‘Neighbors’ Review: Josh Safdie’s Sad HBO Comedy Exacerbates the Problem It’s Documenting

1 week ago 6

In the hushed minutes before a momentous city council meeting — momentous, at least, for the gathered handful of angry neighbors — the man at the center of the dispute turns in his chair to scope out the scene. The room is crowded. Nearly every seat is filled. Most of the crowd is talking quietly among themselves, oblivious to Trevor Yeakley’s gaze, except for two men staring daggers right back at him.

One is Bruce Blasius, Trevor’s closest neighbor, who’s fed up with the impromptu suburban farm that’s sprouted up next door. All the chickens, turkeys, goats, and pigs carry a certain odor, their makeshift habitat a distinct unsightliness, which disagree with Bruce and his husband Darrell’s more regal tastes. (Their speckless, carpeted home is adorned with framed pet photos, gold-plated furniture, and faux marble statues.) The offending zoo has also lowered their property value by over $100,000 (per one estimate), but Bruce and Darrell don’t want to move. They want to enjoy their retirement without the routine aroma of chicken shit.

The other man stoically staring back at Trevor goes unnamed, but he’s as calm and unwavering as Bruce in his regard for the self-proclaimed “homesteader.” An impartial onlooker could even reasonably conclude that Trevor took one glance at his opposition and retreated to the safety of a forward-facing position. But then the thirty-something dude in a newsboy cap does something odd. He tells his grandma, “Nobody can look me in the eye.” In fact, he repeats the lie when his long-term landlord says she can’t hear him.

In the moment, it’s meaningless — a bit of false swagger from a man who clearly lacks legitimacy. But in the context of “Neighbors,” it’s clarifying. Here’s a guy who’s bothering everyone within 100 yards of his home, who boasts about partying on yachts with his ex-girlfriend while his pregnant wife listens in the hallway, who has to mooch off his grandmother to keep a roof over his head while claiming to provide for his family with a backyard petting zoo — of course he can’t see what’s right in front of his face. Of course he has to prop himself up with lies to keep himself from acknowledging an uncomfortable truth. Of course he has to live in his own self-constructed reality just to get up every morning.

And so does just about everyone else in “Neighbors.”

HBO‘s six-part documentary series produced by Josh Safdie and directed by Harrison Fishman and Dylan Redford is most effective in inviting this level of judgment, although typically both parties’ delusions are magnified. Each story unfolds at a rapid pace, bouncing between provocative shots of eccentric people and cramming two distinct sets of warring neighbors into each half-hour episode. Viewers barely have time to register what’s in front of them before there’s another shocking accusation, revelation, or character detail.

It’s all very absorbing, if not all that satisfying. Some conjured frustration is intentional, since a majority of the episodes aren’t as pointed about who’s in the right and who’s in the wrong as Trevor’s squabble. Instead, the point tends to be broader: No one wins when coexistence is taken off the table. Both parties’ ugly underbellies are exposed, and if they lead with their chests for too long, there’s no coming back. Hate takes the wheel, and entire communities are driven over the edge — if not entire countries.

As you can imagine, witnessing the insanity can be transfixing. There are conspiracy theorists blowing up mountains for their private bunkers, advocates for open spaces who hide their identity behind rubber masks, an “interstellar traveler,” more than one retired stripper, and multiple Florida men (a gender-neutral label). The finale, which focuses on a single subject (obsessed with and thus defensive of his own public nudity), comes closest to escaping a steady stream of antagonization and painting a nuanced portrait of what’s keeping a range of Americans from finding community.

But the effect is mostly repellent. Setting aside the gawking nature of certain style choices (the warped, swiveling, 360-degree shots used when someone starts talking about particularly demented ideas are nauseating on multiple levels), the series too closely mirrors its subjects’ insularity. When one woman sees her bad behavior caught on camera, she’s initially contrite. Talking to her neighbor’s security cameras, she politely asks for the embarrassing footage to be taken off YouTube, as a first step toward mending fences. But when he refuses, it’s over. Counter-proposals, reasons, even apologies don’t matter. She seems just as happy, if not happier, to go back to war.

“Neighbors” hits in similar fashion. Less inviting and contemplative than aggressive and giddy, its priority isn’t to ask the audience to step outside their own perspective and examine how their behavior may contribute to similar hostilities. It’s to dig up and amplify conflict — a provocative design that holds attention, but offers far less to ponder than Safdie’s other, more dynamic projects. Even cursory nods to the pandemic as the root cause of neighbors turning against neighbors aren’t explored so much as they’re acknowledged, as if viewers are somehow unaware of the polarization plaguing America.

Intense political divides may be exacerbating the problem, and that may be all “Neighbors” wants to say: “Look at how bad it’s got! Look at how angry we are! Look at how embarrassing this is!”

But it largely lacks the compassion to evoke broader consideration. Not for nothing, it only took one episode to put this critic in an angry, ugly headspace. Watching an upstairs/downstairs feud over beachfront property got me thinking about the loud folks clomping around above me, but I didn’t feel like knocking on their door with a plate of cookies in the hopes of having a civil conversation. I felt like banging on the ceiling until they fell through, allowing me to properly pummel them into silent submission.

Maybe that’s a me problem — Lord knows I like things quiet (unreasonably quiet by New York City standards) — but that hostile mindset didn’t come out of nowhere. It’s indicative of a documentary without enough insight or empathy to recommend. Not today. Not in a country that’s already too isolated.