An Attempt at Artistry Turns It to Slop
by James Spica

Though it is probably not a question one asks one’s self very often, there are times when one must inquire as to the relevance and artistic merit of someone literally banging music out of their acoustic guitar for hours on end. At what point do the same ten chords played with one’s fist become completely insufferable? Folk music fans will say that this phenomenon is quite tolerable, but even they would cringe upon viewing “Once.”
This film is, to be brutally honest, the closest possible thing to a one-and-a-half-hour-long Cat Stevens music video.
The main problem is that its filming style and content do not match—though it is filmed in a documentary style, there is none of the typical musical group documentary additives, such as interviews, press appearances, and other such things that make such films interesting in the first place. The intrigue of a band documentary comes mostly from conflicts within the band, the bands wild antics, and interviews that expose the true nature of the artists. This movie is an odd conglomeration of mediums: a documentary camera, love-story emotion, and a music video plot.
The filming style may be attributable to the film’s low budget. On the other hand, the lack of balance between music, dialogue, and plot devices belies partial if not complete intention in the way of a music documentary. The long scenes with the artist’s music playing loudly, shaky “hand-held” camera that makes one’s stomach queasy, all are at least partially purposeful. There is a preconception among film-makers as to the ‘artistry’ of a film being dependant on the ‘independent look’ described above. This is why many film-makers praise films like “Gummo.” The musing or experimentalist nature of any film may be stylistic but isn’t necessarily artistic, and the same goes for “Once” It is a travesty that anyone might have thought that an hour and a half of their ‘artistic genius’ would have done anything besides lull viewers into a deep sleep. Of course, the wailing of the main character might make sleep difficult.
Though the characters in the film are played by musicians and not career actors, bad acting is not the most immediately noticeable of this film’s faults. Indeed, for the fact that they were not career actors, their performances were relatively good. It is the subject, content, and plot of the film—the meat, so to speak—that ruins it.
Some might say that, in a fully artistic sense, the intention behind this film is to expose the hopelessness and boredom of life punctuated with brief moments of brightness. The film might convey this, but there must be a better way to do so that burning the eyes and ears of the audience.
This film lacks balance, intrigue, and musical taste to the point of making it intolerable. The best cure would be to make it closer to a typical documentary or closer to a love story—walking the line isn’t always good, especially if one isn’t a proficient tightrope-walker.