There is no less specific, more generic phrase in film criticism than “documentary realism.” It assumes all nonfiction filmmakers work in the same style, toward the same intentions, while suggesting realism means, what, exactly? “Gritty” instead of “stylish?” Hand-held camerawork instead of fixed?
“Emily the Criminal,” a tough, lean little L.A. crime story, invites the docu-realist description, and its highly promising writer-director John Patton Ford comes out of the documentary field. But it’s no less indebted to the desperate-straits Depression-era dramas Hollywood was cranking out, often excitingly, in the pre-Production Code era of the early 1930s.
It’s also a fine dramatic showcase for Aubrey Plaza, whose wide-eyed intensity is right up there with pre-Code stars such as Ann “Scarface” Dvorak. Plaza honed her sardonic comic chops on “Parks and Recreation” and, more recently, modulated her doesn’t-miss-a-trick deadpan across a slew of indies and gunk like “Dirty Grandpa.”
