On the Count of Three – first-look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

On the Count of Three – first-look review

30 Jan 2021

Words by Hannah Strong

Two men pointing handguns at each other outdoors in a wooded area.
Two men pointing handguns at each other outdoors in a wooded area.
Two best friends make a sui­cide pact in first-time fea­ture direc­tor Jer­rod Carmichael’s uneven black comedy.

There’s a scene about two-thirds into Jer­rod Carmichael’s direc­to­r­i­al debut in which Kevin (Christo­pher Abbott) is at the wheel of an obnox­ious yel­low Jeep, swig­ging from a bot­tle of Maker’s Mark, scream­ing along to Papa Roach’s sui­cide anthem Last Resort’. It’s an absurd moment, but giv­en that the idea of killing your­self is com­plete­ly unthink­able to a lot of peo­ple, it also kind of makes sense. After all: one of the fun­ni­est things to me about all my sui­ci­dal ideation is how dra­mat­ic it is. Banal and dra­mat­ic and point­less and mon­u­men­tal all in the same breath.

This absur­di­ty isn’t easy to cap­ture on screen, and On the Count of Three is an uneven movie, not quite sure how to bal­ance its bleak sub­ject mat­ter with the com­e­dy cre­den­tials of its writ­ers and director/​star. Even the premise seems hard to deliv­er on: Best friends Kevin and Val (Carmichael) are at break­ing point, and decide to com­mit sui­cide togeth­er. That is, after they’ve had one last day togeth­er, where they can tie up a few loose ends. Unfor­tu­nate­ly writ­ers Ari Katch­er and Ryan Welch paint them­selves into a bit of a cor­ner – when your nar­ra­tive end point is a dou­ble sui­cide, you’re inevitably wait­ing for Chekhov’s Gun(s) to go off.

If the film’s weak point is its script, Abbott and Carmichael just about man­age to keep things on track. They make for an excel­lent dou­ble act, bick­er­ing and jab­bing at each oth­er but under­cut­ting pet­ty hos­til­i­ty with a sort of ten­der­ness that’s sim­mer­ing but unmis­tak­able. They have believ­able odd-cou­ple chem­istry, and Carmichael’s monot­o­ne tem­pers Abbott’s man­ic buzzing. It’s fun enough to see them tool around in Val’s hideous Jeep talk­ing about their sui­ci­dal impuls­es and get­ting into trou­ble, but unfor­tu­nate­ly the script has oth­er ideas and tacks on a preg­nan­cy sub­plot which feels like it under­mines the emo­tion­al weight of Kevin and Val’s men­tal health struggles.

Run­ning at just under 90 min­utes, the film suf­fers from a rushed third act, as if Katch­er and Welch sud­den­ly ran out of ideas and had to pull an end­ing out of nowhere. It’s dis­ap­point­ing, because the two cen­tral per­for­mances are com­pelling and an explo­ration of male men­tal health and sui­cide feels time­ly and impor­tant. But the com­ic glib­ness with with On the Count of Three starts isn’t main­tained, and the end­ing feels like a betray­al of char­ac­ters who we were just start­ing to care about. Abbott, mean­while, shows what a con­sis­tent­ly inter­est­ing actor he is, and Carmichael estab­lish­es him­self as some­one we’ll hope­ful­ly be see­ing a lot more from in the future.

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