Review by
Blair MacBride
Directed by: David Duchovny
Starring: David Duchovny, Logan Marshall-Green, Stephanie
Beatriz, Pamela Adlon, Jason Beghe
Good Lord above, where to begin. Movies like these do make you wonder what
possessed oneself to pluck it out of the festival schedule and say "Oh
yeah that looks alright I'll give that a go." It’s a regrettable
occurrence when you need to fight sleep to successfully make it to the end
of a feature, and it's really not what you want from any film festival
experience. But Bucky F*cking Dent is that type of film.
The poorest showing from GFF 24, it takes the biscuit as potentially the
worst thing I've ever seen at any festival. While this year's programme
really has been felt as a bit of a let down by cinemagoers, this movie
accentuates that Point with a capital P.
This baseball-centric "dramedy" is set in New Jersey in 1978, the year the
Boston Red Sox pushed the New York Yankees for the world series
championship. Peanut salesman Ted (Logan Marshall-Green) works at
Fenway Park, but aspires to become an author. After being unsuccessful in
getting his book published for the umpteenth time, he receives a call that
his estranged father Marty (David Duchovny) is in hospital and has
mere months to live after being diagnosed with terminal cancer.
When Ted visits Marty, he meets his "death specialist" Mariana (Brooklyn Nine-Nine's Stephanie Beatriz). From there, an unconventional romantic fire
begins to burn between the pair, and Ted decides to play more of a part in
Marty's life due to his father's new defined limited lifespan. So much so
that - after finding out Marty's health can fluctuate depending on the
success of his beloved Red Sox - Ted moves in with his father to care for
him. Enlisting the support of his friends and Mariana to fake a winning
streak of Marty's favourite team, Ted endeavours to keep his Dad as happy,
and alive, for as long as possible.
Duchovny's script takes this feature to a new level of boredom. Indeed,
the single greatest annoyance of the entire piece is that its premise
could have very probably made an entertaining wee project. But just
because something could be successful, doesn't always mean it will be.
It's very possible that certain cultural references have been lost as this
film made its way across the pond. With that to one side, however,
watching this movie unfold felt like you were being forced to keep tabs on
a dull individual's boring life.
With next to no substance in the plot, whatever writer/director Duchovny
was going for, it never landed nor felt important. If you can't convince
your audience to even stay mildly interested, you really don't stand a
chance - something which can also be said for
Bucky F*cking Dent's performances. Marshall-Green is completely rigid as Ted, not giving us
anything to invest in as a main character, and although Duchovny himself
is somewhat funny as deranged Red-Sox fan Marty, the casting is
questionable at best for the type of father-son dynamic attempting to be
portrayed. Despite references to a life previously lived by Marty
insinuating a good age gap between the two, Duchovny would much sooner
pass as Marshall-Green's older brother rather than his on-screen Dad.
Beatriz's darkly comical Marianna is the only real glimmer of hope to hold
onto.
The other thing that strikes you when watching this cinematic snooze-fest
is its substandard production value. Featuring abysmal sound mixing,
Bucky F*cking Dent's tedious tale is difficult enough viewing as it is, let alone when you
have to question what was said in almost every scene. The supposed setting
is also similarly discredited with a lacklustre showing of 1970s America.
You might see a televised address from Jimmy Carter here, or a few
sideburned dudes in the background in the opening few minutes there, but
the aesthetic and cinematography doesn't emit an aura of authenticity.
Rather, its clumsy look just adds to the unfavourable narrative.
An utter swing and a miss, this film was billed a "hoot" by the programmer
who introduced it to the audience at the festival. I'd love a drink of
what they were on, as this couldn't be more untrue. If you ever need to
stick something on to help you sleep, look no further.
Bucky F*cking Dent? More like Bucky F*cking Cr*p.
