What Doesn't Float

Water Everywhere

You couldn't quite call What Doesn't Float [Luca Balser, produced by Pauline Chalamet] an aquatic odyssey through the plunge of the New York City waterworks — there's bongwater on the carpet and it's ruined the collectible Ayoades.

What Doesn't Float suggests not so much the end or beginning of a certain era in independent American filmmaking,— Balser seeks neither plaudit nor demerit. But something has been happening within the last two or so years — some luminary names have tried series (Swanberg's great Easy and Love) —others have bided and risen to the forefront, starting as termites and running over the house, at least in the general/near approach of full realization: Tim Sutton, the return of Whit Horn and Lev Kelman. Some jottings now might seem limited as I'm just out of the hospital (liver issues) so bear for a bit with the unflush segues and crazy planking.

Poulson on the top of a shipping container in an early vignette where he's trying to seduce Chalamet. Easy metaphor, and so one of the more interesting films of last year. Pretty harmless till the final excellent episode. •

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