Toxic friend groups suck.

When we begin Late Fame, Ed Saxberger is working at the post office, living a mundane existence as he walks through life with his head hung low, away from the camera. Then Meyers, a pompously dressed intellectual, shows up at his apartment, and gushes about how Saxberger’s collection of poetry was ahead of his time, and how much it means to Meyers’ eclectic group of burgeoning writers. Despite his shy nature, Saxberger can’t help but let the hint of a smile betray his face.

Films that feel like they could have been plays have always been a favorite specialty of mine. I love abstract cinematography as much as the next person, but the emphasis on dialogue and precise character movements make watching films like Late Fame such a joy. These elements play deeply into the film’s structure, which is part of why I was so enthralled I forgot my purse in the theater when the screening was over (don’t worry, I got it back.)

Although the film is about poetry, we don’t really get to hear much of it, which works to the film’s benefits. Late Fame isn’t really about the art of poetry so much as it is about the tensions that can arise when people look at art as a way of living. In Saxberger’s time, art was something that you had to grab onto for survival. Everyone was poor, everyone was on drugs, and there was always something happening. In the modern day, art is seen more as a luxury. Instead of starving artists, Meyers’ intellectual group consists of mostly affluent men who’ve gotten their MAs, some of which they’ve designed themselves.

At first, Meyer’s salon is a comforting haven to Saxberger. He’s taken aback at first, but soon he realizes that as eccentric as these people may be, they clearly care about this long-lost poet, a man who was a legend in his time but who’s since retreated into his own shell.

It’s only a matter of time.

Edmund Donavan is one of the film’s true heavyweights. Whereas Dafoe’s humble performance quietly captivates the screen, Donavan’s Meyers leaps out at it like a hungry salamander. Meyers craves approval–practically lusts for it. He knows he can never match up to Saxberger’s quality as a writer, but he also wants to contribute something to a society that seems to see literature as merely a content to be consumed, not something that can last forever. I found myself nodding along. This guy makes some great points. I could see myself forming an intellectual bond with him.

But then we don’t really get to know the other friends in the coterie. We know there’s more to them. The critic (or essayist, as Meyers calls him) likes to flirt with the aspiring influencer at the table next to them, the meek Wilson harbors a desire to share his poetry, and everybody else wants a piece of the pie that Meyers is offering. And of course, there’s Gloria.

Gloria is a purposefully mysterious character, both within the world of the film and outside of it. We only get glimpses into what’s going on behind closed doors, but it’s clear that Gloria lives in her performance. Greta Lee was unfortunately miscast in this role, but I can’t deny there was some Dorothy Vallens inspiration behind her glamour. She lives in the spotlight, but she’s desperate to wear the makeup because it’s the only thing holding her together. It’s questionable whether the men in Meyers’ group truly know her. Do they love her, or do they love what she shows them?

Despite not being a poet or having lived through the 70s, I found myself relating to this film way too hard. This film reads almost like a tragedy in how Saxberger lights up at the prospect of people seeing him as a poet, and finally finding a group that actually accepts him for who he once was as well as who he is now. But the thing about putting on a performance is that it’s only temporary. After a while it exhausts you, and sooner or later the facade has got to fall. The late fame promised in the film’s title is more illusory than it first appears. Saxberger may get the attention he wants, but it might not be what he needs.

I would be doing this film a serious disservice if I did not mention Dafoe. He is simply magnetic in this role. You don’t know whether he’s walked in Saxberger’s shoes before or if he’s trying them on for the first time and they just fit perfectly. He knows the exact notes to play, like a flirtatious glance or a darkened glare of disappointment. Whenever he’s onscreen, you could just get lost in every microexpression, and you leave the story behind. It’s just Saxberger’s world, and we’re just living in it.

FURTHER THOUGHTS

• I loved a good punk/post-punk opening.
• Meyers is one of the most hateable characters of the year. He could rival Vanya from Anora in terms of how terrible he is.
• Seriously though, that coffee shop looks awesome. I need to go eat there.