“Nothing Really Happens” takes the nothingness of modern life and spins it into an absurdist sci-fi dramedy wrapped in existential crisis.
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Reading the title of Nothing Really Happens, the debut film from Houston-based collective The Monster Closet, gives critics a built-in way to make fun of it, practically inviting the most scathing of witticisms. But I’m not going to take the bait. No, sir.
Because, while not much really happens in Nothing Really Happens, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth watching. In fact, the “nothingness” is rather the point.
Written and directed by Monster Closet co-founder Justin Petty, Nothing Really Happens combines the high-concept, low-budget sci-fi of something like Shane Carruth’s Primer with the low-key hangout sensibility of fellow Texan Richard Linklater’s early works, notably his debut, Slacker, and his rotoscoped philosophical head trip, Waking Life. If that combination appeals to you, then keep reading.
Dave Stimple (Adam Edwards) is at a bit of a crossroads. Having recently crested the age of 30, he leads a comfortable but unexciting life running his family’s mattress store. His marriage to wife Jess (Lindsay Gustin) has sputtered to a standstill, and he’s so desperate for excitement that he decides to randomly take up smoking.
Every conversation he has, from his neighbor Randy (Bobby Dornbos) to his weird friend Carl (fellow Monster Closet co-founder Joseph Graham), is completely detached from meaning.
Things further deteriorate when Dave’s store is shut down for an alleged bedbug infestation, and someone starts leaving piles of poop around the neighborhood with tiny French flags stuck in them (why French? Good question). To top it off, Dave starts losing time, his grip on reality slipping for reasons unknown, seemingly tied to the appearance of a strange old lady. It turns out Carl may have something to do with that.
Nothing Really Happens is the kind of movie where every conversation goes in surreal, meaningless circles, taking the absurdity and isolation of modern life to a comical extreme.
Many viewers might find this approach irritating, but it’s often quite funny if you can get on its particularly shaggy wavelength.
It captures a certain sense of disorientation that comes from entering your 30s, where your carefree 20s are behind you and you’re looking down the barrel of the rest of your life. The older you get, the fewer new experiences you have to look forward to. The potential you had in your youth seems to collapse all around you. You hope that any change, even one as small as folding your toilet paper instead of balling it up, will be the thing that shakes you out of your rut.
Anyone in that position might be tempted to wonder: Is this all there is?
At the very least, the gang over at The Monster Closet makes for an appealing bunch to hang out with as we face down the pointlessness of existence together. There’s an enjoyable sense of irony to the whole thing, staring into the abyss with a smirk rather than despair.
I like any movie that captures a specific sense of place, and Petty manages to invoke his home base of Houston through on-location shooting and fake local commercials. Houston, like most places, contains multitudes, and the film gives us a different view of the Texas metropolis.
While it often sports a sense of suburban anonymity, the Texas we all expect has a habit of intruding in the film’s sterile world like a truckload of good ol’ boys.
It’s entirely possible you might watch Nothing Really Happens and walk away unsatisfied (its IMDb score shows that you wouldn’t be alone), but it’s not really the kind of movie meant to disabuse you of your existential fears.
Instead, it faces down the disconnect and meaninglessness of modern life in possibly the sanest way of all: through sheer lunacy.
Overall Rating (Out of 5 Butterflies): 3.5
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