Ditching

The ghost of Samuel Beckett hangs over Ditching like a giant black cloud. It is hard to shake the notion. Every line of absurdist dialogue, every stare and repetitive action reeks of the great Irish writer. That’s not to say it’s a complete waste of time, but Ditching comes across as more of an art experiment than a film.

Set in a post-apocalyptic Northern Ireland, a man and a woman act as guides through a world awash with grime, cannibals and shopping trolleys. Yes, it does bear superficial similarities to John Hillcoat’s The Road. Well, there’s a shopping trolley and some cannibals, but that’s about it.

Maeve (Mary Lindsay) and John (Lalor Roddy) are traipsing around Antrim looking for somewhere better to live, but don’t really have any ideas. John is stricken by a mystery illness and slowly dying (The Road, again). They encounter a band of soldiers, meet an inventor and find sanctuary with some gypsies. Life in this strange, futuristic Ireland is whittled down to walking around aimlessly, praying each morning and taking part in very odd games.

The characters inherent superstition birthing new myths, folklore and rituals is the film’s strongest attribute. There’s also the darkly comic suggestion that even in a post-apocalyptic Northern Ireland, religion endures. Yet its attempt at poetic and off-kilter dialogue falls flat: “Do you want to buy a tyre?” A person asks. “No, we’re moving on,” is the reply.

On a purely technical level, Ditching suffers from appalling sound and editing issues. The filmmakers could claim it to be self-conscious counter-cinema postures, but really it’s just amateurish. Compare it to the anarchic counter-cinema of Harmony Korine’s Trash Humpers and cheap doesn’t necessarily equate to bad. And that’s another major problem with Ditching: it’s too self-conscious and theatrical.

In fact, it would have made a great interactive theatrical piece. Rendered on film, with its technical quality issues and some very bad acting, it fails to find a worthy route. There are points of interesting and its use of tableaux is, on occasion, quite striking – especially the opening credits with its snapshots of derelict buildings, muddy fields and corrugated iron lolling in the wind.

It’s a shame that something brimming with plentiful ideas and artistic endeavour is hampered by bad technique and a very low budget. Ditching could have been a very good dream-like fable, but instead turns out to be more theatrical than cinematic.

Martyn Conterio

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