Remember when the notion of “independent film” meant nothing more than a film funded without the backing of a major studio? That time no longer exists. With each independent film that found massive mainstream popularity, the idea of “independent film” as a genre and not just a financial model began to grow. Now, there is a certain set of qualities that define the quintessential indie film. If it’s a drama, it’s lighthearted until it reaches its hidden, darker core with some metaphor about identity or socioeconomics floating around. For comedies, the characters have to be quirky and possess certain affectations that could only come from the mind of a writer who thinks it would be cool, but knows deep down that it just wouldn’t fly in real life (practically or culturally). An Invisible Sign is what happens when the concept of independent film as a genre evolves unchecked; when filmmakers are allowed to create films with characters, rendered impossible by the intensity of their own quirkiness, collide with real-life situations accentuated with unlikely flourishes. It’s a film that’s humorous in parts, and touching at others, but reeks through and through of novel contrivance.
Mona fell in love with numbers at an early age thanks to her father (John Shea), a math teacher. Through the years, it helped them connect and become ever closer until her father was diagnosed with a neurological disorder that gradually sapped his health and eroded his mind. In spite of her father’s increasingly distracted state, Mona stayed by his side, foregoing college and many of the things she enjoyed, all so she could stay by his side. Her mother eventually recognizes that her daughter living at home would stunt any hope of Mona having a future, and so she kicks Mona to the curb and gets her a job at the local elementary school teaching math. It’s the first time Mona has really had to live and make personal connections, so her ability to relate to other people or take control of a batch of rowdy children takes time to develop. As it does, she discovers a girl (Sophie Nyweide) who badly needs a mother figure, a man (Chris Messina) who just wants to get to know her, and a former teacher (J.K. Simmons) who once inspired her with math but has since moved on to find a new source of happiness.
The film is based on Aimee Bender’s novel “An Invisible Sign of My Own” and it begs a version of the age old question “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” In this case, the answer is easy enough to determine as Aimee’s novel, written in 2001, easily precedes the huge surge of indie films and the culture it created, as a story filled with such characters it seems perfectly at home in the genre. Were it not for the characters, where the quirkiness goes off the charts, the story is very simple and straightforward and really quite common. However, once the characters and their personalities come into play, the whole affair goes off the rails with ridiculous circumstances and “clever” ideas that make it clear the novel probably would never have been adapted on the merits of its story alone. If it didn’t fit so neatly into the Culture of Quirk that independent film established for itself, we might not be watching An Invisible Sign. That last point is conjecture, but the final idea being that An Invisible Sign is almost entirely indistinguishable from every other quirky dramatic comedy of the last five years, save for the fact that it seems to be what happens when an indie film loses all touch with how people really are.
In terms of performances, the only two worthy of mention are Chris Messina who offers a slight anchor as a fellow teacher with more of a connection to reality than Mona and J.K. Simmons who has a great final scene, but whose character gets saddled with a ridiculous device of laughable significance.
Blu-ray Bonus Features
There’s only a trailer.
"An Invisible Sign" is on sale November 1, 2011 and is rated PG13. Comedy, Drama. Directed by Marilyn Agrelo. Written by Pamela Falk, Michael Ellis. Starring Chris Messina, JK Simmons, Jessica Alba, John Shea, Bailee Madison.
