The Seedy Side of Albuquerque, But No Judgments, in Bad Posture


On a particularly hot summer day, monotone male housemates Flo (Florian Brozek, who also wrote the film) and Trey (Trey Cole) seek shade at a local duck pond. (Trey: “What the fuck else do you have to do today?” Flo: “Not shit.”) There, Flo attempts to pick up buried-in-a-book Marissa (Tabatha Shaun), while unbeknownst to both of them Trey loots her purse. The guys wind up flipping her car for $400 and an AK-47, which Trey eventually fires into his own toilet. Welcome to Albuquerque, or at least Bad Posture‘s outlaws-in-collared-shirts cross section of it, a place where everything, save for the occasional lawn, seems to have been burned to an almost charmingly charmless nihilist crisp. Various felonies and misdemeanors bogart the runtime: Trey buys (with intent to distribute) a lot of drugs, Flo gets hit over the head with a shovel during a house-party brawl, and the two find something like a creative outlet in spray-paint vandalism. Almost imperceptibly, a narrative begins to sprout up in the cracks between this immaculately shot misconduct, as stone-faced Flo—moved by remorse, and maybe even affection—quietly orchestrates the return of each of Marissa’s belongings. Bad Posture, the first narrative feature from director Malcolm Murray, is sure to unsettle those who prefer films to pass clear judgment on not-so-upstanding types, but it’s hard not to admire such a drolly off-kilter pass at the domestic regionalist indie.