Crazed architects, a loss of sight, executive producer David Lynch and a perspective of what is and is not funny. The Other Me is a tragic state of affairs. Echoed warnings and a man driving at breakneck speed, gurning his face as though he is desperate for the loo, The Other Me is off to a poor start. Modern medicine is “helpless” against the disease striking architect and generally out of place Jim Sturgess, who portrays Irakli. When one of the first interactions between the two leading characters is “at least it is not cancer,” then The Other Me can only do so much more to cement its rip-off structure to that of Sound of Metal. Regardless of the context needed for that previous quote, the delivery is bad, the writing is poor, and Lynch’s name should not be on this project.
Each and every interaction between Sturgess and everyone around him is painful, difficult and awkward. Much of the film is too. It is impossible to cement a location, feel or style to The Other Me, which flickers through just about every perspective, hopelessly trying to find something that may work for the characters at the heart of this demented feature. Beginning with the fallout is a difficult angle for Giga Agladze to take, and not even the excuses of a debut feature hold much water to the lack of quality on display. Blurry cameras, unfocused shots and a general lack of motion from all of the characters on display. Roger Ashton-Griffiths’ comical representation of an engineer who “climbs things” is given as much detail as the rest of this ramshackle bunch.
The Other Me is not content stealing away the motives of Sound of Metal but tries to incorporate fantastical elements of Daredevil too. A loss of sight that gives way to special powers, other emotions and the ability to reveal the true intentions of others. It is very, unfortunate enough for those that hate the word, Lynchian. It is. It is why his name is attached to the project. Lynchian in scope, not in perspective. The Other Me is nothing like a Lynch piece aside from the context of its summary, although the stilted acting and cold interactions between an endless setlist of random encounters, dramatic music reserved more for an episode of Castle, do make for some comical, unhinged moments. The Other Me is a Sturgess-led piece that fails to capture what little charms are on offer.
Little they are, Sturgess and company could and should have done better. It does feel like an amateur comedy store improv take, where their budget has grown and their director knows a few friends in the business, namely the director of The Elephant Man. Agladze’s work is horrendous here, plain and simple. He cannot draw much from his cast, and what he can draw is not worth putting to film. His fantastical elements, the larger-than-life intrigue and the mysteries that come from the closing moments are worked toward, but not built up in any way that would make them either rewarding or intimate. The Other Me is truly horrendous, even if the scorch marks of dream-like fevers are there and present, they are not coherent. Even in their incoherence though, is boredom. Unforgivable.
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