A movie review of “Felt,” a vague, predictable horror film about a San Francisco-area artist trying to recover from a trauma.
“Felt” is a movie of ambiguities, starting with its title. (Noun or verb?) But this vague, arty horror film from Jason Banker (“Toad Road”), who shares a story credit with his star, Amy Everson, is at once underwritten and overconceptualized. Reading about the filmmakers’ intentions is more rewarding than watching the results.
Everson, an artist in the San Francisco Bay Area — who, yes, makes objects out of felt — plays a San Francisco-area artist known as Amy. From the start, the movie indicates that her perceptions are off. Recovering from a trauma, she says she is unable to tell what is “real anymore.”
Nevertheless, her friends try to coax her back into a social life, though these experiences don’t seem to help much with her recovery. (One of her dates makes jokes about Rohypnol, a sedative associated with sexual assaults.) Amy eventually settles into a relationship with Kenny (Kentucker Audley) and invites him to her bedroom, which is filled with macabre and vulgar appurtenances, some of her own making.
‘Felt,’ with Amy Everson, Kentucker Audley. Directed by Jason Banker, from a screenplay by Banker and Everson. 79 minutes. Not rated; for mature audiences. Grand Illusion, through Thursday.
The New York Times does not provide star ratings with reviews.
Amy often wanders about in a male nude suit (designed by Everson); the characters openly ponder gender politics. “Felt” builds to a disturbing reversal that is nonetheless, by the standards of horror conventions, utterly predictable.
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