Director: Olya Schechter
Writer: Olya Schechter
Running time: 51mins
Socrates argued that the unexamined life is not worth living. It often seems that, since the information technology revolution, for many of us an unfilmed life is not worth living. I would hazard a guess that this would be the case for Olya Schechter, the creator of the feature length documentary Love Unscripted. For your reviewer, the movie felt like watching a 50-minute selfie.
Love Unscripted is a product of lockdown. The narrative voice is that of the director. Schechter is an affluent woman in her late twenties living in an apartment in New York, with her daughter and a Yorkshire Terrier dog. Through the narrative voice and real time filmed interactions, we learn that the director is in a relationship with Adrian, a man from the Netherlands, again apparently affluent and in the same age group as Schechter. The daughter and the dog go unnamed throughout the film.
The source of Adrian’s income is left somewhat vague – in a conversation with Schechter we hear that he is in start-ups – though whether as a venture capitalist or working under the IT bonnet is left unclear. Even more mystifying is the source of the director’s affluence, until it is revealed as a plot device, about a third the way through the movie. The relentless focus of Love Unscripted is on the relationship between Schechter and Adrian.
We are treated to some home movie pre-pandemic videos charting the relationship – holidays by the pool and where they first met at the Burning Man Festival. The narrative voice explains that they would meet up every three weeks or so either in New York or at some desirable tourist location. Schechter paints a portrait of a never-ending romantic idyll.
Then the joys of the pandemic. Adrian has flown over from the Netherlands – then the couple hear about the lockdown and with flights back to Europe banned. Adrian is effectively a prisoner in New York.
Schechter gives us some standard lockdown footage – the couple playing with the daughter and the dog, views of empty city street, pedestrians in masks passing by the apartment. At this point, the director introduces The Issue.
Adrian and Schechter are filmed having a long and frank discussion about the future of their relationship and the possibility of their getting married. The couple are sitting on the sofa. I wondered as to the mechanics of the shooting. The credits list several cinematographers aside from Schechter so there is a possibility there was another person in the room. However, given the exigencies of lockdown and the intimacy of the conversation I would think it likely that it was filmed remotely by the director. Whatever the means of filming, the scene set the pattern for the rest of the movie – deeply revealing footage of two people trying to come to terms with problems in their relationship live on camera.
The director’s approach left your reviewer somewhat queasy – having to look into the inner turmoil of two people in real life made me feel as though I was a voyeur, or the village gossip peering through the window. At times, I felt I was watching a modern version of the Jerry Springer Show but for affluent people.
During the discussion as to marriage, Adrian reveals that a key priority in his life would be to become a father, and that if it proved that Schechter could not have another child then he would resent the fact, and the resentment would poison the marriage. Understandably, being regarded as breeding stock fundamentally pisses Schechter off. Schechter is uncertain whether she could have or even would want to have another child. We are then given a long series of conversations and Zoom meetings with a counsellor, where they try to resolve the issue.
At this point the narrative device comes into play. Schechter discovers that if she were to marry, she would lose her alimony payments from a former husband (presumably the father of her daughter). She realises she would no longer be able to afford the lifestyle she has grown accustomed to, or the upkeep of the sumptuous apartment. A problem indeed. When pondering whether to have a baby, Schechter ponders whether she will be able to afford to employ a night nurse – not a question many women across the globe will be asking themselves when thinking about pregnancy.
The movie concludes with post-lockdown developments – pregnancy tests, Schechter’s visit to see Adrian in the Netherlands, and yet another trip to an exotic beach resort to try and resolve their problems.
On the positives, Love Unscripted looks good. Schechter is an efficient filmmaker – the cinematography and editing though relatively unambitious accomplish the task required. The soundtrack by Romain Collins I thought was going to be insufferable – the plangently saccharine piano chords that accompany Schechter’s narration at the start of the movie to illustrate the romantic idyll had me nearly kicking the speakers in horror. However, the build-up of staccato chords later in the movie do a fine job of giving some bite and heightening the tension in the more baroque interactions between Adrian and Schechter.
At the same time, in terms of her self-portrayal, I must congratulate Schechter on the frankness of her work. In particular, Schechter’s obsessive focus on her relationship to the exclusion of other aspects of her life comes across vividly. However, this frankness does not seem to extend to the other subjects on camera.
It is tricky to write this as a male film reviewer, and I want to be clear that it is not – and should not be – my task to guide any woman through the veil of tears of life on earth. But I would think most viewers will pick up something missing in the portrayal – any examination of the effect of Schechter’s relationship with Adrian on her daughter. OK, we see footage of the trio goofing around and Adrian comes across a fine surrogate father – yet there are a couple of problematic omissions here.
When discussing the financial ramifications of giving up the alimony money, there is no consideration voiced as to the effects on the other human in the situation: the daughter. At the same time, when Schechter and Adrian visit the many wonderful locales across the globe, notable in their absence is the unnamed child. Maybe that is how the affluent live their lives? But it is something which begs further examination in the film, in that case.
Following on from this, there is not enough of an attempt to address the other major elephant in the room – making a movie itself. According to the submission notes for Love Unscripted, Schechter holds an undergraduate degree in filmmaking, a masters in editing, and has directed several films, one of which was well received and gained several awards. One would assume therefore that making movies is an important part of the director’s life and, dare I say it, is one of their career paths. But nowhere in Love Unscripted is the director’s movie making experience or the fact that they are actually making the film we are watching alluded to.
In the long and tortuous discussions on the loss of the alimony money and the possibility of having a child, there is no mention of the impact that these might have on the director’s future filmmaking. Nowhere are we given any inkling how anyone feels about being placed in front of the cameras during such a tumultuous period of their lives. These omissions fatally compromise the work to such an extent that it comes across not as the hard-hitting documentation of reality the director intended, but as a mere conceit.
With Love Unscripted, Schechter has demonstrated that she is a skilled director in technical terms, who can assemble a production team and make a movie under difficult circumstances. However, beyond that, this offering feels like lazy filmmaking – picking the low-hanging fruits of lockdown. The director fails to link the particular to the universal – the essential of documentary filmmaking – making it hard to relate to the goings on depicted. Hopefully, this is just a blip in an otherwise apparently successful director’s portfolio – but I would not recommend this movie to IFL readers, unless you want to morph into that village gossip for an hour or so, and peer into the window of one the plush apartment blocks that have sprung up like mushrooms in cities across the globe. In that case, good luck.