Dindin (2024) Movie Review: Egos Clash in This Chaotic Chamber Drama

Brendan Patrick Hughes’s “Dindin” is a chamber drama that revolves around four middle-aged people – a married couple and their two friends. It is based on a play that a cast member wrote and others decided to turn into a movie. All of them are theatre actors. So, the film feels almost like a play unfolding in the presence of cameras around. After all, it is basically just four people sitting across a table discussing a wide range of topics through a free-flowing conversation, shot mostly in black and white. In its limited setting, what matters are mainly the performances and the writing.

In such cases, the actors need to be skilled enough to make the conflicts seem believable or the stakes urgent. Their faces need to be lit in specific ways to reveal more details of their shifting dynamic. With its monochromatic setting, the lighting, camera angles, and composition will matter far more than usual. Even the harshness or softness of light can communicate something specific about a character. Therefore, the camerawork needs to balance the dramatic tension and highlight the character’s facial expressions, their mannerisms, and the tiniest shifts within. “Dindin” gets much of this right.

Initially, the camera puts the viewers uncomfortably close to the characters’ faces and then gradually puts them in wider shots. Then, it slowly transitions from intense close-ups to two-shots and three-shots with informative compositions. In that context, it operates similarly to Sidney Lumet’s classic “12 Angry Men.” Beyond showcasing its fine understanding of film grammar, “Dindin” brings its A-game through its direction of orchestrated chaos. You can’t help but find it similar to the classics like “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” or much of Cassevetes’ filmography for its sheer dramatic intensity explored with finesse.

Most recent parallels to “Dindin” would be Stephen Karam’s “The Humans” for its gradual dramatic escalation or that high-octane Christmas dinner episode from Chris Storer’s “The Bear” for its chaotic nature. Director Brendan Patrick Hughes builds sufficient dramatic tension to keep us invested in their escalating back-and-forth. After a point, it feels like a neatly led orchestral composition with cleverly-timed moments of pressure and release.

Dindin (2024) Movie Review — A still from “Dindin” (2024)

Brenda Withers, who plays Darlene, wrote the original play on which the film is based. In her screenplay, she uses dialogues that are more suggestive than direct. So, you always sense something lurking beneath the subject of its conversations. In the film, the characters fight over their contrasting beliefs and opinions. While they do so, you sense their need for validation and recognition. Every minute, they fight a battle for themselves.

In their case, it doesn’t matter who is right as much as it is to be proven right – to have the winning argument, the last word. Their joy lies in making others feel smaller, less considerate, or weaker. They express themselves more loudly when making a statement, expecting others to notice the intensity as much as the matter of it. They try to manipulate others into behaving in their own ways. Still, their arguments reflect their distinct worldviews filled with prejudices and hypocrisies.

The conversations reveal whether a person is kind or cruel, how kind or cruel they are, and whether some stereotypes dictate their perspective – if so, how? The film begs us to ponder upon it. With their contradicting but believable traits, the characters never remain one-note, making the film unpredictable like a suspense thriller.

The topics of many of their interactions appear similar to what we witness online. Although “Dindin” reflects the chasm of never-ending social media discourses and retains its essence, it remains as human as an in-person interaction would. It aptly portrays the hollow virtue-signaling that leads to a bloated sense of superiority without self-reflection. This micro-budget indie offers so much to unpack, both in what’s immediately visible and the deeper layers beneath the surface.