan-sized movie – a Hollywood facsimile of mid-century life that you can actually move into.

The Villages, as this geriatric haven is called, spans three counties, approximately 45 miles outside of Orlando. It is home to some 130,000 residents, mostly seniors, to whom it provides a seemingly endless array of entertainment and leisure activities and amenities – a consumer playground for all of AARP, as a luxury cruise spread over acres and acres of dry land. “Everything you could wish for is here,” gushes a true believer. Another compares it to an everyday vacation. But the community’s appeal runs deeper than its promise of uninterrupted fun, sunshine and relaxation. It was also designed, from top to bottom, to conform to the rose-tinted idea of ​​a “perfect” American city, the kind of city its demographics have mythologized in their heads. (The fact that the population is predominantly, but not exclusively, white probably contributes to this fantasy for some villagers; it is not for nothing that Trump campaigned there last fall, bolstering support from a bloc. largely conservative vote.)

A kind of paradise isn’t a cute human-interest story, and it certainly doesn’t serve as a publicity for the community. Even when Oppenheim focuses on her happiest eccentricities, there’s an underlying current of unease: A scene featuring a club of women all named Elaine is shot to emphasize the smiling uniformity of worship – a hallmark of the influence exerted by producer Darren Aronofsky, perhaps. Like many films on the real A suburb of America, this one is concerned with the discontent that lurks under the shiny and shiny veneer of prosperity and fulfillment. And Oppenheim finds that in several subjects whose experiences in The Villages have been far from idyllic.

There’s Anne and Reggie Kincer, who have fallen on hard times after 47 years of marriage – in part because Reggie, unenthusiastic about the overall healthiness of the whole place, began experimenting with mind-altering drugs. Widow Barbara Lochiatto also moved to the Village with her husband, but now lives there alone, four months after her death; Lonely and grieved with grief, she struggles to make friends or find a place in the various social circles of the community, yearning for a return to her hometown of Boston that she cannot afford. (The fact that Barbara has to work full time at her age to pay rent marks both as an outsider among the wealthier villagers and also possibly as a replacement for everyone else grappling with the financial burden of living in a real theme. park for the elderly.) Finally, A kind of paradise devotes some time to the schemes of an intruder: Dennis Dean, an 81-year-old bachelor who lives in his van and parks on the outskirts of The Villages, with the avowed aim of seducing and moving in with a wealthy resident.

Oppenheim provides his parallel subplots with a clearly narrative rhythm. We see real change in these lives in 83 minutes, with each subject experiencing something that feels like a story arc. Of course, were they Actually scripted, the result could be more easily happy. A kind of paradise tends to be bittersweet and inconclusive instead: Just because Barbara makes a connection with another bachelor doesn’t mean romance is a sure thing. And while there is comedic potential in Dennis’ scampish plot to find a money lover, the reality of his decidedly non-fictional situation is actually rather hopeless as the man’s options narrow and he contemplates to retreat into the stability of an old relationship. Oppenheim captures deeply sad, deeply human moments, like the scene where Anne’s face crumbles in disappointment when Reggie announces his plans to get high and “jerk off” (in his brutal, unromantic language) on occasion. of their wedding anniversary.

A kind of paradise

A kind of paradise
Photo: Magnolia Pictures

A kind of paradise contrasts the dissatisfaction of his subjects with the sun of their environment, to better underline the wide gap between what they feel and what they are supposed to feel in a community, a talking head refers, without irony, to ” nirvana”. Sometimes the film is as composed – as polished – as The Villages themselves: Oppenheim and his talented cinematographer, David Bolen, carefully arrange their subjects within the frame, for the sake of symmetry and kitsch. But this poised approach, in part indebted to Errol Morris’ formal rigor, helps underscore one of the film’s many ideas: that for many residents, carefree retirement is a kind of performance, a role-playing game. of the very concept. the last few years finally spent having fun. Either way, this is surely one of the most magnificent and striking documentaries in recent memory, capturing a vibrant palette of Florida colors – the brilliant oranges and blues of the sky, the pastels. resident seam lights – on a mix of 35mm and textured digital.

If nothing else, The Villages is a new setting for a movie, both visually and environmentally. One could imagine an entirely different documentary about the place, which could dig a little more assiduously into its subcultures, quirks and personalities, not to mention its politics. Oppenheim largely treats this mirage realm of easy living for seniors as a gateway to the desires and disappointments of those struggling to keep its promise. In the process, he made a film about the lie of life becoming simpler and more satisfying with age. Happiness can remain elusive, even with a backyard pool and Jimmy Buffet forever on the jukebox.

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