Time Indefinite

Documentary filmmaker McElwee is a man who takes the phrase “I am a camera” to its most extreme. No matter where he goes or what he does, he is always filming. His is a 16mm life, and it is exactly this life that is the subject of Time Indefinite, an oddball, misfit, and genuinely engrossing look at marriage, death, birth and anything else that happens to wander in front of McElwee's lens. Opening at the McElwee clan's annual family reunion on the coast of South Carolina, we meet the filmmaker's father, amongst many others, who is understandably overjoyed at McElwee Jr.'s surprise announcement regarding his forthcoming marriage to longtime film partner Marilyn. From this point onward, Time Indefinite follows the couple (or, at least, one half of the couple -- the other half is invariably out of frame behind the viewfinder) around on their various jaunts to arrange wedding invitations, catering services, and, predictably, the blessed event itself, all of this overlaid with a healthy dose of wry monologue from McElwee himself, who seems somewhat discombobulated by these momentous changes in his hitherto bacheloresque lifestyle. Before long, a baby is on its way, and McElwee seems determined to settle in for the long haul toward Genuine Adulthood (as it stands, he's already 39 years old, but hardly an Adult). Suddenly, there is tragedy: in the space of a month, Marilyn has a miscarriage, McElwee's beloved, ancient grandmother passes away, and, unexpectedly, his seemingly healthy father dies as well (no real explanation for this is ever given; family members theorize that it could have been either a massive stroke or a heart attack, neither one of which was foreseen). At this point, McElwee's tone takes a sharp turn, leaving behind the harried days of baby-shopping and turning, instead, to the more metaphysical questions of death, life, and so on. For a while here, McElwee's narration seems to have discarded its previous pithiness. Not surprisingly, he's hard pressed to find any humor in his life at this juncture, and the film nearly succumbs to the overwhelming malaise he so obviously feels. Struggling to work some sort of sense out of a world that apparently makes no sense whatsoever, McElwee visits old friends who have likewise suffered at the hands of fate, holds angst-ridden discussions with himself and the camera, and generally obsesses over death. The film experiences another mood swing a bit later on, when Marilyn again becomes pregnant, bringing the film in on a more poignant, upbeat note. It's not all doom and gloom, obviously. The magic of McElwee's work (also readily apparent in his first film, Sherman's March) is how he manages -- through sheer wry wit and filmic ability -- to drawn you into a story that goes on everywhere, every day. This is his life, but it very easily could be yours, and as such, there's precious few dull spots contained within. His practiced hand manipulates the camera in such a way that it enters into private moments without become an obtrusive third party. He is the camera.