Movie Review ~ The Secret Art of Human Flight

As much as feelings of love and possibility can make it seem like we’re floating on air, nothing grounds us quite like grief.   It has a strange way of cutting us down to size, putting even the most joyful soul in their place and forcing them to face a reality they would rather escape. The memory of a loss can often sting longer than the initial wound, and no one can predict what healing looks like from person to person. On screen, the cycle of pain has been explored in various degrees of gravity and far-flung whimsy, showing viewers that in film, as in life, there is no right way to find your path toward the new normal. 

In the quirky indie gem The Secret Art of Human Flight, director H.P. Mendoza and writer Jesse Orenshein craft a world where the implausible becomes possible, sending sorrow on its way with a heartfelt message of rising above the hurt.  This film is a rare delight you seldom see anymore, made with a fantastical spirit of imagination that isn’t bound by any restrictions.  It shouldn’t work as well as it does.  For Pete’s sake, it has a character named Mealworm, but it’s one of the most warm-hearted and good-natured films I’ve seen in quite some time.

When thirtysomething author Ben Grady’s (Grant Rosenmeyer, The Beta Test) wife dies unexpectedly, he finds himself stuck in the quicksand of sadness, unable to pull himself out of a constant state of darkness.  His sister Gloria (Lucy DeVito, Blonde) can’t shake him out of his funk, not even with an extra dose of tough love when he spends an entire weekend sitting outside in a lawn chair.  It seems that Ben is destined to think about the memory of Sarah (Reina Hardesty) and obsess over the unresolved problems between them before she passed away.  When Ben seems lost for good, an internet ad promoting a self-help course catches his eye.

Created by an enigmatic guru who calls himself Mealworm (Paul Raci, The Mother), the lessons promise to heal the readers of their emotional problems and grant them the power of flight.  Though he reads this ad in a questionable corner of the dark web, Ben pays the hefty fee for the handwritten book that arrives chapter by chapter, cobbled together with numerous notes in the margins.  Mealworm’s teachings require bizarre rituals that free Ben of distractions, body hair, and furniture in his home  When Ben is ready to chuck it all and go back to the lonely longing for his spouse…Mealworm himself shows up.

I half expected The Secret Art of Human Flight to be a modern riff on 1986’s The Boy Who Could Fly (a favorite from my childhood), but Orenshein’s script takes up its own space with an original story that is equal parts surreal and sincere.  Unfolding as a delicate balance between Ben’s reality and the fantasy of flight he is working to achieve under Mealworm’s tutelage, there are myriad ways the film could have veered in the wrong direction.  However, Mendoza and his cast keep it squarely lined up and beautifully focused on its message conveyed with genuine heart.

Grounding the film with a comedic vulnerability, Rosenmeyer takes us on Ben’s journey of wanting to move on but being so stuck in his head that he cannot.  As grief-stricken as he is, he understands that letting go is part of the process and hopes that literally taking flight is what will free him of his burden.  Through Mealworm’s process, he must learn that soaring in the clouds won’t wipe the past away.  DeVito is well cast as his sister, who grows even more concerned about her brother’s well-being when he begins to sleep on the roof and gets rid of his worldly possessions on the advice of Mealworm. 

Raci, still fresh off his Oscar-nominated turn in Sound of Metal and currently in theaters with the terrific Sing Sing, steals the show. Transforming what could have been a caricature into a mesmerizing mentor, his deadpan delivery and subtle mystique give the character credibility.  Even when Orenshein’s script threatens to jump the shark (fly the fish?), he makes us wonder if maybe, just maybe, human flight isn’t so far-fetched a notion.  Grounded humanity is what Raci does best, further raising the film from an oddball curiosity to a memorable dramedy with meaning.

Mendoza’s choice to shoot in a 4:3 aspect ratio proves inspired, giving The Secret Art of Human Fight an intimate, almost pseudo-documentary quality.  It also helps to address some of the film’s budget constraints by cleverly using everyday objects in Mealworm’s lesson plans to bolster the feeling of magic as Ben transforms his life.  This DIY aesthetic makes the production design feel naturalistic and representative of a slightly off-center reality where the ordinary can suddenly turn extraordinary.  For all we know, another Ben Grady-like person could live down the block from us, and their experiments in flight could happen under our noses. 

There are some turbulent moments, though.  Some subplots, like a strange investigation into Sarah’s death by a too-present detective (Rosa Arredondo) and Ben’s commiseration with a widowed neighbor (Maggie Grace), feel extraneous and slow down the momentum.  It’s always at its strongest when full attention is placed on Mealworm and him helping Ben work through his lessons toward taking his big flight.  You’ll have to see the movie to see what happens, but there was a satisfying way to end this and a lame way to explain it, and thankfully, Mendoza and Orenshein are all about sending their audience away happy.

Heavy-handed treatments of loss have their time and place, but sometimes, it’s nice to find some buoyancy in the moving-on genre. The Secret Art of Flight offers gentle insight into the grieving process that speaks to the wonder in life’s most challenging moments and tells us that the path to healing isn’t always about keeping both feet on the ground. If only for a moment, take a leap of faith and believe in the absurd.