There is a recurring and largely regressive conversation that seems to continually come up around storytelling where works of fiction are unfairly expected to only center characters who can be flattened under the dreaded descriptor of "likable." When all the posturing is stripped away from this argument, it can be traced back to the idea that to have a protagonist be anything less than morally pure is to somehow do something "wrong" by making a story about them.
One of the most infamous examples of this in action came at the 2002 Sundance Film Festival where Justin Lin's second feature Better Luck Tomorrow was superficially criticized during a Q&A as being "amoral for Asian Americans" for daring to explore a cast of characters who — gasps — weren't sufficiently likable. It was a historically bad "more of a comment and not a question" dripping with condescension. The late, great critic Roger Ebert then spoke up in defense of the film and how filmmakers ought to explore characters however they want.
Fast forward two decades to this year's Sundance, where the delightful dramedy Shortcomings also made its premiere, rejecting such constraints in a sharply funny fashion. The debut feature from actor-turned-director Randall Park (Always Be My Maybe) — based on the graphic novel of the same name by Adrian Tomine (who also wrote the screenplay) — the film's story unreservedly and refreshingly presents a flawed man who is increasingly insufferable by design. The man, in this case, is the brutally inconsiderate Ben (played with total commitment by Justin H. Min of the spectacular 2022 film After Yang), an aspiring filmmaker in a bit of a rut that he will only dig himself deeper and deeper into.
Shortcomings is a work about Ben's descent which eschews a typical redemption arc as everything cuts right to the bone. Painful moments of earned comedic cringe play out right alongside genuine emotional discomfort to make for a poetic portrait of a real asshole. The basics of this involve Ben's girlfriend Miko (Ally Maki) decamping from the Bay Area to go to New York City for an extended internship. This leaves him with only his best friend Alice (played by a scene-stealing Sherry Cola of the recent film Joy Ride), to put up with him. The two exchange jabs as they navigate their respective personal problems before — wouldn't you know it — they too end up in New York City to track down the suddenly hard-to-get-ahold-of Miko.
Though the film is built upon these nuanced characters contemplating their uncertain futures, it is best to be vague about what precisely awaits them there to maximize the impact of what becomes an inevitable inflection point for each of them, through which Park and Tomine ponder broader questions about representation. This is done as much for some wonderful jokes as it is to explore how Ben, whose arguments are frequently well-taken, can be shortsighted in moments when he shifts into casual cruelty. He can dish it out, but man does he become petulant when people return the favor in kind.
It is this fundamental element of the character that has and will likely continue to lose people. The balancing act the film takes part in involves his painfully slow realization that maybe, just maybe, he should be a bit more considerate. It is then about teasing out the silly and somber subtleties in seeing his ego begin to crack ever so slightly before it all shatters around him.
Even in its final moments, the denial of a freeing catharsis or transformation is playful yet also quietly profound. If you approach Shortcomings through the lens of likeability, you probably won't fully "like" Ben by the end in any conventional sense, though you will have come to understand him perhaps more than he understands himself. Far from a failing of the film, it is Shortcomings' greatest achievement, and a testament to the value, however discomforting, of getting a full view of an asshole. ♦
SHORTCOMINGS
