One of the major pitfalls
of the everything-is-connected ensemble drama is that filmmakers get so caught
up in how the various character and plot strands intertwine that they forget to
account for why. By the end of Garden Party, Jason Freeland's dismal
roundelay of Hollywood outsiders, the five or so major players have all met and
all played some role in each other's lives. Then the movie ends, raising the
question, "What the hell was that all about?" Freeland constructed the film out
of a handful of short stories he'd written, and that's reflected in the narrow,
particular journeys of Hollywood's young and lost. But taken together, these
stories are a symphony of inconsequentiality, drained of tension and purpose
until all that remains is a vague sense of collective ennui.
Best known for her
season-three turn as Mischa Barton's conniving little sister on The OC, Willa Holland brings a
more genuine babe-in-the-woods quality to her role as an aimless 15-year-old in
Hollywood. She wants to make a quick buck without taking off her clothes, but
nonetheless immediately disrobes for a shady
photographer. Vinessa Shaw plays a savvy real-estate agent who seduces
potential clients with her looks and generous homegrown samples of pot to go
along with her listings. Shaw's assistant Alex Cendese, a shy, closeted stoner
from Nebraska, lusts after Erik Scott Smith, a homeless young musician who
mumbles and stumbles his way into potential stardom. Meanwhile,
amateur-Internet-porn enthusiast Richard Gunn strikes up a deal with Shaw to
retrieve incriminating photographs in exchange for special favors.
There's the tiniest,
barest shred of an idea in Garden Party about Hollywood's culture of humiliation
and degradation, and how everyone has to subject themselves to it in order to
realize their dreams (or more often, not). But Freeland busies himself so much
with crocheting all the story threads that he doesn't bother to latch onto a
theme that might tie them all together meaningfully. It's a production in
search of a movie.