If you take any random assortment of around a dozen films, it’s more than likely that at least of them will look at the process of filmmaking itself, whether taking a positive or critical stance on Hollywood and its theoretical surroundings. By this point, it’s almost impossible to keep track of such projects, since it is clear that the film industry loves nothing more than showcasing the circumstances around the process of making a film. Tom DiCillo knows this better than anyone else, with Living in Oblivion (his sophomore directorial effort) being a clear and concise exploration of the independent film industry, told from the perspective of someone who had experienced many of the most significant and haunting challenges that a young filmmaker could endure. It’s not a film that has achieved a particularly widespread reputation, and few people consider it an unheralded masterpiece – but yet, in spite of the very clear challenges that surround the film and its creation, we find a work of unhinged satire, a bitter and caustic indictment on Hollywood that is far more harrowing than many other films that tread similar narrative ground. Living in Oblivion is a film that only a few dedicated viewers celebrate, since its bitter mood and often surreal approach do not make it a particularly pleasant film in the traditional sense – but a wicked sense of humour, a strong storyline and several dedicated performances allow this to be a much better film than most would expect, and DiCillo proves himself to be someone whose perspective is truly invaluable, even if he mainly resides in obscurity after a relatively successful string of films in the 1990s, which seemed to set him on his way to becoming a new master of American independent cinema.

It’s beyond obvious to note that the film industry adores itself more than any other subject – they love the sound of their own voice, and nothing gives those in this world more pleasure than giving ordinary folk a brief glimpse into the supposedly treacherous world of filmmaking, which they constantly claim is far more perilous and challenging than any of us could possibly imagine. Of course, this is a massive exaggeration, but it’s a theme that we see frequently in these films, which focuses on the experiences of those working in the film industry. Living in Oblivion looks at a group of young filmmakers coming together to work on an independent production, which is helmed by a hot-headed director who genuinely seems to believe that he is in charge of a revolutionary motion picture, rather than a low-budget film that will break even in the best case scenario. It’s a relatively simple premise, and one designed specifically to draw attention to the general challenges that emerge on any film set, regardless of size. It’s essentially a film driven by the desire to provide a snapshot of the process of filmmaking in its purest form, where it is not conducted on extravagant film sets that contain a bustling, glamorous economy, but rather in squalid rooms and on decrepit stages that only need to stand for as long as the cameras are rolling to be considered useful – and as the film progresses, we see a darker side of the industry, one that is far from the near-utopian image that more conventional film industry comedies would utilize. It’s all part of a film that feels like it is drawn from the darker side of the human condition, but still actively tries to be entertaining, which is a bizarre experience, but not one that is necessarily unworthy of our time, even if it is extraordinarily peculiar.

It’s impossible to deny that Living in Oblivion is an extraordinarily cynical film, and DiCillo seems to be showing very little interest in actually showing any positive light to the process. Filmmaking can often be cathartic, and this is certainly not the first time a director has used the opportunity to work through their emotions in a way that is actually constructive, rather than just stewing in their frustrations. Mercifully, the subject that DiCillo is working through here is not anything particularly tragic or melancholic, but rather the actual process of making a film, and how the film industry can sometimes yield enormous challenges that can tend to be difficult to overcome if you are not working within the realm of something familiar. He has spoken about how Living in Oblivion is essentially his manifesto against the supposed glamour of filmmaking – his previous film had been the well-received Johnny Suede, which may have done critically well and become a minor cult sensation, but made very little money, and didn’t give the director the opportunities that he was supposedly promised. There’s a cynicism to this film that reflects his feeling of despair as an independent filmmaker, especially one that wants to keep his renegade spirit, but have it become profitable without needing to become a sellout or work in commercial cinema, which is often used as a pejorative amongst those who take a more purist view of art. At the time in which this film was made, there was nothing more offensive to an independent filmmaker than the suggestion that their work was somehow mainstream, and while this is obviously hyperbolic, DeCillo uses it as the foundation for this film, which manages to be wickedly funny while still giving him the chance to meditate on his own artistic frustrations in a way that produced terrific art all on its own.

DiCillo makes many smart decisions when it comes to cobbling together Living in Oblivion, most notably of them the actors cast in the main roles. The film is essentially driven by four central characters, each one of them distinct and representing a very different kind of archetype – and it helps that all of them are played by excellent actors that have had success in both independent and mainstream cinema. Steve Buscemi, Catherine Keener, Dermot Mulroney and Kevin Corrigan are actors that we may appreciate much more now, but which were mainly just seem as reliable young performers who could play a range of characters, and thus easily take on such complex roles. This is certainly not definitive work for any of them, but it does contain some of their more interesting character-based performances, which work in the context of the film, which never proposed to be an example of virtuosic acting, but rather a deeply cynical and unsettling depiction of the everyday challenges of a film set. Buscemi in particular is a standout – playing the part of the director of the film-within-a-film, he is essentially DiCillo’s surrogate, a talented artist who is driven to the point of insanity as a result of the frequent mishaps and misfortunes that plague his production, causing him to not only question his position as an artist, but his entire existence. Buscemi is a chameleon of an actor, and his ability to play such a volatile character without making him unlikable or one-dimensional is one of the main reasons the film is a resounding success, and his chemistry with the rest of the cast is impeccable, driving the entire film to a place of profound brilliance, which is quite a feat for a work as deeply ambigious as this project, which makes some very strange decisions in terms of the direction in which its characters start to move.

Despite its premise (which misleads us into thinking that it is a very upbeat, hilarious comedy-of-manners), Living in Oblivion is an extraordinarily bleak film, at least in terms of its conception. DiCillo is not someone who seems to be using humour simply as a means to provoke laughter, but instead as a tool to highlight the darker side of the film industry, without actually getting too deep into the sordid details that sometimes permeate these more sardonic explorations of Hollywood. In a traditional sense, there is nothing particularly revolutionary about this film, especially since we’ve seen cynical satires that aim to expose the hypocrisy of this industry several times before. However, what we do not come across all that often is the more intricate approach that the director takes here, using his own firsthand experiences to show the challenges that tend to follow those in the industry, especially the directors that genuinely believe what they are making is earth-shattering art, when in reality it barely registers, being just another vaguely pretentious art film that very few will ever see, and which mainly exists to satiate the cravings of a director that seems to think he has a unique vision, failing to realize that countless others share the exact same approach, and ultimately end up falling victim to the same ebb and flow of success and subsequent obscurity. Obviously this is a film that looks at the worst-case scenario, and it is more of a cautionary tale than it is an entirely faithful glimpse into the film industry – but the cynical tone, darkly comedic tension and fascinating character development amount to a very effective psychological thriller about the pratfalls of filmmaking, and one of the more audacious works of frustration-fueled cinema we have encountered in recent decades.