Watching Disfluency feels a bit like being guided through a museum exhibit by a tour guide who won’t stop talking. There’s promising art to behold — an interesting concept about speech, pauses, and the messy ripple effects of trauma — but any chance to explore it on your own is undercut by forceful narration dictating precisely what you’re supposed to be thinking at any given moment. In the case of Anna Baumgarten’s film especially, one can’t help but wonder what the — potentially impressive — effect might have been without the relentless spoon-feeding.
At the story’s center is Jane (Libe Barer), a college senior who abruptly finds herself back in her hometown after failing her final class. A sense of bruised vulnerability blankets her from the start, and it’s clear something of consequence happened at school. While that event isn’t confirmed until two-thirds of the way through the film, it’s very obvious from the start what it was, as the film’s script rushes to provide viewers with warnings, lectures, and repeated references to “disfluency.” Rather than letting the concept of broken speech become a subtle metaphor for Jane’s fractured psyche, the film instead insists on endlessly hammering home to viewers why the “ums” and “likes” matter.
A bit of obviousness isn’t a fatal flaw in cinema, but Disfluency adds to that base ingredient a handful of well-worn indie cliches: the disappointed mother, the supportive-but-clumsy father, the restless younger sister, and the old hometown crush who’s still able to spark a little fire. With a little room to breathe, these characters might hold the potential to surprise us, but in Disfluency they are all regrettably locked on their predictable paths, ticking the boxes of low-budget dramatics as they move forward. Still other elements present here might have created a layered portrait of small-town struggles and post-college aimlessness, like a former classmate with a deaf child who comes back into Jane’s orbit, but none of these potential infusions are ever allowed to rise above surface-level archetypes.
What’s most frustrating, however, is the film’s approach to trauma. A story centering on material like this should dig deeper, acknowledge the swirling chaos of anger, shame, confusion, and heartbreak that an event like this brings to bear on the victim’s disrupted psychological and emotional equilibriums. And while Disfluency does introduce these complications of the self — via quick flashbacks, moments of disassociation, mounting anxiety — it never lets those moments of rawness linger long enough to truly resonate. The result is a film that feels both half-baked and halfhearted, as though it wants to manifest as both a quirky coming-of-age flick and a solemn exploration of trauma, yet can’t decide which — or even if either — to fully embrace.
At times, there’s a faint glimmer of something real in Baumgarten’s film: an authentic confrontation at a police station, or a heartfelt confession communicated in sign language. But these hints at the genuine depth available to the material are unfortunately buried deep down under heavy-handed didacticism. It’s a pity, because Barer’s portrayal of Jane is at times movingly tender, even haunting, but the script never allows her enough free rein to make the most of her fine work. By the time the credits roll, Disfluency has spelled out its themes so many times that it feels like the script must have been punishment from a teacher, and its sum takeaway feels far more pat than profound. Healing is messy, trauma doesn’t resolve neatly, and life is full of stutters. These are certainly truths worthy of exploration, but Disfluency unfortunately doesn’t trust its audience to come to them organically.
DIRECTOR: Anna Baumgarten; CAST: Libe Barer, Ariela Barer, Chelsea Alden, Dylan Arnold; DISTRIBUTOR: Buffalo 8; IN THEATERS: January 17; STREAMING: January 24; RUNTIME: 1 hr. 35 min.
Published as part of January 2025 Review Roundup
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