Condemned to the hell of social media
THE soundtrack to modern life is a melancholy symphony of beeps, rings, chirps and pings, synchronised to the drumbeat of fingers swiping back and forth across LED screens.
The thrilling melody of face-to-face conversation has been supplanted by a monotonous, staccato chorus of click. like. share. follow. comment. hashtag. post. chat. reply. tag. add. rofl. lurk. block. crying face emoji...
Matt Spicer’s dark comedy-drama is a cautionary tale about tech-savvy generations whose fragile self-worth is determined by social media.
Spicer’s script, cowritten by David Branson Smith, explores the twisted psyche of a twentysomething loner who treats her mobile phone as an extension of her body.
Aubrey Plaza delivers a powerhouse performance in the title role, eliciting sympathy and discomfort in equal measure as her mental illness spirals out of control following her mother’s death.
For years, Ingrid’s best friend has been her mobile phone, an addiction that prevents her from nurturing healthy relationships. Matters come to a head with a violent altercation at a wedding, and Ingrid is placed in a mental facility.
During her supposed rehabilitation, Ingrid develops an obsession with Californian socialite Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen), who documents every facet of her pictureperfect life on Instagram.
Cashing in a $60,000, Ingrid moves to Los Angeles to be closer to Sloane, rents an apartment from screenwriter Dan Pinto (O’Shea Jackson Jr) and stalks her unsuspecting prey from afar.
When an opportunity arises to gatecrash her idol’s chic existence, Ingrid spins a web of lies to impress Sloane and her artist husband Ezra (Wyatt Russell).
The two women become awkward friends but sisterly solidarity is strained by the arrival of Sloane’s fun-loving brother Nicky (Billy Magnussen), who has a nose for nutcases.
Ingrid Goes West employs the idealised filters of the central character’s online world to lure us into the quicksand of her aching loneliness.
Plaza is blisteringly funny and horribly pathetic. A scene in which Ingrid and Sloane take a road trip and sing along to the ballad All My Life lurches between the two extremes as Ingrid caterwauls: “All my life, I’ve prayed for someone like you” – every syllable resonating in her tortured soul.
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