Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Stephanie Laing
Starring: Rose Byrne, Octavia Spencer, Dominic Sessa, Ariana DeBose, Demi Lovato,
Simon Rex
Tow is based on the true story of Amanda Ogle, a Seattle woman who
found herself estranged from her family and living in her car as a
result of addiction issues. As if that wasn't enough, her car was then
stolen. Wait, it gets worse. When the car was later found it was taken
away by a towing company who hit Amanda with a bill she couldn't afford.
Left with no car, and thus no roof over her head, Amanda decided to take
the towing company to court, instigating a lengthy David and Goliath
battle.
I can't say how many liberties director Stephanie Laing and writers Jonathan Keasey and Brant Boivin have taken with Ogle's story, but if this is an accurate
representation then I'm not sure she deserved to have her story told. As
portrayed here, Ogle is a narcissist who constantly blames everyone else
for her self-inflicted troubles, one whose unnecessary stubbornness
drives a wedge between herself and her teenage daughter. In this version
of events, we find ourselves angrier at David than Goliath.
Played by Rose Byrne, we find Amanda landing a job at a
veterinary clinic. It seems she might finally have a chance to get out
of her situation. But when her car is stolen and she's hit with the
aforementioned towing bill she puts on her best "I want to speak to the
manager" face and begins a seemingly unwinnable battle against the
city's bureaucracy. Amanda reluctantly stays at a women's shelter, where
she regularly clashes with the firm-but-fair woman in charge (Octavia Spencer) and other residents (including Demi Lovato and an
unrecognisable scene-stealing Ariana DeBose). A young
non-profit lawyer (Dominic Sessa) offers to take on Amanda's
case, but she initially refuses his help. All the while she keeps giving
her teenage daughter Avery (Elsie Fisher) excuses why she can't
come to visit her in Utah, where she now lives with her father.
Tow opens with onscreen text notifying us that it's "day one" and
repeats this device to let us know just how long this war between Amanda
and the towing company is raging. By the time this number soars past the
300 mark our respect for Amanda's principled stand against bureaucracy
has begun to dwindle. The numbers just don't add up. She was initially
hit with a bill of $280, which she claimed she couldn't pay, and her car
is later put up for sale for less than $200. We know Amanda has money
because she's constantly chain smoking, she occasionally goes on
alcoholic benders, and she's able to maintain her blonde dye job. By the
time Amanda breaks the news to Avery that she won't be able to visit her
at Christmas, any sympathy we might have initially had for this selfish
woman is long gone. Principles are admirable, but when sticking to your
principles brings pain to your daughter it's time to take the hit and
tap out.
The trouble with movies about poverty is that they're rarely made by
filmmakers who have experienced poverty. Those of us who know what it's
like to struggle to pay rent and bills have a finely tuned bullshit
detector when it comes to movies like Tow. American filmmakers seem particularly bad at portraying poverty with
accuracy, especially compared to their European cousins. Tow has a similar theme to the recent British drama Lollipop, in which a single mother fights red tape in an attempt to have her
children returned after serving a stint in prison. But while Lollipop is sympathetic to its protagonist's plight, and fully on her
side, it doesn't pretend that she hasn't brought most of her problems on
herself. There's a better, more nuanced, more honest version of Tow that interrogates the idea that maybe Amanda's single-minded
commitment to such a prolonged legal battle is her way of avoiding
reality, that the towing company is a convenient villain that allows her
to play the victim rather than owning up to her issues. There are two
conflicts here - that between Amanda and the towing company and that
between Amanda and her herself - but the film is only interested in the
former.
When Amanda is making life a misery for the poor bastards behind
counters and screens who are just doing their jobs, we're supposed to
think "good for her" but all we see is a narcissistic Karen. Byrne's
performance is broad and hammy, but that's clearly how she's been
directed, and she certainly disappears into the role, nailing the
distinctive vocal inflection of a drug addict, though I've never seen a
junkie/alcoholic who looks as good as Byrne. We're left to wonder just
how great Byrne might have been in a grittier, more subtle version of
this story. The film opens with text that suggests the US is home to as
many as three million "vehicular residents." Surely one of them is more
deserving of having their story told? If you're looking for a better
movie about the travails of a woman living in a car, might I suggest
Vivian Kerr's Scrap, which offers all the nuance and honesty missing from Tow.
