(dir. Henry-Alex Rubin)
Everybody has predictably labelled Disconnect as a dim, wannabe version of Crash, simply because of the whole destined-to-interlock story routine, a choice of criticism tantamount to the film’s own poor attempt at cutting a sharp message with the blandest of plot-lines.
Each sub-story seems in place simply to fill a narrative vacancy. You do not get the impression that these stories are screaming to be told, they merely plod along in directions you know they are headed. A film criticising our online activity needs to hit harder in places we aren’t aware of – we could deduce everything this film tells us from reading the news.
Structure is as textbook as you get, but I actually liked those cheesy slow-mo scenes near the end. Sort of like Gregory Crewdson meets …the Matrix?
Applause to young talent Colin Ford and reliable Skarsgard for maintaining solid performances in their poor plot-lines (predictable and implausible, respectively).
Plus, I cannot fault cinematographer Ken Seng’s input; the gauzy, blurred obstructions in certain shots add a gorgeous multi-layered texture, complete with glowing bulbous lights permeating the screen, reminding us exactly how electrically charged our world has become.
Interesting use of frame also, fluctuating between Big Brother spying on tense exchanges and space-invading up-close shots placing emphasis on the many turbulent relationships present.
So. A mildly pleasing sensation to watch, thanks to some convincing acting and an infusion of Seng-tinted artistry, yet overall paucity of originality lets Disconnect down.