It’s not often that a filmmaker has two new films released in one year. Ridley Scott and Clint Eastwood pulled this off when their names meant automatic greenlights, but it's rare for an up-and-coming director. Chandler Levack has experience as a short film creator, journalist, and freelance prose writer. Levack’s new film Mile End Kicks isn’t technically a semi-autobiographical feature, but it’s informed by her past. The film scored a distribution deal from Elevation Pictures after its debut at the Toronto International Film Festival, where its local themes drew rave reviews. As is often the case with indie films, Mile End Kicks was debuted in early-spring.
A common trend within indie filmmaking that began in the 2010s was the notion of hiring the director of the latest Sundance darling to helm a studio feature, where they could be easily micromanaged by a board of producers and marketing gurus. More often than not, any glimmer of personality is ironed out; a director like Barry Jenkins couldn’t showcase any of the arresting beauty of Moonlight when Disney handed him a prequel to The Lion King. This pipeline has all but disappeared because it's now more common for blockbusters to be handled by company journeymen who wouldn’t disrupt a mapped-out production with their own ideas. The route for indie directors has turned to streaming; if they’re not able to book a gig on a prestige show, they might as well be behind a Netflix vehicle with an established star. It’s a relatively easy for anyone with ambitions to move up in the industry because the failure of a Netflix film doesn’t last.
There’s no bigger proponent of Netflix than Adam Sandler, who was the first Hollywood star to sign a deal with the streamer, which happened right around the time his features began to underperform theatrically. The deal between the production company Happy Madison and Netflix goes beyond star vehicles for just Sandler; he’s also found a way to fund projects for his Saturday Night Live buddies David Spade, Kevin James and Rob Schneider. Sandler’s so notoriously shameless that no one batted an eye when he used Netflix cash to fund a few films that starred his daughter Sunni, including the Levack-helmed coming-of-age comedy Roommates. It’s the first of Levack’s films that she didn’t write, even if some of her touches are evident within the class commentary.
The differences between Mile End Kicks and Roommates are noticeable. Mile End Kicks is, for better or worse, a film staked in its specificity, given that a majority of its jokes are aimed at those who were there for the indie rock spiral of the early-2010s. It’s not necessarily a barrier of entry because the audience doesn’t need to fully relate to the niche interests of the protagonist Grace Pine (Barbie Ferreira) in order for them to function as a motivation. That Grace is almost burdened with a love of covering obscure artists, even if it’s left her poor and dissatisfied, is shaped around Levack’s employment as a writer. The issue with Mile End Kicks is that its harsh realities about the market for journalism, especially young women, are left unsubstantiated when the film is tilted in a more optimistic direction. Levak admirably made Grace a flawed character who’s often shallow and thoughtless, but the film is so obsessed with giving her validation that the annuities fade away.
Roommates is the broader film, and the funnier one. The younger Sandler has the role of Devon Weisz, a mousey college freshman terrified by the idea that she could spend four years in university without any friends. Devon’s anxieties are seemingly reversed during her orientation, where a connection is formed with her confident, and slightly reckless fellow freshman Celeste (Chloe East). As is the case with most “roommate from hell” stories, Celeste’s flaws are made more evident after they’ve spent more time together; not only is Celeste a sociopathic narcissist, but she’s shown a remarkable degree of indifference to situations that could make Devon uncomfortable.
Many of the scenarios set up by Roommates are conventional; there’s not a single college comedy that doesn’t have an awkward sexual encounter, a late-night party gone wrong, and a disastrous Thanksgiving sequence. Yet, Levack is able to show that these cliches exist for a reason because of the sensitivity shown within the depiction of female friendship. Celeste might’ve turned into a nightmare, but there’s reason to believe that her calm demeanor would be exciting to someone like Devon, who doesn’t know how to handle herself in social situations. Levack’s touches to the supporting characters, however minor, make all the difference; Devon and Celestes' hallmates, Amber (Bella Murphy) and Olivia (Jaya Harper), are caricatures before they’re given a fascinating dynamic that’s distinct from the one between the two leads. It’s also the rare teen film in which the "embarrassing parents” are funny, because Devon’s father (Nick Kroll) and Hannah (Natasha Lyonne) are a bit over-supportive without feeling completely out-of-touch.
Roommates is distinguished as a Happy Madison production because of some of its stranger storytelling choices, including a framing device with Saturday Night Live’s Sarah Sherman as the detached Dean of Student Life. It might’ve been a lazy choice in another director’s hands, but Levack used it to emphasize that what the audience is seeing is a translation of the truth, which might explain the logical discrepancies. If Levack’s “for-hire” job is just as entertaining as her personal project, then there’s reason to believe that whatever she does next will be worthwhile.