DRIVEWAYS - ONE OF THE MOST MOVING FILMS OF THE YEAR - Andrew Johnson
It’s difficult to be a film buff right now.
I struggle to admit it, for I know that feeling is borne from privilege. With the death toll from COVID-19 continuing to climb, tens of millions of Americans unemployed, and the end nowhere in sight, it seems narrow-minded and perhaps selfish to complain about the movies. And yet, as Bob Dylan put it, the times they are a-changin’, and the film industry is not immune. As theaters are forced to stay closed, many may never re-open.
Of all the creature comforts we’re sacrificing right now, I miss the cinema the most. There is something about a darkened theater that feels sacred to me, like a church service or a wake. It is that “thin place” where reality can meet the transcendent, if only for a few hours, and a group of strangers can share something special for a while, even if it’s just a story. Perhaps it’s only the illusion of true community – I find myself regretting how few times I actually spoke to the people around me – but it’s a powerful feeling, nonetheless.
Driveways feels like a movie I would have loved to see in a theater. It is the kind of quiet, meditative film best experienced among fellow pilgrims to the cinema, rather than alone at home. The sophomore feature from Korean-American director Andrew Ahn (Spa Night), Driveways follows eight-year-old Cody (Lucas Jaye) as he helps his mother Kathy (Hong Chau) clean out the house of her recently deceased sister in an unfamiliar town. Over the course of a few weeks, he befriends an elderly neighbor named Del (Brian Dennehy, in one of his last roles), a Korean War veteran who’s also coping with grief, both past and future. While the premise may sound like a formulaic coming-of-age story about intergenerational bonding (the less fantastical version of Pixar’s Up), Ahn wisely steers clear from didacticism, inviting viewers to observe his characters and form their own interpretations about what makes them tick. The result is one of the most moving films of the year.
For a film about the importance of connection, Driveways spends a surprising amount of time portraying isolation. All of the main characters lack meaningful relationships – there are apparently no family members or close friends for Cody to stay with while his mother deals with his aunt’s passing – and seek solace in video game, laptop, or television screens. Cinematographer Ki Jin Kim frequently places each character alone in the frame, even when other people are nearby; their loneliness is constantly felt, and Ahn finds just the right balance of melancholy and sweetness, never straying too far into mawkish sentimentality.
It isn’t just the shrewd direction or warm photography that sets Driveway apart from similar material. Jaye strikes just the right note of sensitivity to keep Cody from feeling misanthropic, and Chau is wonderful as a woman who’s carrying the weight of a lifetime of broken relationships: when she tells her realtor, “I don’t know what to do,” it’s more of a sigh than a sob. Yet it’s Dennehy who finds the throbbing heart beneath a film primarily characterized by restraint, conveying both a gruff exterior and underlying tenderness as Del grapples with his past mistakes. He speaks in soft scratches -- can a growl be gentle? -- and communicates more through small glances and gestures than many actors do with their entire bodies. It’s fitting that one of his last performances, in which he ruminates on the entirety of a life, is one of his best.
A lot of Driveways is spent in small, quiet moments – the digging of a hole, fingers fluttering through grass, the way light reflects off windows – so that even the most seemingly mundane conversations feel alive with intricacy. Writers Hannah Bos and Paul Thurteen recognize that the most impactful part of speech can exist behind the words, and it’s often what’s unsaid that marks us the most. The film never explicitly lays out how Del may be attempting to atone for his own parental failings, or how much Cody himself longs for a father figure, but these issues simmer beneath the surface of every interaction. Similarly, Kathy and Cody are never the explicit targets of racism, yet race hangs over every interaction, from the way a black woman responds to the question “Do you like it here?” (“I mean… there’s some okay people.”) to how neighborhood children assume that Cody must like manga. Another film might harp on these moments to spark maximum outrage in the audience; Driveways presents them as part of a wider tapestry of human experience. Even the most unsympathetic characters long for community; they just don’t quite know how best to best ask for it.
And that, ultimately, is the point: A driveway is both a barrier and an invitation. In many neighborhoods, they’re on the side of their respective houses, a dividing line that physically separates people from their neighbors. Most of the adults in the film seem to hardly ever communicate with each other – to what extent is that due to design, a concrete line that separates mine from yours? And yet, driveways are nonetheless natural meeting places and conduits to the neighborhood as a whole. Nearly all of the film’s introductions occur there; it’s where the children gather to play and the adults arrive to mingle (and pry into each other’s business). It’s the one place where the public and the private mesh together--a portal into community.
This is the ultimate gift of Driveways: a reminder that connection is possible, even with so many barriers between us. At a time when “social distancing” has become the prescribed norm, and cinemas themselves seem endangered, Ahn’s film whispers that community is found not in a building, or even a city, but in our shared humanity. We can create new sacred spaces and form new congregations of filmgoers. Sometimes all it takes is mere acknowledgement, or a kind word, or in some cases, an extension cord (or internet connection). We’re not alone in our loneliness. Our driveways are wherever we wish them to be. Welcome home.
Andrew Johnson is a freelance journalist, educator, and the co-founder of the North Carolina Film Critics Association. His writing has appeared in numerous print and online outlets, including The Winston-Salem Journal, Syracuse New Times, The Post & Courier, and Film School Rejects.
