Memorable movies are still being made on the streets of Los Angeles \u2014 although Max DeFalco\u2019s rakish indie \u201cTen Will\u201d isn\u2019t going to get on any tourist\u2019s map to the stars. Filmed without permits for approximately the cost of a used car, it\u2019s a cringe comedy about a newly released convict, Tennessee Williams (Mikul Robins), frantically trying to get across town to the East L.A. Sheriff\u2019s Department so he can register as a sex offender.<\/p>\n
On the hero scale, Ten, as he calls himself, rates a zero. Whiny and obnoxious, he\u2019s the Larry David<\/a> of lechers. We want him to accomplish his quest only because a dangerous guy like him shouldn\u2019t slip through society\u2019s cracks. But DeFalco is drawn to the sidewalk dwellers, street preachers and parking-lot boozers who also lurk down there and help (or hinder) Ten, usually at a loud volume. The filmmaker delights in making the discomfitingly watchable Ten suffer. For one sequence, he sends Robins in character onto Alvarado Boulevard to try to earn cash by forcibly washing strangers\u2019 windshields \u2014 during a rain shower.<\/p>\n This is DeFalco\u2019s debut feature after making several skits about weirdos with warped goals. A 20-something cemetery employee, he shot \u201cTen Will\u201d in 13 days on the weekends, scouting locations during his commute from MacArthur Park to Inglewood. Both he and his film could share the same subtitle he used for his first short: \u201cA glimpse into the penetrating insightful examination of the delusions of a bottom-dwelling dreamer.\u201d<\/p>\n DeFalco is all about the hustle. Apropos for a story about people on the margins, his settings are liminal: a highway shoulder, a charred underpass, a real-life fast food drive-through. (Cinematographer Brandon D. Hill sneaks his footage from a nearby parked car.) Traffic intrudes. Helicopters thrum. Tension builds. The images are stunning when they want to be but enjoy being aggravating, too. The lens is always \u2014 always \u2014 zooming until Ten\u2019s stress becomes contagious.<\/p>\n Like Richard Linklater\u2019s own low-budget breakout \u201cSlacker,\u201d<\/a> \u201cTen Will\u201d is so crowded with vivid kooks that you could imagine the camera pivoting to follow whoever it meets. The script feels more improvisational than it is. Most of the ensemble is made up of exuberant nonprofessionals, at least one of whom agreed to barge into a scene for $50 and is so screamingly, gigglingly pesky that he\u2019s well worth the money.<\/p>\n Robins, however, is an actual actor who\u2019s worked steadily, and inconspicuously, since 1985 when he had bit parts in \u201cTeen Wolf\u201d<\/a> and \u201cWeird Science.\u201d<\/a> He\u2019s not afraid of being loathed, squinting his eyes until they\u2019re unreadable. If you look very hard, you might find sympathy. I didn\u2019t. But I did see a human being.<\/p>\n Since the faces on display are unusually eclectic, the knee-jerk reaction is to fear the movie is making fun of them. In fact, \u201cTen Will\u201d is audaciously neutral toward everyone, especially its lead. As Ten\u2019s lovelorn prison pen pal Lillian, an immobile shut-in, Peggy Fields Richardson initially appears to be a punchline, but goes on to deliver a nuanced turn as a woman who\u2019s long awaited her chance at romance.<\/p>\n To state the obvious, \u201cTen Will\u201d isn\u2019t for everyone. Even people who like the film will leave yowling at the ending. Still, devotees of John Waters<\/a>, Sean Baker,<\/a> Todd Solondz<\/a> and the Safdie brothers<\/a> will sense that DeFalco is a kindred spirit, a filmmaker with an open-minded curiosity about the rowdier parts of the human zoo.<\/p>\n