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28 min.

In this vignette oriented piece, a group of people discuss their own often unique perspective on life. Unlike other titles in his canon, Esoterica is completely apropos. Each sequence suggests the inner psychological struggles of seemingly normal people, the whole “private conversation in their head” thing given new and startling voice over reality. They are talking to themselves - and responding. All the standard players are here - icons from the past (Vietnam Ron, Walt Dongo) as well as new faces (Nolan Ballin, Sara Flanders) fresh and buoyant with the boy genius’s love of language. Together, their paint a stunning portrait of human frailty and mental mania.

This is one of Andrews most talk intensive films, the constant patter a window into a world few ever venture toward or may even know exists. This is the space between lucidity, the line in the psychic sand between staying within the social order and straying far from the maddening crowd. Some of the scenes are simple (an old man discusses his love of feeding birds), others seem normal until a surreal turn twists things up (Dongo is harassed by a flock of…laughing rubber duckies). And then there are moments which only make sense to the director and his muse - conversations that careen wilding between nonsense and the knowing ability to use words to create mood and emotion.

Indeed, what Esoterica proves over and over again is that nothing Andrews does is accidental. Sure, a dirty limerick like sequence featuring a Hispanic man and a plunger has all the making of a bad adolescent lament, but the truth turns out to be far more poignant. Similarly, long time Andrews associate Walt Patterson plays with dog flops during a particularly disturbing sequence, his recitation rife with the kind of pleas for attention that lead some to suicide - or something far more serial.

As with all his work, Andrews is still offering snapshots of the fringe, finding even the most ludicrous exchange worth of Day for Night consideration. In one of the few interpersonal moments, a couple discusses the man’s fledgling acting career. Failed sitcoms and headshots are considered, while other options are offered including “running snails to Mexico”. As he did with such outright classics as Trailer Town and Touch Me in the Morning, Andrews uses the mundane to magnify the differences between people. Esoterica finds the grace and gravitas in easy pleasures, offering piercing insights while ascribing significance to elements both typical and trite.

-Bill Gibron