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DIRECTED BY: Julie Pacino
FEATURING: Lucy Fry, Madeline Brewer, Sarah Rich, Matt Rife, Cara Seymour, Sheryl Lee
PLOT: Rose takes refuge in a remote hotel to record an audition video, medically abort her impossible fetus, and evade her boyfriend’s domineering mother.

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: I Live Here Now serves up medical trauma and blood-pink ambience with lashings of Lynch and hearty helpings of uneasy humor; this movie goes down strangely.
COMMENTS: Dear doctor, kindly do not advise Rose that she is “very lucky” for having conceived, particularly as you are unaware of her troubling medical history. Rose faces this logic-defying declaration with quiet grit, as she faces every development throughout I Live Here Now: a discourteous casting agent (“Can you lose three pounds by Monday?”), her enthusiastic but inconsiderate boyfriend (“Not now, my queen, I have a lot of lines to memorize!”), and that boyfriend’s domineering mother, who, upon hearing the news that her dear (dear) boy impregnated such a nobody, takes a zealous interest in Rose’s decisions. And of course, there are the unexpected trials—by fire—our heroine faces at The Crown Inn: the oddest place of lodging this side of Twin Peaks‘ mysterious lodge. (Don’t worry, though: there’s complementary strawberry cake for the guests each the morning.)
Rose spends the bulk of the film in the Inn, and director Susan Pacino takes us along for the ride. The drunken matriarch and owner will see us only after a cryptic home-movie wraps up. Young Sid, all done up in cheerleader bell-hop with golden-sparkle shoes, evinces an enthusiasm for the check-in bell that’s both endearing and highly peculiar. And after settling down in “The Lovin’ Oven” room (complete with baroque infant crib, amongst its ’70s-and-timeless furniture accessories), we meet the hotel’s only other apparent guest, Lillian. Although, she is not so much a guest as the evil sister of this family-run experience. Maybe. She’s cruel, certainly, as when she callously uses the protective glassine from Sid’s diary to roll joints. Dysfunction and ambiguity run as deep as the palette of pinks runs to reds and blood-browns, and as disorienting as the smoke that seeps in from the heat vents as the surrounding forest burns.
Sliding easily from dark nightmare-memory to comedy to menace to the surreal, I Live Here Now plays with Rose and with the audience. Cruelly so, at times, particularly through the domineering mother (performed by none other than Sheryl Lee). Sometimes, this movie plays like Beau Is Afraid from the point of view of a theoretical girlfriend. Thinking back on this film regularly over the past few days, I find that myself lost in the imagery and oddities, and the tragic innocence and evil of Sid and Lillian. They are doubtless a metaphor, but I could not guess as precisely what for. These are happily confused musings, though, as Rose’s personality, the hotel’s personality, and the film’s personality are a delight to explore. A dark delight, though—like the deep red of crimson strawberry cake.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:



