By George & Josh Bate
The term ‘ugly cry’ reportedly dates back to Betty Sue Cummings’ 1977 novel Hew Against the Grain. This marked the first time that an author had assigned a label to the puffy eyes, grimacing mouth, and running nose many exhibit when experiencing profound sadness. Ugly crying took on newfound prominence in the 2000s when it became a regular piece of Oprah Winfrey’s vocabulary and, in turn, a fixture of modern lexicon. But what are the deeper implications of our culture’s willingness to label an expression of emotion as ugly? How does the way in which we cry influence others’ perceptions of us, especially in an industry in which appearances are of paramount importance. These questions (and more) are explored in the existential comedy-meets-psychological thriller Ugly Cry.
Premiering at this year’s SXSW, Ugly Cry follows Delaney (Emily Robinson), a young actress in Hollywood hopping from one self-tape/audition to the next in search of her breakout role. When up for a role that could change the trajectory of her career, Delaney receives a note from a producer that she has an “ugly cry.” This sole point of feedback causes Delaney to spiral into a whirlwind of anxiety as she dangerously pursues perfection.
Marking the directorial debut feature film of Emily Robinson, who also stars and features in virtually every moment of the movie, Ugly Cry damningly examines beauty standards, comparison culture, and the extent to which people, especially actors, will go to to achieve their dreams. In telling a story that unfolds exclusively from the perspective of her character Delaney, Robinson imbues her film with the anxiety of a starving artist. Delaney is desperate to be recognized in a competitive film industry, especially as her boyfriend and fellow actor (Aaron Dominguez) secures a role in a big blockbuster. She submits countless self-tapes, attends demanding acting lessons, and commits herself to a profession that yields constant judgment.
Both through her vulnerable performance and anxiety-laden filmmaking, Robinson excels in conveying the pressures and torment of acting. The actress, known for her work in Eighth Grade and The Edge of Everything, is introduced to the audience as she is talking to herself during a morning commute. While driving, Robinson’s Delaney engages in a difficult and emotionally stirring conversation, only for it to soon become known that she is practicing lines for a forthcoming audition. Much of the film finds Delaney alone like this, practicing lines for a big audition or self-tape on the horizon and exhibiting a range of emotions before having to pivot back to real life and real emotions. Throughout these myriad of scenes, Robinson brilliantly captures the desperation and urgency of an aspiring actor – a sentiment made all the more commendable given that Robinson is able to convey this so starkly even as she is playing Delaney playing another character. It’s a multi-layered role, but one that Robinson tackles with confidence, much unlike the character she is playing.
Robinson couples a strong performance with similarly effective filmmaking. As a director, she often opts for close-ups of Delaney or slow zoom-ins to her face, which together more glaringly showcase every minute insecurity or invulnerability of our protagonist. In turn, Ugly Cry becomes a rather immersive watch as Delaney’s anxieties become the audience’s – we feel the palpable concerns she has, both through assured directing and a commanding lead performance.
In conveying Delaney’s struggles, Ugly Cry comments on the slippery slope of pursuing perfection. Robinson reflects on how even the kindest and most loving of people are vulnerable to jealousy, including jealousy directed toward the person they love the most. She examines the comparison culture inherent to the film industry as Delaney is constantly exposed to scrutiny and compared to others by her teachers, fellow actors, agents, producers, filmmakers, and more. What begins on more humorous footing quickly evolves into something more unsettling, a story that pinpoints the cumulative effects on the psyche that result from such incessant comparison. While Ugly Cry focuses on the plight of an aspiring actor, its messaging about comparison culture holds relevance far beyond the film industry, especially in an era dominated by social media, Instagram models, rampant cosmetic surgery, unrealistic body standards, and more.
Robinson’s film interestingly explores these ideas in a more subtle manner before transforming into a body horror-esque psychological thriller. Delaney goes to great lengths to change the way in which she cries, including pursuing questionable cosmetic surgeries, expensive photo shoots, and elaborate hair appointments. All of this comes at the detriment of her personal relationships as the fixation on her appearance dominates over and gradually destroys the bonds with her mother (Robin Tunney), friend (Ryan Simpkins), and boyfriend. A tale of the internalization of unhealthy body standards slowly evolves into a tale of body dysmorphia at its most ruinous. Robinson intelligently exercises restraint in never dabbling in the unrealistic or supernatural while portraying Delaney’s transformations, which ensures that her film remains grounded and (disturbingly) relatable even as our protagonist’s decisions become increasingly erratic.
Where Ugly Cry errs, unfortunately, is in its portrayal of Delaney’s descent into madness. The second half of the film is increasingly consumed by hallucinogenic experiences or dream-like sequences that Delaney (and the viewer) questions the reality of. While the intent of these scenes are clear, they are overdone and add an unnecessarily heightened element to an otherwise grounded narrative. In delving into more unusual territory, Robinson’s film loses some of the immersive anxiety that made it so compelling initially and, eventually, runs out of steam before the credits roll.
VERDICT: 6.5/10
Writer, director, producer, and leading actor Emily Robinson examines unrealistic beauty standards, the cutthroat nature of the film industry, and the toxicity of comparison culture in the anxiety- and thought-provoking SXSW premiere Ugly Cry. Robinson’s feature directorial debut skillfully captures the palpable anxiety fostered by endless auditions and the pursuit of perfection, both through assured directing and a commanding, vulnerable, and emotive lead performance. The film progressively grows more unsettling and delves into body horror-adjacent psychological thriller territory as its exploration of body dysmorphia and perfectionism evolves, although the protagonist’s hallucination-laden descent into madness in the second half detracts from the immersive anxiety that made the film so compelling in the first place. Although it runs out of steam before the credits roll, Robinson’s film powerfully explores topics with relevance far beyond the film industry and serves as a resounding announcement of her talent in front of and behind the camera.