Wheels is fun escapism that displays the power of those dreams. The story is endearing, the characters are enjoyable, and their quests honest. Along with being a love letter, Wheels is a love story and a drama in pursuit of those dreams. Yet when reality hits - and it does - Wheels scrambles and the glossy edges of that dream fragment more than they should.
First-time feature film director Paul Starkman shoots his home of Brooklyn with the love of a son. The constant, anonymous traffic thrums in the background. The Bridge stands as a sentinel of strength and shadow. Graffiti tags the walls and trash builds in the alleys but the Starkman always points the camera up into the open sky. And does it all in gorgeous black-and-white.
Starkman definitely honors the light over the dark, giving his story a sheen and creates within Brooklyn a mythical presence. The magical fantasy built is too hyper real. For when the darkness eventually encroaches, such exploits are merely cliche instead of real and sad.
Starkman creates a beautiful world, even with some rough edges. His theme is one of promise but ironically such end up forgotten. The subplots build too quickly and unevenly with an unsatisfying closure.
Artistically, this is where Starkman seeks to make his mark. For the viewer, the abrupt ending is the dream interrupted by the pop of a needle skidding across the wrong track. That next jam might groove but is missing the previous beat.
