DANDELION– 4 STARS

LESSON #1: THE TROPE OF A STARVING ARTIST– Dandelion carries the merging of two “starving artists” from opposite origins who very much live up to the circumstances of that old adage. They want to express themselves in their beloved medium of music, but have found very little success, compensation, and, most importantly, personal fulfillment keeping them from also adding “struggling,” “troubled,” or “tortured” to their artist’s label. Matching a very good 2020 Forbes article by Celinne Da Costa that talks about the link between creativity and suffering, Dandelion leans into the romanticized artist’s journey of freeing themselves from their anguish, often including new woes along the way. 

If Beale Street Could Talk’s KiKi Layne plays the titular character, songwriter, and guitarist in Cincinnati eeking out small gigs at hotel bars for mostly unattentive and ignorant travelers. These thankless and low-paying opportunities stand as a way of being a working performing artist, but mostly as a means to make money to cover her ailing mother’s (Melanie Nicholls-King from A Journal for Jordan) medical expenses. She craves playing for a real audience and gaining a following. Reaching her wit’s end with her semi-ungrateful mother and a financial breaking point after selling off one of her guitars, Dandelion defiantly bolts The Queen City for a “Battle of the Bands” competition with prize money during a bike rally in South Dakota.

When Dandelion arrives after a cross-country drive like a misplaced troubadour amid a sea of bikers and other more-established and confident acts, she crosses paths with Casey, played by Thomas Doherty of The Invitation. Unlike others, Casey shows her kindness as a visiting fellow artist and invites her to hang out with his troupe of fellow traveling performers. Within this solid circle of nearly monastic collaborating musicians, Casey is the one who wants the music they make to reach that next level of fame and recorded success.

LESSON #2: ARTISTS FEED OFF REACTIONS– Those common aspirations are where Casey and Dandelion identify with each other and find similar footing as starving artists. Not every artist of their chosen medium in content with creating for the sake of the art. Many want and downright need their hard work of their creative muscles to be experienced and acknowledged by others. Circling back to Lesson #1, any kind of profit is a whole other story, but the level of disappointment and failure swallowed and survived by starving artists leads to the demons and challenges that, coincidentally, go into what very well be their best art.

Dandelion, written and directed by Holler breakout Nicole Riegel, approaches that edge with engaged veracity and irresistible beauty. The well-regarded and emerging filmmaker captures the convergence of Dandelion and Casey in a sincerely brilliant sequence where two write a song together on the spot. Admiring the wide Black Hills vistas at the top of the Mount Coolidge Fire Tower in Custer State Park geometrically bisected by nearby antenna support wires, their conversational wavelengths mix together. Soon, the guitar comes out, chords are experimented with, and potential lyrics get scribbled on pocket scraps and eventually bare forearms when the paper runs out. It’s a fever pitch of scene that feels like it’s playing out in real-time, all shot with a wide-open lens for the scenery by cinematographer Lauren Guiteras.

The payoff of their fluid alliance and inspired spark comes when they arrive back in town and rejoin Casey’s comrades to perform their completed duet ballad for the first time. Is it on brightly-lit stage with eager microphones and booming speakers blasting it for all to hear? Is it happening in front of a raucous crowd ready with thunderous applause?  

No. It’s far from any of that. Their joint song “Custer Park” happens in the back alley of a bar for a smattering of gathered friends. The instruments are borrowed. Accompaniment is improvised. Cold puffs of condensation come out of our affectionate duo’s mouths while enunciating their tonal words. It’s perfect and none of the flashy equipment was ever needed to make it better.

LESSON #3: FINDING REAL FULFILLMENT– Across these two experted-edited scenes by Milena Z. Petrovic that almost dance within the musical attentiveness and intimacy, Dandelion and Casey have created something completely fulfilling for the total enjoyment of the art. Their song turned their vulnerability into smiling elation and lifted their spirits from creative ruts and personal places of unhappiness. Corners are turned and the two become not only partnering performers, but romantic lovers, which also fills missing voids in two hearts.

At that moment, we feel that tingling levity as Dandelion’s audience and cannot help but be swept away all the same. Dandelion peaks and then teeters on the ramifications of this new union. More songs equals more potential to changes that artistic label from “starving” or “troubled” to “successful.” The bonding brings more sparks, and the increasing clashes of romantic entanglements add the risks of trust, reliance, and commitment.

Both KiKi Layne and Thomas Doherty have shown their charismatic appeal in several features and different genres before Dandelion, making their magnetic pull together here easy on the eyes. Their dramatic chops play off each other well and accentuate the central artistic torment and longing for a break that Nicole Riegel focused this relatable narrative on. The balance of whimsy and realism amid the folksy setting is excellent. The denouement and resolution of Dandelion may skip a few steps, but the punch of a coda is there.  

LESSON #4: GOOD HEAVENS, LET THEM SING!-- Dear me, though, there’s even more to our two leads than their closeness!  It is the until-now unseen and untapped musical sides to Layne and Doherty that come as an extraordinary surprise with every piped lyric and plucked string in Dandelion, making the lovely music– written and overseen by Riegel and the team of Bryce Dessner and Aaron Dessner from The National– the strong and bountiful roots of the film. Layne’s range from mellow verse to her firm high cries blend harmoniously with the cadence and timbre of Doherty’s Scottish brogue. Once they start singing together, you don’t want them to stop.