Review 2/4. See here for Review 1 and Review 3.

Now, there are many things wrong with this movie. Lots of it, of course, concerns how the original material, a German classic by Goethe, is butchered. It is clear from the beginning that Lourenco possesses neither understanding nor appreciation towards the original material's social, metaphysical and spiritual essences that are particularly relevant in the 2020s we live in. The director's views towards it, and how unserious he is over it, are at best that of a high schooler who had to work on a project not through his own diligent research, but through buying help and cheating by Sparknotes, Chegg and if more recent, ChatGPT.

But Young Werther doesn't just suffer from that. If anything, its disastrous product comes from ill-judged planning and execution across multiple directions, one that's technical, narrative and characterisation-based in nature. Thus we would have to assess it in two different sub-reviews, with this post being the first to assess its shortcomings on technical grounds. The second sub-review, which I hope to write in the next week or so, will hopefully address the issues Young Werther had on both the narrative and characterisation front.

On technical terms, where a surprisingly large number of reviewers proclaim it as a success, Young Werther comes up short to conjure any combination. Film is an audiovisual medium, one where great variation exists and stylistic difficulty doesn't necessarily equal success. We've seen over time how the simpler images of Rohmer and Hong Sang-Soo have worked out well enough, and also how the boom and the blast of Snyder have not as much.

But for a film to at least be considered watchable, there has to be both a vision and some form of consistency matching together against the backdrops. Now, this is easier said than done in Toronto, a city I currently reside and have criticised no less than a dosen times here on reviews, but this does not mean that such ideas cannot work, rather opposite of it. Recent examples such as Spike Lee's energetic and powerful Chi-Raq and Wanuri Kahiu's technicolour, bright-coloured Rafiki can testify to how right visions can proliferate strong, bright-coloured tapestry to tell the audience that no, this movie won't be a conventional tale of a city under distress, or those stuck under a certain racial or ethnic identity. This isn't a concept that's foreign to Canada either, especially with no shortage of electricity in the streets of Montreal with Xavier Dolan's Laurence Anyways, and also with how much of high regard Matthew Rankin's Universal Language, one movie whose premise doesn't seem to intrigue me at all but would be open to watch in coming months, seems to have gotten over its synthesis of Tehran, Winnipeg and Quebec.

But what is with Toronto that's harder to adapt properly and accurately? Perhaps it's because people don't seem to have a grasp at defining it, or even trying to decide on what aspect to define it in their works. So much comes down to the lack of awareness and attitude that derives from it as Toronto suffers from overvaluing of its own significance when the mindset of the people and the society and the governments are provincial at best. It is a city of self-segregated neighbourhoods and communities, and lacks a cohesive identity unlike its midwest comparable in Chicago or east coast 'rivals' in Montreal and Boston, let alone New York City. This is why you require more careful thinking about how the city's going to sound, look and present itself. It does require a certain style, commitment and even attitude that most have not exactly attained in recent decades outside of common names cited in Cronenberg and Egoyan.

It only seems to get worse with filmmakers confusing size and importance as same thing, losing the power and the sharpness of perspective and self-criticism in ways their Montrealais counterparts have thrived off of. If Denis Villeneuve's Polytechnique and Incendies, Jean-Marc Vallee's Cafe de Flore, and Philippe Falardeau's Monsieur Lazhar have obtained strength in their stories through the cold and distinctive tapestries of Montreal's cosmopolitan core and social issues, we cannot say the same with Matthew Dowse's empty, unserious F-Word or this movie or Nakhai and Williamson's 2021 award-winning Scarborough. Most, if not all of them, lack the stylistics, the identity and the reasons needed to give their topography any meaning beyond 'this was shot in Toronto'. They don't draw enough intrigue to give us the reason - why did this have to be taken in Toronto and not Vancouver or Chicago or Nashville or even Texarkana???? - and even the aforementioned Denis Villeneuve's Enemy, one that probably described Toronto in the best balance of realism and artistry, misses that.

So already with this in mind, Lourenco faces a steep, climbing hill on a movie, romcom no less, to develop a vision that would at least not betray one or many landscape[s] he has to face. Unfortunately in this he fails to achieve the task of setting a vision. Most of the story's predictably set in the city's Downtown core, with a third-act exception afforded by the cottage county either in Muskoka or the Kawarthas. It is probably easy to set it as such, especially with how the Downtown core is sellable in the average minds, but that's not the entirety of Toronto we are living in, nor does it suit the realities of the families and the characters involved.

No sane mind, even a delusional one, would choose to book six months of low-rise hotel for the sake of aesthetics in this economy as this Werther would. They are likelier trying to find short, six-month rentals in a metaphysical Walheim that ironically enough, could have been transposed better as a wholescale piece than being limited to an underwritten law practice with even less details than Romy Mathis's not-Amason at Halina Reijn's Babygirl. Or they would try to find a modest but desirable and trendy condominimum in Downtown or Midtown like most would try to do so, and find themselves at relative ease with how many people move from Montreal or Atlantic Canada. The same would go with Albert and Lotte's household whose finances, stature and everything else don't seem to explain. If a family as established as that of Charlotte, a family with noticeable financial strains but still seem to be able to afford rich-people opportunities and privileges has this many people, they wouldn't exactly be living in the core. They would be more at the comforts of Midtown, York Mills, or Etobicoke. Maybe some parts of Scarborough too. But there's little to no reason for them, especially one with nine literal siblings and a future patriarch living, to consider such.

Similar logic, in the meantime, could apply to what they do, as the boredom and the predictability takes over in the outdoors. Questions abound as the settings and the activities don't really match the realities of twenty-somethings here. Why are they, especially Werther of all persons, pretend to fake-thrift anywhere not named Kensington Market? Why would they voluntarily choose to have Ice cream and gelato in front of Roy Thomson Hall, when there are safer, coolerand better places to eat? It is likelier they spend some time in the Harbourfront and either Cherry or Sunnyside Beach, and certainly we'd see some Scarborough Bluffs and High Park. But look beyond single images and look into the bigger picture. Why is Albert, a man whose intelligence and awareness appears to be far and beyond that of Werther, take his wife's #bestie to a hunting trip and not golf? Why are none of them going to wineries out in Prince Edward County or the Niagara? Unless there is a good reason, something like Albert and/or Charlotte being total Toronto newbies, the amateurish-level understanding of what they would do cannot happen. We've seen too many movies handle this better - just look at Edgar Wright's attempt at magical realism in Scott Pilgrim for one - so it is criminal to not be able to back up the rationale and the setting. It's like how 2019 movie Buffaloed, which starred Zoey Deutch, doesn't look and feel Buffalo and if anything leans much closer to Hamilton, Ontario, according to a local Buffaloan I know.

Visual consistency is also the one where it comes up short. On the surface it appears to follow Wes Anderson's highly-famous visual style, one that is full of symmetric framing, controlled camerawork almost resembling 2D images, and mechanical, almost theatrical execution. But Wes Anderson's style also works because of a very meticulous, controlled way of directing. It requires consistency in every facet, whether it be tone, delivery, and framing, and does not falter one bit. This is also why Anderson, though commendable in practice, isn't always the most beloved out there due to the inherent limitation presented by his stylistics.

Now, the problem here with Lourenco is that while he tries to copy Wes Anderson, he does not have the commitment needed to make it work. To channel a Wes Anderson you have to get visual, narrative and atmospheric components right from the start to the finish. There is no breaks, no awkward spots to take over the show, and everything else has to be spotless. Lourenco doesn't have that in him - the dialogues aren't sharp enough, characters poorly developed, and the original story fundamentally unsuitable to take a Wes Anderson angle without thorough restructuring - and that already makes the foundation shaky and collapsible even before we talk about what's on the screen.

Visually it is lackadaisical at best. Colour palette doesn't shine at all, if anything mostly unremarkable and predictable without the sense of weird and brightness expected of a Wes Andersonian attempt. Scenes aren't edited and cut sharp enough, lacking any methodical, dynamic sense of pacing or breathing room for emotional moments to build up. Most importantly, there is no stylistic consistency or vision here outside of maybe five-minute Wes Anderson-esque scenes at a wedding reception or law society reception thereafter. On one hand it's too short and limited to develop into a full-fledged 'attempt' while the rest, which appears to have been shot fine on appearance, is just a dull, soulless collection of shots that appear to look cool but in reality fall closer to this movie's opening sequence flashcards that fall well short of its intent. Whatever the intention may be, it's just dull and is in ways no different to how actor-director Justin Chon failed to employ a WKW-esque fight into otherwise bland two-hour movie in his 2021 directorial debut Blue Bayou.

This is frustrating because here the desires don't translate into a palpable vision. While on plenty of times the blame could be placed on the budget, a common problem that plagues many Canadian films, the same excuse cannot be exactly applied here because it's not about technical limitations we are talking about here. The problems mentioned earlier don't require solutions that way. Rather, it's the question over director's capability. There is no shortage of braver attempts, whether it be aforementioned Rafiki or even The Magical Society of Magical Negroes, have been made with scales. Or ask Jane Schoenbrun. You get the point.

Here we don't have that, not in the rationale, not in the lack of visual identity, and certainly not in the soundtrack which is deadbeat piano arpeggio magnified with third-tier club music. There is no reason to care visually because it's half-empty with scenes shot fine but lacking purpose, palette or even consistency to make it work, and it's a mediocre soundfucking at best with how it treats the listener. Thus it fails on the immediate sensory front, to the point where boredom is guaranteed and laughter generated because it doesn't hit the notes right on time.