By Nadia Dalimonte Daisy Ridley in Sometimes I Think About Dying Sometimes Fran likes to think about dying. Not necessarily because she wants to, but out of morbid curiosity. How would it feel to hang off a crane? To drink poison? To lay alone in a forest, so far removed from the physical world? Thoughts of death occupy the frontlines of Fran’s mind as she goes about her work day at a drab office in coastal Oregon. While co-workers give weight to water cooler conversations, she awkwardly keeps to herself and watches in silence on the sidelines. But all that changes when she meets Robert, the new employee with whom she feels an indescribable spark. As their conversations evolve from spreadsheets and emails to movies and relationships, Fran faces the ultimate test: will she feel comfortable enough to let Robert in to her otherwise solitary life? Director Rachel Lambert finds a confident rhythm with Sometimes I Think About Dying, a compelling gem in the “less-is-more” corner of storytelling.
Carrying the film with striking impact is an incredibly restrained Daisy Ridley. With every little glance, she lets the viewer pick up on her character’s hesitance of those around her. She might be seen as invisible by her co-workers, but her personality stands out in the moments of awkward silences. During a meeting where colleagues are asked to introduce themselves followed by their favorite cheeses, Fran matter-of-factly states that she likes cottage cheese. In the stillness that washes over the room, she catches the attention of Robert (Dave Merheje), unbeknownst to her. The two strike up a virtual office chat afterwards, and a new layer of Fran is explored. Ridley’s performance acts as a gentle guide through this character breaking out of her shell with the hope that she will be understood. Crucial to the film’s staying power, Fran’s introversion is explored from a perspective that recognizes how much she tries to interact in social situations. She listens intently to the conversations happening around her, as though deciding at what point she ought to join in. While sticking to the wallpaper of a social interaction, she still lets her presence be known, even if her colleagues refuse to acknowledge it. With the introduction of Robert into her life, she opens up in ways that one would not expect and delights in the opportunity to be known by someone else. The story’s mundane office setting adds another layer to how impactful her delight is. Robert’s presence lights up an otherwise draining, monotonous environment for her. It’s in the moments left unsaid between them that she develops a connection, and in their voiced one-on-one conversations that she finds a way to let her guard down. The journey to that point is not an easy one for a character of Fran’s sensibility, which the film depicts with striking relatable qualities. Fran and Robert’s relationship evolves in a refreshingly honest way that puts weight on both of their roles; her attempts at letting him get to know her, and his embrace of the time it will take to reach that level of understanding. Sharing the screen with Ridley, Dave Merhe brings exceeding warmth and charisma to his character. From his passion for movies to the way he lovingly teases Fran, Robert is an endearing personality whose directness and honesty help give Fran some clarity about what she wants. Their melancholic final interaction in the film would not hit as hard emotionally without Merhe’s understanding of how Robert’s presence makes Fran feel. As well, the chemistry between Ridley and Merhe accentuates the initial butterflies that swell on first dates and the early process of getting to know someone. Whether Fran can trust Robert with opening up, sharing her fears and desires, gives the film a strong narrative focus. In addition to Ridley and Merhe’s performances, an unsung standout of the cast is Marcia DeBonis as Carol, the employee who has reached her last day at the office. DeBonis, one of the most prolific character actors in the industry, brings an immediate warmth to the film. Her naturalistic work builds to a compelling moment between Marcia and Fran in the final act, which calls out a depressing reality. For all the work people put into their jobs, they can miss out on life, and most of all the loved ones they choose to spend it with. DeBonis’s understated work speaks to the very human need to be included. Whether it's an office setting where one can present the most conversational version of themselves, or a personal vacation where one can release from mundanity. While the pacing of Sometimes I Think About Dying add to the dreary atmosphere, it also maintains a sense of repetitiveness to a slight fault. It may not come as a surprise that the film is based on a short of the same title, written and directed by Stefanie Abel Horowitz. Stretched into feature length, the nuances of Fran’s introverted experience navigating love and work feel too drawn out for the purpose of filling in space. One too many scenes of Fran zoning out at the office make the film feel overlong in its runtime. Once the relationship between Fran and Robert kicks in, the story takes on a more dynamic shape. Helping to break up the office mundanity is the film’s use of imagery and sound. Whether a long take focused on a crane, or a shot of a “deceased” Fran laying in the forest, the visuals are a vivid reflection of her mind. As well, the use of music conveys the feeling of watching a fairytale and constantly hoping the best for Fran. Dabney Morris’s original score has the sounds of a sweeping romance. Adding to the fairytale is the choice of including a poignant tune from 1937’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. “With a Smile and a Song” arrives at a point in the Disney film when Snow White reassures the forest animals not to worry, she won’t leave them. She asks the birds what they do when things go wrong, and the birds sing a song. The use of this Disney tune in Sometimes I Think About Dying not only builds on the film’s recurring forest imagery, but also adds a thought-provoking layer to where the story leaves Fran. Her realization that Robert doesn’t know her at all, and her willingness to change that, is a sweet embrace of someone working their way through loneliness. Sometimes less is more, and in focusing on Fran and Robert’s serene embrace, as forestry surrounds them, Rachel Lambert creates a rich vision of the central character’s growth. She finds a way to let Robert in.
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