Dina | Little White Lies

Dina

19 Oct 2017 / Released: 20 Oct 2017

Words by Abbey Bender

Directed by Antonio Santini and Dan Sickles

Starring Dina Buno and Scott Levin

Crowded beach scene with people sitting on towels, umbrellas in the background.
Crowded beach scene with people sitting on towels, umbrellas in the background.
3

Anticipation.

A Sundance winner centring on an autistic couple. Will it be sensitive or exploitative?

3

Enjoyment.

Not enjoyable in the traditional sense, but compelling and elegantly shot.

3

In Retrospect.

A poignant snapshot of marginalised lives.

An autis­tic cou­ple are the sub­ject of this com­pelling­ly uncon­ven­tion­al Sun­dance-win­ning doc.

This vérité por­trait of a court­ing cou­ple is, at times, a chal­lenge to watch. Dina, a prizewin­ner at Sun­dance, fol­lows Dina and Scott, a mid­dle-aged autis­tic cou­ple ten­ta­tive­ly embark­ing on a rela­tion­ship and ulti­mate­ly get­ting mar­ried. It would be easy for Dina to be too twee, to push its pro­tag­o­nists into a cloy­ing nar­ra­tive of inspi­ra­tion porn, but the film thank­ful­ly avoids that route, favour­ing a col­lage of moments from Dina’s life which avoids any added commentary.

Dina has had an exceed­ing­ly dif­fi­cult exis­tence – a trau­mat­ic past of vio­lence and abuse is grad­u­al­ly revealed – and the film presents her as a strong-willed and sen­si­tive woman. Many moments are inten­tion­al­ly mun­dane: the film opens with Dina at the den­tist, and lat­er we see her loung­ing around watch­ing Sex and the City on DVD. On the sur­face, she could be any sub­ur­ban woman.

Dina’s Penn­syl­va­nia home­town is shot in ele­gant­ly mut­ed tones, with com­po­si­tions of lone­ly look­ing all-Amer­i­can edi­fices that recall the paint­ings of Edward Hop­per. The film can at times be uncom­fort­able: she and her still-vir­ginal fiancé́ have awk­ward con­ver­sa­tions about sex, and direc­tors Dan Sick­les and Anto­nio San­ti­ni have no qualms about allow­ing the view­er to be a fly on the wall. The film ends on a hope­ful note, but there’s some­thing dis­tinct­ly dis­ori­ent­ing about hav­ing such an inti­mate view of peo­ple who are too often marginalised.

The dis­ori­en­ta­tion of Dina, the flinch­ing at awk­ward­ness and inti­ma­cy, most­ly works, and in one telling moment, she enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly dis­cuss­es her love of real­i­ty TV. Dina has none of the brash­ness of this doc­u­men­tary mode, but she and Scott, with their bor­der­line-painful vul­ner­a­bil­i­ties sit­ting right on the sur­face, are far more engag­ing to watch than the aver­age real­i­ty star. We root for them to be hap­py togeth­er, while simul­ta­ne­ous­ly feel­ing dis­com­fort with how close the film places us to them.

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