LFF 2020: Sound For The Future
LFF
In times such as these, the home movie has taken on a new kind of relevance. In the effort to make sense of it all, some resort to documenting their own personal experiences, with one imagining lockdown life will soon be an inspiration for many stories. Sound for the Future, irrespective of its production schedule, couldn’t have been anything other than a barebones documentary, which director Matt Hulse reckons with after ten long years.
His directorial debut charts the rise – if you could call it that – of The Hippies, billed as the UK’ s youngest post-punk band. The Hippies are not a professional band, but rather a group formed in 1979 by Matt and his two siblings, Toby and Polly – aged 11, 12 and 8 respectively – therefore the film does not explore memories and the music archive. The project was initially a tongue-in-cheek suggestion from their mother as a means for filling up the summer holidays, but Matt in particular can’t let go of the endeavour.
Due to financial constraints, a traditional narrative film was out of the question, so Matt amalgamates various techniques, ranging from acting workshops to art installations, to assess the legacy of his upbringing. He enlists the help of a Glasgow-based youth group to recreate the band’s output, ranging from stills to renditions of humorous songs such as ‘Rabies’ and ‘Dallas City Ghost’, whilst a present-day performative gathering seeks to honour memories and spirit. These main threads are punctuated by montages, animations and archival footage; the intention, much like punk music itself, is to subvert, but comes at the cost of not having anything meaningful to say.
Matt, a photographer by day, quite literally wears his narcissism across his chest, but it’s hard to pinpoint where the irony ends. Whether it’s a bizarre trip to a Chinese tattoo parlour, tap dance routines or snogging Malcolm McLaren’s death-mask, the absurdity quickly wears thin; even with pointed references to ego and self-indulgence, there’s never an inkling that Matt is close to reconciling with it. As he practices ventriloquism with Mr Spoons, a childhood toy he considers “an extension of his own ego”, it’s patently clear how hollow the introspection is. The toy, in the eyes of his mother, allows him to say controversial things with impunity, but this theme of stunted development is engulfed by wayward structuring and stylistic affectations.
As it flickers between numerous timeframes and forms, there’s no rhythm to these proceedings, which turn into less of an exploration of Matt’s childhood and more an exercise in pretension. Interviews regarding feminism, a supposed influence from Matt’s mother, and Thatcher’s Britain serve no purpose other than extending the runtime, which stands at a bloated 102 minutes. The intention, undoubtedly, was to make a personal feature, but Sound for the Future is a product of its maker impenetrable for anyone outside his circle. It partially explains why Toby, the elder statesman of the band and the apparent force behind their separation, never makes an appearance here; sometimes, a frontman is just too difficult to work with.