The Messy Characters of This Closeness Reflect Our Own Contradictions

Kit Zauhar’s debut feature Actual People made it clear that the breakout writer/director/actor has little interest in exploring people who are “good.” Zauhar, speaking to Filmmaker Magazine in 2022 said, “I just don’t think nice people are interesting.” Actual People followed a recent (almost) NYU grad, played by Zauhar, who becomes increasingly difficult to like as she misguidedly takes advantage of those around her, but is no less easy to identify with for doing so. The three main characters that populate This Closeness, Zauhar’s sophomore feature, continue her cinematic exploration into people who are often selfish, shameful, defensive, judgmental, and sometimes cruel. In other words, people who are real. 

Tessa (Zauhar), Ben (Zane Pais) and Adam (Ian Edlund) may be older than the characters in Actual People, but their lives are no less messy. They are only a bit wiser, as far as one can call a trio of insecure twentysomethings wise. “You’re so mature,” Ben performatively coos at Tessa, in a tone that could be read as either mocking or sincere.

Tessa, an ASMR YouTuber, travels with her boyfriend Ben to his hometown of Philadelphia, with the purpose of attending his high school reunion. It’s not immediately apparent that Tessa and Ben’s relationship is one of comfort and convenience, but there are signs—an eyeroll here, some simmering frustration there—that this trip is supposed to be more about getting the relationship back on track than it is about a reunion, even if neither Tessa nor Ben want to confront that reality head on. Since it’s easier, they dance around the subject, arming themselves with therapy buzzwords and weaponized sensitivities instead of honestly laying it all on the line.

Since Ben’s family home has recently been sold, which he halfheartedly grumbles about a number of times, the couple stays at an Airbnb hosted by Adam, the third unwitting member of this triangle, a guy who is “so awkward it becomes a physical feature,” as Ben describes him. I believe the more polite term is “neurodivergent.” The Airbnb is actually hosted by Adam’s ex-roommate and best friend Lance, whom he idolizes. Although it’s not ultimately clear whether Lance is a real person or not, the idea of Lance is what both tethers Adam to reality and prevents him from growing into the next stage of his life. Caught between college and whatever comes next, Adam mostly plays videogames in his room.

The claustrophobia of the small single location, paired with Adam’s awkward presence, exacerbates anxieties that were already present in the passive-aggressive couple, creating a tightly wound theatrical experience. Working within only a few rooms is a limitation that works in Zauhar’s favor; there’s nowhere for her characters to hide. Sound travels easily through the well-lit walls, and anyone can enter at any moment.

The tension is ratcheted up several notches when Ben’s old high school friend Lizzie (Jessie Pinnick) comes over late at night to share a drunken nostalgia session with Ben, excluding Tessa, who does not share their fervor for rehashing the past. Jealousy ensues, followed by mistrust, leading Tessa and Ben to finally address some of their underlying issues, even indirectly. Both Ben and Tessa want to have their cake and eat it, too: Ben wants to openly flirt with an old friend while maintaining innocence, Tessa wants to play both victim and empowered woman, and Adam is clumsily caught in their crosshairs.

Fading between all three perspectives, we gain deeper insight into the more private vulnerabilities of Tessa, Ben and Adam that they choose to hide from the others—their wounds, their wants, their insecurities. Her film may be titled This Closeness, but Zauhar is as interested in both the internal and external forces that cause the vast gulfs between people as she is in what occurs when we are able to close those gaps. A certain loneliness prevents Tessa from connecting with Ben, her boyfriend and the perfect man for her on paper, more deeply. This same loneliness is what allows her to connect on a deeper level with Adam, if only for a handful of minutes under the thin guise of ASMR. “I don’t think Ben ever feels lonely,” Tessa tells her therapist over the phone. “I think that’s the main difference between us. That’s where all this conflict comes from.”

Zauhar’s filmmaking style has matured along with her characters. Where Actual People took us on a fast and loose misadventure from New York to Philly, This Closeness is controlled and taut, displaying immense restraint and intention. Using colder lighting when the characters are feeling isolated, then transitioning to warmer lamp lighting when two characters are feeling connected, lends a cohesive visual language to the story. Zauhar’s static camera forces us to face our own flaws, thrown up on the screen.

Zauhar’s maturing filmmaking aesthetic suggests a deeper commitment to her continued thematic interests. For Zauhar, the inquiry into what makes “bad” people tick is rooted in a real, very human need to understand, rather than a passing flashy desire to provoke. In one scene, Ben defends Lizzie by telling Tessa she’s a “good person.” “We’re all good people,” Tessa retorts irritably, without pausing to consider if she believes what she is saying. Later, Tessa gently confesses to Adam that she isn’t quite sure she knows a lot of good people. Both are true; we’re all good people, and sometimes it may feel as if we have a lack of good people around us. These are the kinds of uncomfortable contradictions that litter Zauhar’s cinema and our lives. 

Director: Kit Zauhar
Writer: Kit Zauhar
Starring: Kit Zauhar, Zane Pais, Ian Edlund, Jessie Pinnick
Release Date: June 7, 2024

Brooklyn-based film writer Katarina Docalovich was raised in an independent video store and never really left. Her passions include sipping lime seltzer, trying on perfume and spending hours theorizing about Survivor. You can find her scattered thoughts as well as her writing on Twitter.