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From the outset, Standby showcases its disregard for novelty. The opening shot is that of a microphone, in a dark room, with a guy singing into it. This, regular moviegoers will notice, is exactly how both Inside Llewyn Davis and Begin Again — films about music production released earlier this year — open. Unlike these two movies however, the musical element in Standby is gratuitously thrown in — being of minimal importance to narrative development — probably in a bid to liken the film to Once, and thereby increase marketability abroad.
Subsequent shots do nothing to dissent from this initial lack of originality, and only reinforce the feeling of visual déjà-vu (our protagonist sits up in bed, silhouetted against the light filtering through his curtains… etc.) So Standby offers little in the way of formal experimentation, but is it fair to judge a film solely on technical innovation? Let’s appeal to the form/content division template. What Standby lacks in aesthetic concern it compensates for narratively, right?
Two encompassing architectures dictate the film’s narrative arc, the first of which is the classic rom-com formula (chance meeting — miscommunication — fortuitous reconciliation). Alan (Brian Gleeson), an information-desk employee in Dublin airport, runs into long lost American love Alice (Jessica Paré), whose flight back to New York was diverted to Ireland. They spend the evening together, trials and tribulations ensue, and Alice leaves to catch her flight in the morning. What’s so infuriating is that the plot device that will enable the fortuitous reconciliation (often a poorly-discarded letter or an opportunely overheard conversation), the gesture that convinces the beloved, unbeknownst to the lover, that she is truly loved by him, is so immediately apparent, so blatant, that the serendipitous resolution offers no narrative satisfaction.
The second of these is the interminable pub-crawl structure. Our lovers amble aimlessly and monotonously through the streets of Dublin from one familiar spot to the next (Grogans, Zaytoon and The Dragon make guest appearances). At various instances during the night, they contemplate calling it quits and going home (cue viewer’s hopes raised), but ultimately decide to prolong the torture (cue viewer’s hopes dashed).
Comedic elements to look forward to for those who, despite this review, venture to see this film regardless: 1) the Dublin/New York dichotomy; one is quaint, the other is the paragon of capitalist modernity — cultural disparities are always hilarious. 2) Alan’s French colleague (Tina Kellegher) is a chain-smoking nymphomaniac and has an exaggerated accent — comic gold. 3) The dismissive treatment of Dublin’s queer folk — hurrah! for the LGBT community and its benign otherness. Enjoy!
