There is an instant catharsis to the images evoked in surrealist comedy-drama Ham On Rye, channeling the likes of The Virgin Suicides, Dazed and Confused and Mid 90s from the very first shot. It follows the ritualistic rite-of-passage of a small town’s teenage community, where the course of one ceremonious evening determines their chances of escape from a mundane suburban existence. It is also apparent that Tyler Taormina’s first feature pays homage to the style of ‘nostalgia cinema,’ in both its obvious cinematic influences and vivid production values. Typically, the essence of ‘nostalgia cinema’ is inherent in its ability to ensue catharsis through visual stimulants, where the look and feel of a film is overtly tinged with the warm, youthful glow of a particular era. This aesthetic is often an accompaniment to a meaningful transition of maturity, from the removal of sheltered innocence (Virgin Suicides) to a development of romantic puberty and sexuality (Dazed). Unlike its predecessors, Ham On Rye attempts this through an unfocused approach to ‘nostalgia cinema,’ which blends together a medley of generational aesthetics and concepts in keeping with its surrealist tone.
As a coming-of-age film, this tone doesn’t completely work as it progresses past the initial energy of Ham On Rye’s opening scenes, where the time spent introducing its young characters begins to feel unnecessary and wasted. The pairing-off and consequential dissipation of each individual character presents further contextual blending, which removes them from both the narrative and the nostalgia of the film as a result. The primary investment in these characters is quickly observed as pointless, and predominantly not in keeping with the ‘nostalgia cinema’ narrative trope of growth within these loveable misfits. For example, the narrative journey in Mid 90’s follows the lead protagonist, Stevie, as he embarks on an aimless summer of self-discovery via his indoctrination into a delinquent group of local skaters. In Jonah Hill’s film, the warming glow of 90s sentimentality is merely an aesthetic lining to the realism of its subject matter, where the true ‘nostalgia cinema’ comes from its audience reliving their own youthful pilgrimage through Stevie’s character. In comparison, this journey in Ham On Rye is abruptly cut short, questioning the true nostalgic temperament of the film through its lack of compliance with the traditional ‘nostalgia cinema’ narrative.
As such, it could then be considered that the film intends to make a comment on the ‘nostalgia cinema’ of Linklater and Coppola, rather than adding to it, in suggesting that their visual sugar-coating of eras gone by detracts from the melancholy underlay of time’s momentary existence. Instead, the film’s over-exertion of this visual stimuli presents it as a disturbing reflection of its social importance, in consideration that our innate romanticisation of the past can stunt our progression towards an equally precious future. The nostalgic aesthetic in Ham On Rye’s case is then arguably used in order to portray a dystopian view of nostalgia, suggesting that an all encompassing fascination with the concept can negatively affect our real-time experiences. In this sense, there is a possibility that the film intentionally attempts to instruct our processing of nostalgia; allowing for further beneficial growth beyond the illuminating exposures of our youth. This idea of transitioning past our fixation with nostalgia is oddly similar to the beating heart of ‘nostalgia cinema’ narrative, where our young heroes are ceaselessly destined to change and mature before our style-soaked eyes.
The trouble with defining Ham On Rye as a piece of ‘nostalgia cinema’ is not then the quality of its impact, but the reading of its significance alongside other films of this genre. The film itself is not a contribution to ‘nostalgia cinema,’ but an observation of the issues surrounding this practice, where its powers of dreamlike spectacle reflect upon the unsettling realities of purging the past.
By Heather Bradshaw
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