Most actors feel lucky to get a leading role. With Dandelion, Nicole Riegel’s new film, it is lucky to have its star. KiKi Layne shines like the sun and everything else in the movie revolves around her performance that is impossible not to root for. But Dandelion is not executed on par with KiKi’s ability. At times, it is a beautiful examination of how hard it can be for musicians to stay true to themselves artistically. However, more often than not this path gets lost sometimes quite literally as many parts of this film just seem like characters walking through it.
Dandelion (Layne) is one of these struggling indie musicians we’ve seen so many times before in movies. Having grown up in Cincinnati where she could only land an every other night gig playing covers at a hotel restaurant with the only audience that ever seems interested treating her with anything better than indifference being herself, she eventually hits the road out of desperation when nothing else works.
She drives all the way out to South Dakota for some music contest during a biker rally and there meets Casey (Thomas Doherty), a guitarist who gave up his dreams but wants back into his old band. They quickly fall in love over their shared passion both for each other and songwriting.
This isn’t exactly uncharted territory when it comes to stories about people trying make something happen in music scenes; hell, John Carney has made a whole career out of telling them himself already. What makes Dandelion special though is its title character: there hasn’t been anyone like her yet depicted on screen before now. This girl is so far past any point where most protagonists would give up that she doesn’t even really believe enough in herself anymore even attempt chasing after guy stole her guitar case at rally let alone try do anything else productive or proactive towards achieving success anywhere beyond where fate has already placed him within arm’s reach at this point.
Seeing such complete lack of confidence played out not as some guaranteed source for eventual inspiration but rather real life is much more honest. Putting yourself and your art out there over and over just to have it continuously crushed will take all energy out from inside anyone’s soul, “There’s nothing cute about a forty-year-old troubadour,” tells mother who has been embarrassed & let down way too many times already before showing signs giving up within first five minutes on any given day; so we can’t help but want her to win even harder.
And KiKi Layne was born for this role. Everything about her draws you in; she could act opposite blank wall film would still be worth watching just see what happens next solely based off of how compellingly magnetic lays everything down before us here today there tomorrow everywhere nowhere anywhere anytime forever always forevermore till end world time itself collapses under weight its own gravity barreling forward unstoppable force meeting immovable object types energy that makes perfect sense no matter what else may come between them selves themselves other people things places moments events dreams hopes fears failures successes triumphs joy tears laughter smiles pain love hate peace war heaven hell earth paradise purgatory eternity now then never ever always forevermore till end world time itself collapses under weight its own gravity barreling forward unstoppable force meeting immovable object types energy
However, even an actress as equal to the task as Layne cannot sell every moment of a screenplay that is this dramatically overwrought. There are two major combative scenes for her character which reach these excessive heights of emotionality because that’s what the script says they should do, but Riegel’s direction does not allow any natural build toward such an agitated state. Nor does it really give Doherty much help in terms of what kind of fully enchanting performance his role demands from him anyway.
I mean how, exactly, are you supposed to deliver a line like “Tell me what you love about Cincinnati” with complete sincerity? And then, like Layne, he has been asked to show a sudden emotional outburst later on in the movie and the film’s pace gives him no support towards accomplishing this so it just comes off as hard-to-watch in an X-Files way.
Also once they’ve established that these two characters are attracted to each other there is nothing left for the screenplay to do besides slide into a languid pattern. For what feels like (and probably is) at least an hour we follow Casey and Dandelion around beautiful South Dakota which always seems to be bathed in golden sunset. But instead of swooning or being transported by anything it all becomes pretty boring as they wander past another mountainous vista or river shore.
And if you’re wondering why that might be let me answer your question with some more questions: Do you think there’s anything worse than hearing two people use sappy dialogue when one of them calls themselves “The Godfather” and the other “Shakespeare”? Or how about when they’re lounging on a cliffside and Casey says something about wanting to make art profound? And then Dandelion shoots back with “Who’s gonna hear you all the way up here?” To which he replies “The world.”
Yeah lines like those don’t make any movie soar, they weigh it down. But one scene does stand out as an oasis of genuine charm in this desert of sappiness that is “The Last Letter From Your Lover.” Early on in their situationship they ascend to an overlook on a peak and Dandelion plays Casey one of her songs. After their only scrap of paper is lost to the winds, they take turns writing new lyrics on each other’s arms and playing music together. It’s really adorable start to their romantic adventure, with both actors’ equally beautiful singing voices combining to create something almost great.
Riegel’s camera can be confusing. Sometimes the film uses focus in unexpected ways, often shooting fully out-of-focus on purpose. At least when not cloaked in shadows, one minor character named Mountain Mama never has her full face shown an odd choice considering she gives a lovely mini-monologue about her late musician husband.
It’s one thing to make creative technical choices; it’s another to do so in a way that mostly distracts. The movie does have pacing problems, but is well edited and makes particularly good use of double exposure. One standout moment shows Dandelion struggling to construct a new song, intercut with flashbacks to her past both moments that the audience was privy to throughout the film and footage of Dandelion as a child (although why her toddler years, which must’ve been the early 1990s, are shown as if shot with a 70s home camera is a mystery).
It’s an effective scene that accurately represents the haphazard, difficult and inevitably autobiographical process of creating art. Additionally, the sound work is unquestionably well done. The music is well-balanced throughout and the film smartly uses its sound mix to subtly put you in Dandelion’s head: When she plays for unfriendly audiences, you hear their aggressive noises of inattention or heckling depending on the situation just as loudly through the speakers as you hear her music.
Like Dandelion herself, this film’s unsuccessful attempts at greatness are hard to watch. KiKi Layne is always welcome, but this flower will just float away on the breeze.
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