The Time We Killed

The Time We Killed is a drama film directed by Jennifer Reeves that masterfully blends thoughtful storytelling with a keen sense of visual poetry. Released in 2004, this film, one might say, is an indie cinematic gem dedicated to exploring the mind's landscape under conditions of extreme internal and external stress.

The film's central character, Robin (played by poet Lisa Jarnot) is an agoraphobic writer grappling with mental health issues that have seen her confined within her Brooklyn apartment. It becomes her world, the entire sphere of her existence, and we, as the audience, get a uniquely claustrophobic perspective of urban isolation. Through Robin's character, the film delves into the depths of the human soul and mind, cleverly weaving this journey with subtly nuanced discussions around the broader socio-political context of a post-9/11 world.

The narrative structure of the film can best be described as an immersive stream of consciousness, as it unfolds through Robin's voice-over. While this unconventional narrative approach could potentially lead to disorientation for some, it expertly serves to pull the viewer into Robin's world. The screenplay combines Robin's versions of reality, her imagination, and her dreams, offering a deeply personal perspective which is both striking and innovative.

The lattice of reality and fantasy is further supported by the film's black-and-white cinematography. It serves not only to create an evocative atmosphere but also mirrors the psychological territory navigated by the protagonist. The use of 16mm film lends a further layer of artistic credibility and documentary grit to the film, helping engross the viewer further into the central character's world.

Susan Arthur and Rainer Dragon appear in cameo roles across Robin's interactions. They adroitly weave into the fabric of the story, which is primarily focused on the protagonist and her spiral into alienation and self-reflection. They come across as subtly inserted coordinates in the protagonist's urban existence, adding depth to her universe even though they don't take up much screen time.

What makes The Time We Killed really fascinating is how it handles the issue of war. Interestingly, the war isn't at the forefront; rather, it forms the undercurrent in the protagonist's discourse about isolation and alienation. It's a poignant narrative method of showcasing personal and communal trauma. This enveloping sense of dread, stemmed from socio-political disturbances, works in a way to complement the protagonist's personal turmoil, thereby subtly pointing out intersections of the personal and the political.

The Time We Killed, however, isn't for those who seek a traditional linear storyline or clear plot points. Its strength lies in its poetic, abstract aura, and its ability to establish an intense connection between its protagonist and the audience. It's the kind of film that rolls and wraps itself around viewers, immersing them in an ocean of emotions and inviting them to explore unchartered areas of human psychology and society.

Written and directed by Jennifer Reeves, this existential black-and-white film showcases Reeves' unique directing style and her compelling approach to convoluted emotions and tricky subject matters, proving her status as one of the most unique voices in independent cinema.

The Time We Killed indeed dares the audience to engage at a deep cognitive level, dissolving the boundary between viewer and character. This film is a poignant exploration of fear, isolation, mental health, and the impact of socio-political events on individual psyche. It's a distinctive and thought-provoking piece of cinema that gently nudges the viewers to engage with their deepest fears and emotions, and does so in a style truly its own. Despite its heavy themes, it speaks in a voice that's provoking yet refreshingly authentic, staying with viewers long after the screen fades to black.