If it pleases the court, I would like to offer further evidence in support of that old showbiz adage: if it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage. “Objection!” the judge replies, as no one disagrees with this.
But apparently they still do, or movies such as Tramps wouldn’t exist. Starring two terrific young actors (Callum Turner and Grace Van Patten), Tramps, shot with sparkle and verve in various locations in New York, has the raw materials required to construct an indie gem. But it’s quickly revealed that there is no real blueprint, other than to wing it and hope it comes out all right in the end.
Danny (Turner) is a slackjawed teenager on the cusp of adulthood living with his mother, a Polish immigrant, in Astoria, Queens. She runs a very DIY off-track betting operation from her cramped living room. (I happen to live in the very neighbourhood where Tramps is set and can tell you that the the in-the-open illegal gambling scene here is quite prevalent.) Danny’s older brother calls from a jail in Atlantic City. He’ll only be there for one night, but he needs Danny to do him a favour: pick up a briefcase, leave it for someone on a train platform and make $3,000.
Danny doesn’t want to do it, but his mother orders him to. Cross-cut with this is the arrival of Ellie (Van Patten), a desperate and penniless young woman returning to New York from Pittsburgh. She meets her old chum and low-level hood Scott (Mike Birbiglia), who is half-creep/half-doofus, and he hooks her up with the job of getaway driver.
Things seem cut and dried for Danny and Ellie, until Danny screws up and grabs the wrong bag. Director Adam Leon stages the botched switch quite well – hard not to shout “auugh!” – but, unfortunately, the suspension of disbelief goes only so far. Without giving too much away, the woman whose bag he does take does not behave in any way that resembles human nature.
This jaunty first act is really an excuse to get Danny and Ellie on the run in posh Westchester County. They’ve got a deadline to find that briefcase and set things right before facing mob justice. That’s more than enough time for two young, forlorn people to chat in nice outdoor settings and eventually fall in love.
There are a few playful hijinks, like a dress-up montage with a rich woman’s wardrobe, and also the cliche walk through a summer carnival. It was during this sequence, with Leon’s decision to use a jazz tune I swear I’ve heard in Woody Allen movies, that I realised that this seemingly mild, agreeable film was actually a disappointment.
This is exactly the type of movie Allen makes in between his good ones – a goodhearted but lower-class kid on the run with an enchanting girl. If only there were some crafty dialogue and a splash of wit, these fine two actors would have had what they needed to put the love story over the top. A craftsman such as Allen can take a story that may seem a little creaky but still write specifics that result in something like Café Society or Irrational Man. Tramps is one of the thinnest exercises I’ve seen in quite some time. And for every enjoyable moment there’s a cringeworthy “deep glance”, such as when Danny suggests that children owning pets is good training for the horrors of life to come. Not an unusual sentiment, but this is essentially blurted out with little provocation and lands with a thud.
Tramps makes its debut just as Andrea Arnold’s American Honey hits the autumn festivals. That’s another film in which young people from impoverished backgrounds make trouble on suburban lawns. That movie isn’t a masterpiece either, but there’s at least a great deal of freshness in its specificity. Best to go with initial instinct and ignore the call to get that briefcase.
