Where Is Kyra?

Where is Kyra? the title asks. Ostensibly she lives in Brooklyn, but her real location, for the purposes of this low-lit, depressing mise en scene, is the interior darkness of a middle-aged, jobless, depressed woman (Michelle Pfeiffer). Aided by Oscar-nominated Bradford Young's shadowy cinematography, director Andrew Dosunmu crafts a near perfect outward evocation of the spiritual loneliness of a woman who has recently lost her mother.

As her life spirals downward spiritually and financially, Kyra finds some solace in the arms of neighbor Doug (Kiefer Sutherland), a part-time job slacker, who tries as much as he can to comfort her even though he is marginalized by the film's lighting and proxemics. Kyra is desperately alone in a city that forgets about the aging, like the recurring motif of the elderly lady with the cane.

A light larceny is forcing itself on Kyra, and who can blame her? Her credit cards have maxed out, and the job interviews have led nowhere. Although this is not a real thriller, enough of the noirish urban danger bleeds through to confirm the despair so many down and outers must feel in that unforgiving world on NYC and its burbs.

Pfeiffer should be recognized for her remarkably restrained and deeply-felt role. Unfortunately, writer Darci Picoult has little dialogue for her, and the lighting is the most powerful vehicle for the despair of urban loneliness and poverty, poverty porn if you will.

Where is Kyra? has a European feel in its languor and an American vibe in its class inequality. It's solid fare for cinephiles and those who need an antidote for their optimism.

Dark, muted colors. I can sympathize with her plight of the situation.

An interesting follow-up to Ms Pfeiffer's earlier exercise in realism 'Frankie and Johnnie' (1991) depicting a divorcee already traumatised by the death of her elderly mother, coping with bureaucracy, the threat of eviction and beset by constant demands for money forced into a truly extraordinary subterfuge that I won't reveal here.

At first reminiscent of Wim Wenders at his most morose, with a metallic score by Philip Miller and set against a backdrop of New York that makes Edward Hopper look like Norman Rockwell it slides into a stark psychodrama involving the most sinister little old lady since Norman Bates' mother.

Some forced artism, bad musical escapades, but ultimately the message is powerfully delivered. This society destroys good people.

Love Michelle, she is amazing. Was looking forward to watching this. But I couldn't get into it as the setting is just so dark you can hardly see people's faces. Also, the camera angles, people are talking and it seems to be focused on their hair and the back half of their dark head. I felt like I wanted to turn the camera around so I could see. I understand its part of the setting being dark but the camera angles are awful.