In the simple yet sly opening shot of “By Design,” the latest film from writer-director Amanda Kramer, we begin not with a person, but a chair. Punctuated by inane chatter of the more human variety as we gradually fade into the scene, we see a wide assembly of distinct pieces of furniture meticulously arranged. It’s as if we’re glimpsing a painting or cartoon in a magazine, each piece holding their own spotlight. However, the one in the center is not just any chair. It’s a beautiful one, shot with increasing reverence so we can see every detail of its curved construction.
“My goodness, that chair is gorgeous,” we hear via playful, often poetic, narration by Melanie Griffith before we cut to a sad little meal being shared by Camille, played by a fantastic and committed Juliette Lewis, plus her two friends. The voiceover shifts into being biting as the camera notably pulls away. Gone is Griffith’s effusive affection and in its place is a more oddly wistful sadness.
In terms of all the memorable ways films have opened, this doesn’t sound like it would be that meaningful of a way to do so, but my goodness is it. It’s gleefully silly without overselling itself while laying the seeds for a humorous yet heartfelt juxtaposition between the life being led by Camille and the chair at the furniture showroom. If this sounds ridiculous, it’s just the wondrous beginning to the journey Kramer takes us on — one where Camille, after attempting to buy the chair, does the next best thing: become the furniture herself. Rather than serve as a shallowly classical body swap story that provides a moral lesson about her growing to appreciate the life she had, the aftermath of this decision is more thematically complicated and engaging. It’s also sincere, tapping into anxieties about being not just liked or even loved, but truly seen.
You see, rather than despise her confinement, Camille’s lonely existence becomes infinitely better. The people around her love her far more when she is nothing but a chair.
Premiering Thursday at Sundance, this is the first film Kramer has shown at the festival and it also feels like the one she’s spent her whole career building up to. Rather than compromise her ideas that she’s explored with spirited, if sometimes a little scattered, verve in past works, she deepens the emotions she’s tapping into just as she dives further and further into absurdity. Merging a somewhat similar visual style to “Please Baby Please” with the thorny introspective elements of the smaller-scale “Pity Me,” it’s not just her funniest film yet, but also her best.
Set in only a handful of locations, all are shot with maximum creativity and an eye for whimsical compositions by cinematographer Patrick Meade Jones, who has worked on all of Kramer’s previous narrative features. As it traces the path Camille takes in her newfound existence as a chair, she discovers something oddly liberating in the change that is also not to last.
Initially, she is bought as a gift for Olivier, played by a magnificent Mamoudou Athie, who is living a lonely life of his own but also becomes infatuated with her in chair form. He takes her to a dinner party and must fight off the other attendees from getting their hands on her. The expressions that Athie makes in this scene and his repeated outbursts of “No!” are a riot, though the actor never descends into relying on one-note gags.
Instead, he takes part in a variety of eerie dance numbers, both with others that seem to come from his subconscious and by himself with Camille/the chair being rapidly cut between, as well as an uproarious sequence surrounding an awkward photo shoot being done for a magazine. It’s strange in an intentionally stilted fashion. Critically, the cast approaches their parts with the seriousness necessary to pull the cocktail of silliness and sincerity off. It will alienate some, but that’s also what makes it work.
At the center of this is Lewis, whose every rhythmic line delivery, desperate expression, and eventual scream is operating on the precise wavelength that the film needs. It’s all ludicrous in snapshots, but the full picture that lurks underneath is one of discontentment. The film lays this out in both the narration that interjects throughout and the commitment that Lewis brings to the part. This includes her spending a significant portion of the film playing the chair as Camille, as the swap involves the furniture taking over her body, meaning she doesn’t move or speak. If this sounds like it’d distance you from her character, the opposite that ends up happening. Even as there is one darker scene in the middle that sends the film teetering a bit, it’s everything that surrounds it which proves to be unexpectedly yet richly saddening and silly to sort through.
While she has never been one to shy away from what are often impenetrable narratives about troubled people struggling to connect, “By Design” is the one that brings it all together in the most potent package. The film’s final fleeting lines underline this perfectly, making it land with an unexpected gut punch as you get one last look at Camille, back alone all over again.
We feel all the pieces Kramer has been designing for us falling into place one last dreamlike and despairing time, echoing where we began in a lonely showroom with the spotlights coming down. All you need do is pull up a chair and take it all in.
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