Notes on an Appearance is an inherently difficult film to understand, and also one of the fascinating works of contemporary postmodernism. It is necessary to once again bring out the taut quote by Lyotard, where he proclaims postmodernism, or rather what we generally consider to be the most succinct definition of it, as “incredulity towards metanarratives”. The omnipotence of this statement is not due to a lack of originality, but rather the fact that it provides us with an entry-point into the intimidating world of alternative fiction, a form of storytelling where the idea of a single metanarrative is removed, and instead replaced with a series of moments that may or may not contribute to some overarching set of ideas. Notes on an Appearance is one of the most fascinating looks into the very core of these ideas and serves as not only a compelling work of offbeat, darkly comical fiction but as a deconstruction of the very notions of existence that have become sacrosanct in more traditional narrative formats. Ricky D’Ambrose, making his first film in over a decade, supplies us with a deeply unsettling set of moments that function not necessarily as scenes and more as fragments of existence, strewn across a nightmarish vision of New York City in a way that can only be described as the most perfectly-calibrated chaos of the past decade. Notes on an Appearance is a truly bewildering experience, a film that grapples the narrow boundaries between various genres, styles and conventions, and coalesces into one of the most unforgettable works of modern experimental filmmaking, one that is undoubtedly going to slowly find its way into the consciousness of the devotees to underground cinema that relish in the discovery of such extraordinary gems such as this, with its polarizing approach to certain subjects, and its avant-garde satiation of certain stylistic cravings being particularly noteworthy.

What is most striking about Notes on an Appearance is that it doesn’t have a story so much as a series of moments carefully placed together in such a way that they take the form of a film, but are far too polarizing in both form and content to make sense, whether in isolation or when working in conjunction with other scenes. From the outset, we become familiar with the general thrust of the plot – a young man named David is a burgeoning writer trying to find his way through a modern New York existence, attempting to resolve his Ivy League education with his own ambitions to find something deeper, whether it be tutoring one of the many wealthy Upper West Side families he encounters or working as a low-paying worker in a local restaurant. He is searching for something deeper than what the audience, or himself for that matter, initially understands. This metaphysical quest for meaning overlaps with his recent discovery of the work of Stephen Taubes, a controversial political theorist and writer who he begins to idolize, mainly due to the influence of his friend, who is entirely obsessed by the now-deceased philosopher whose unique vision often conflicted with his combative nature, and the allusion that he was involved in activities that are both immoral and highly criminal. Without a trace, David disappears – his friends begin to wonder whether he perished, but visits to the various morgues prove this unlikely, or perhaps fled the city, or simply is hiding in one of its endless labyrinths that grow more daunting the further you voyage inwards. David is gone, but he has left a trail of clues that indicate that there’s a method to his (dis)appearance, and it’s up to those who knew him to decode the mystery and find him, wherever he may be.

Notes on an Appearance is a very unconventional film for a number of reasons. Firstly, it is thematically a mystery film and sets a conceptual foundation that would technically align it with many of the most compelling films produced in the genre. Obviously, it runs much deeper than this and actually begins to take on an entirely different shape within the first few moments, establishing itself as one of the most eccentric works of contemporary postmodernism. It does take on many of the qualities of metafictional film insofar as it is deliberately commenting on the process of telling stories, as well as the merits of questioning the boundaries between truth and deception (referring back to the disdain postmodernism has for metanarratives and actively sought to dismantle them as an artistic tool altogether), and manages to be one of the most enduring examples of alternative fiction in practice. As a mystery film, it takes on an academic sensibility that would be overwrought had it not been executed with such deft brilliance, being fully committed to the morosity of the message, which it supplements (rather than counteracting) with a darkly comical sense of humour that borders on outright nihilistic. A thriller taking place almost entirely through paper (and thus benefits from viewing it at home, where the opportunity to pause allows us to garner even more insights into the central mystery governing the film). It is undeniably a difficult film to crack, but once you surrender yourself to the bizarre ideologies that D’Ambrose employed when envisioning the film, you can gradually come to understand exactly what this film was trying to convey, even if it takes some time to get there.

Centring this film on a group of millennial university students who spend most of their time waxing poetic about any number of inconsequential subjects was a bold choice, not only because it is somewhat relatable (as opposed to setting it amongst a more abstract, impenetrable group), but also as it affords the director the chance to use many assumptions and tendencies as commentative tools to convey the deeply compelling messages embedded in the film, and by looking at it within the context of a somewhat recognizable setting, D’Ambrose is able to use the commonly-perceived pretensions of the academic bourgeoisie as a means to delving into his own frantic vision of the world around him. He criticizes and celebrates the idiosyncrasies of a generation that seems to be circling back to the earliest days of philosophical thought, where knowledge was not only a tool to gain influence but also a combative weapon used amongst their niche groups of like-minded individuals. Notes on an Appearance takes on a bold set of ideas through a very simple approach to what can be discerned as broad subject matter, and the minimalistic style and stilted dialogue can initially be quite distracting and serve to give the film something of an atmosphere of amateurism – yet over the course of the film, we discover that it ultimately contributes to the general uneasiness employed in the process of relaying this polarizing but oddly familiar commentary. Displacement is a major theme in this film, and the nihilistic humour and bare camera work only add to the quiet complexity. It all has the fascinating function of allowing this mystery to unravel even further, reaching a crescendo that can either allow viewers to feel some kind of relief or become even more frustrated at the inability for this film to provide anything close to a real resolution, which is entirely by design.

Notes on an Appearance is a strange film, in the best way possible. Thoroughly unique, complex and beautifully-made (some of the compositions in this film are truly extraordinary and prove that sometimes the most simple approach is the best). It isn’t a film that gives the audience much to work with, and any potential viewer needs to be aware of this. As is the case for many mystery films, it takes the form of a puzzle, but inverts our expectations – its a puzzle where each piece you put down sets you further apart from the truth, creating even more inconsistency until we have no choice but to give up and just let ourselves drift away into the deranged academic chaos that pulsates throughout the film. Notes on an Appearance is a film less concerned with making sense and more interested in capture a sensation of metaphysical longing and existential mystification that simply isn’t present in more straightforward narratives. D’Ambrose made one of the most fascinating independent films of the past few years, a deft combination of daring social commentary and psychological thriller that manages to tell a compelling mystery through the most simple means possible. Sincere and powerful throughout, it’s a film that will have you pondering long after its (strangely short) story has run its course, inciting off some fascinating discussions that prove this to be a major work of modern avant-garde filmmaking, and one of the best experimental films produced recently. A truly magnificent, if not entirely befuddling, masterpiece.