by Matt St Clair
Though her trademark had been deadpan comedy, Aubrey Plaza has shown a recent knack for giving bold dramatic performances as obsessive women. Three years ago, in Ingrid Goes West, she immersed herself into the role of Ingrid Thorburn who was not unlike a female Travis Bickle on Instagram. In Black Bear, Plaza is on a career-best level as Allison, an actress-turned-filmmaker with possibly ulterior motives as she stays with an unsuspecting couple in an isolated cabin...
Both Gabe (Christopher Abbott) and Blair (Sarah Gadon) happily let Allison into their home. Meanwhile Plaza conjures up ways to hint to us that Allison’s not entirely what she appears to be from her duplicitous smile to her coy line delivery when discussing whether she’s a feminist. Her little mind games cause the already fragile relationship between her two hosts to crack further open. As Gabe and Blair get into heated debates, Allison observes as a not-so-innocent bystander, taking in the chaos she created.
The tension that mounts amongst the main trio over the course of Allison’s stay makes Black Bear a rigid psychodrama about a mad genius. That is until the second half happens. Without giving much away, the second half is more seriocomic, with Plaza going into a much heavier place than before. Allison is no longer the mad genius we see in the first half. Instead, she’s a performer at Gabe’s mercy. As she goes on a downward spiral, Plaza sells her desperation with soul-bearing assurance while Abbott is similarly convincing as he takes on the “mad genius” role this time around only with more blatant sleaze.
As Allison and Gabe swap roles, it begs the question of what the first half is meant to represent. Could it be a revenge story that Allison is penning in her notebook as she sits by the lake in the picture’s opening? A way for author to turn the tables with similar psychological warfare?
This blurring of the line between fantasy and reality is what makes Black Bear an intriguing puzzle to piece together. Between this and Shirley, 2020 is clearly a fine year for “mad genius” dramas, pictures about artists pushing others or being pushed themselves to a breaking point just to find inspiration for their next project. Black Bear is far more labyrinthine than the earlier film, acting as two interwoven short films with distinct tones. But like Shirley it's achored by a tremendously singular actress. It's easily among the year’s best. A
Black Bear is now available on VOD