Directed by J.R. Hughto
USA, 2013
When Beth (Nina Millin) discovers that her fiancé Henry (Brian McGuire) has been secretly recording themselves having sex, and more disputably, rehearsing his marriage proposal, she storms out of their celebratory hotel room and emotionally stays dominant in her car at a nearby parking lot. When a mysterious passerby named Charlie (Sonja Kinski, granddaughter of Klaus Kinski) takes interest in her ordeal, a seemingly romantic triangle emerges testing the plight of the couple’s meaning of love.
Beth takes a friendly liking to Charlie, possibly because of how distraught she is, and asks Charlie to return her key to the hotel front desk. Charlie’s curiosity leads her to their hotel room, introducing herself to Henry. After a brief confrontation, Henry and Charlie agree to meet up again for private recordings. As platonic and romantic intentions compete with one another, the film does a fair job in keeping the audience aroused with intrigue.
The strength of the film thus lies on this unparalleled foundation of character development. For Henry, played by the implicitly struggling yet very believable McGuire, recorded conversations are the constant variable in his life. Clearly socially inept, reflected in both his relationship with Beth and his tendencies to not retain stable work, recorded conversations are a way to smooth over first impressions and avoid second chances. He clearly loves Beth, for he wouldn’t be conflicted if Beth wasn’t worth it. He just needs to believe in himself to make his transformation complete. Whether the film leads us to this conclusion may be to its discredit. Vagueness is a common thread throughout the film, leaving holes in the background of Henry’s neurosis and Charlie’s mystic. Yet what the film escapes in character history is gained in character building, particularly by the performances of McGuire and Kinski.
Unlike the introverted Henry, Charlie is just as closed off socially in the most opposite of extremes. Her nature to pry into the lives of those around her, her resilience to settling down, jumping from being an amateur photographer to part-time soft-core porn model, makes her just as socially crippled. Charlie’s aggressive tolerance for spontaneity amounts to that of Henry’s lack of impulse. They are two extremes of the social spectrum, both failing to meet with moderation. What ties themselves together is a fascination in externalizing social happiness, through Charlie’s photography and Henry’s obsession with memorizing old Safe and Sound records – meant to veer off burglars with conversations by a fictitious couple, making it look like empty homes are occupied. Even in a scene with hero George (Jeff Doucette), co-narrator of his beloved albums, Henry can’t escape his social ineptitudes. After finding out the couple never rehearsed prior to recording or that they were merely friends and not romantically involved, Henry’s safe zone suddenly implodes. The perfect picture of a perfect couple, he makes a cold habit to emulate, isn’t at all what is in reality. Now being at his upmost vulnerable state, with his barriers fully exposed, Henry has to make the decision of being fully committed to Beth, truthfully and unrehearsed. Although the film points Henry in the right direction, director J.R. Hughto knowingly keeps the audience at a far distance to any steadfast answers. Whether considered as thought-provoking filmmaking, or ambiguous storytelling, ultimately rests in the tastes and opinions of the little audience the film has.
— Christopher Clemente
Diamond on Vinyl is now on VOD via iTunes and receiving a limited engagement starting in NYC (12/7), Boston (12/8), and LA (12/10).