The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom
Closing film of the last edition of the Rendez-vous du cinema quebecois, “The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom” Tara Johns is a chronicle of all gentle girl who wakes up to what is happening around her … and even in her own body. Well done but not surprised.
Convinced that her mother is Dolly Parton, a young teenage girl (Julia Stone) left home to find her. What fury to her mother (Macha Grenon) who made heaven and earth to find her.
The cinematic experience can sometimes be paradoxical. “The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom” is a prime example. On a goal, it is an interesting movie. Achieving Tara Johns is slow, very poetic without being too nostalgic, while using good musical choices (parts sung by Dolly Parton but different artists, including Martha Wainwright, Nelly Furtado, Jennifer Toupin and Coral Egan). Her recreation of the era is attractive, as was her way of dealing with sensitivity and tact of strong subjects. Her way of directing her actors also remains quite commendable.
Less than one-dimensional “child prodigy”, Macha Grenon is credible in the role of the housewife who refuses to evolve with the times. And her chemistry with the young and bubbly Julia Stone pierces the screen. When they almost always end up together in the second part, the feature becomes more dramatic and never be too heavy, mannered or didactic.
Yet a feeling of indifference is present during projection. Whoever blows and leaves immune to tragedy. Perhaps it is the fault of this kind of story, told dozens of times in recent years. From “It’s not me, I swear!” From “Mom is a haircut” through “A life that begins” the trials of youth seem to always treated the same way. Even if the canvas is not quite the same, the hero or heroine is practically interchangeable. Especially because this time the themes are many. A bit too much.
It is about the search for identity and menarche, but also disappointments in terms of friendship and even a first breath of excitement. And all this lies in the young teenager. The mother should find out how to reposition themselves in a changing world (as the father of “A handgun” was not sure either) and create a dialogue with their offspring, accept the bond of blood is not everything life. Add to that several tracks untapped secondary characters (the rise of feminism, the role of Dolly Parton is clearly accessory) and the effort becomes incredibly loaded.
This does not “The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom” to be a quality title. You only have not seen other productions of this ilk, which could remove a lot of freshness and interest to it.
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