The idea of remixing the “chosen one” narrative with punk rock sensibilities is an enticing one. But what’s frustrating about O’Dessa, Geremy Jasper’s impassioned but misguided post-apocalyptic musical drama, is that its attempts to subvert the archetypes and tropes are done in such a muddled fashion, that it makes the final product more aggravating than intriguing. Despite its occasionally infectious energy, thanks in no small part to its colorful and vibrant world and the enthralling original songs Jasper co-wrote and composed, it largely fails to connect on any level beyond the aesthetic. It’s a song that ends in dissonance, a smorgasbord of music videos in search of a compelling emotional throughline.
At the start of the film, we meet O’Dessa (Sadie Sink) who lives with her mother in the countryside. O’Dessa comes from a long line of “ramblers,” musicians, and storytellers who use music to keep history alive and console the downtrodden. O’Dessa and her mother live in a barren wasteland, the only defining features being long, above-ground pipes that suck plasma and other natural resources from the Earth, and the permeating presence of screens, which feature 24/7 hypnotizing broadcasts from Plutonovich (Murray Bartlett), a dictator who kidnaps and tortures anyone who speaks out against his regime. Bartlett seems to be having the most fun out of all his co-stars, lacing his performance with a tongue and cheek self-awareness. His Plutonovich is a leader who uses fear-mongering rhetoric and game-show histrionics to distract and subjugate, although Jasper's script sadly never fully develops the contemporary parallels of this thread. Early title cards reveal that a “seventh son” will liberate people who live in a technology and entertainment-induced stupor, to find a true connection.
With the table set like this, it’s obvious what ODessa's arc will be: She is the seventh son, and in true “chosen one” fashion, her story kicks into gear with the demise of a parent. Armed with her family’s heirloom, a magical guitar that belonged to her father, O’Dessa sets out on the road. But it’s in this journey to her confrontation with Plutonovich where the film loses its staying power, especially after a tightly constructed and electrifying set-up.
As O’Dessa makes her way through the world, she loses her guitar to a group of stragglers and meets another artist, Euri (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), a singer who works (or is rather enslaved) at a venue run by Plutonovich’s enforcer, Neon Dion (Regina Hall, clearly having the time of her life). All momentum of the film grinds to a halt here as Jasper spends an excruciatingly long amount of time trying to flesh out their romance. It’s no knock on Sink or Harrison, who do all they can with a threadbare script. Still, I never got the feeling that their characters were actually in love, even if the film’s bisexual lighting and frenetic focus — as if to mimic a couple in the throes of passion — were doing everything possible to convince me otherwise. It’s admirable that Jasper wants to dive into the interiority of his characters, but it’s done here in a way that’s in fundamental dissonance with the forward momentum of the film's tempo up until that point. There’s plenty of interesting commentary in the central romance, namely the beauty of finding love amid a crumbling world, or the reality that our plans for our lives are often gloriously disrupted when we enter into community with people. But it’s a shame these ideas come at the cost of the film’s narrative and story itself.
O’Dessa’s central romance brings the film’s momentum to a grinding halt.
Yet on some of the most disappointing albums, there’s always a couple diamonds in the rough, and even if they may veer on the generic and hokey, Gasper knows how to craft an earworm. The film gets its heartbeat back whenever Sink is given the chance to unleash her vocals on songs like “Here Comes the Seventh Son,” a powerhouse track that’s the perfect synergy of O’Dessa’s country background and rock and roll personality. These are songs that will have staying power beyond the confines of the film itself, which is ironically indicative of the film’s greatest strength and weakness.
ODessa’s catchy tunes in relation to its forgettable premise are perhaps the best endorsement of the film and the strongest distillation of its theme: like all prophecies and legends, the stories we try to tell may be lost to time and forgotten. But we’ll always have the music.
