"Bubble": Soderbergh turns his eye to working-class lives
A wispy little feature that nonetheless digs under your skin, Steven Soderbergh's "Bubble" is the story of a unexpected romantic triangle among three doll-factory employees in a small Ohio town. It's an experiment (the film, made on a shoestring, is being released simultaneously in theaters, on DVD and on cable television), and a gimmick, cast entirely with nonprofessional actors and filmed by Soderbergh himself. But it works; the result is haunting and often creepy in its realism.
Martha (Debbie Doebereiner), a middle-age woman who takes care of her elderly father, and the much-younger Kyle (Dustin James Ashley) are friends of a sort, eating their fast-food lunches together and having the kind of bland filler conversation that's instantly recognizable — about the weekend, about the weather. Their quiet lives are disrupted by Rose (Misty Dawn Wilkins), a pretty and very self-aware new employee who's drawn to Kyle. Martha, suddenly aware that she holds no such charms for Kyle, finds that she is jealous, and the story turns very dark.
"Bubble," with Debbie Doebereiner, Dustin James Ashley, Misty Dawn Wilkins, Omar Cowan, Kyle Smith, Laurie Lee. Directed by Steven Soderbergh, from a screenplay by Coleman Hough. 72 minutes. Rated R for language. Metro (also being released on DVD and HDNET cable today).
At first, it's hard to connect to "Bubble" — the actors (with the exception of the lively, funny Kyle Smith, as Rose's ex, Jake) all speak in the same kind of dragging deadpan, as if their lives had worn them down so much that any expression would be too much effort. But Doebereiner's performance in particular becomes affecting. Overweight and puffy-eyed, she's become invisible to her younger and more attractive colleagues, and this is reflected in the misery in her pale-blue eyes. She sits in Rose's apartment quietly as an argument rages; no one remembers, or cares, that she is there.
Soderbergh and screenwriter Coleman Hough cut off the story quickly; it's a bubble that bursts, and we never get an ending. But the images of the doll factory, a low-rent sort of place with a wet gravel parking lot, are seared into our minds: rows of detached baby-doll arms, of newly painted faces. An empty-faced doll suddenly looks frighteningly alert as its eyes are inserted. It seems to stare back at the camera, daring it to respond.
The doll has more animation than most of the people in "Bubble," and therein lies the film's tragedy. Perhaps more skilled actors might have given us more insight into the characters; more nuance, more emotion. But there's something close to the bone about the performances here, and about the way Soderbergh shoots them, often keeping his camera at a distance. Misery, in this film, is everywhere; so, if you look for it, is love.
Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com