Style over substance isn’t always a bad thing. After all, it only denotes that the style is the substance, so much so that any flawed thematic frameworks can be easily overlooked. Take Panos Cosmatos’ “Beyond the Black Rainbow,” which is meant to be experienced as a visual fever dream, where the text (and subtext) quietly follows as we are lost in the maze of neon-drenched rooms and bizarre psychedelia. But Cosmatos’ firm grasp over aesthetics isn’t hollow, as the film demonstrates the cyclical chain of abuse and the most exhilarating escape from the clutches of evil.
Daniel Masciari’s “Stationed at Home” is undoubtedly beautiful to look at, its monochrome ambience tugging gently at the strings of nostalgia and the semblance of some feel-good sentiment. But this beauty isn’t inspired or stylistic enough to merit a style over substance outlook, as Masciari’s debut has very, very little to say about, well, anything. It is atmospheric enough to evoke a distinct identity: a lone taxi glides over the lit streets of a cold winter night, its interiors stuffed to the brim with fond memorabilia. This enduring image feels deliberately disjointed, like an unplanned mid-day nap that leaves you a tad confused and disoriented.
The events take place over a single, frigid night of Christmas Eve in the streets of 1998 Binghamton, where taxi driver Ralph (Erik Bjarnar) is eager to be done with his graveyard shift and come back home within a specified time. The reason? Well, the International Space Station will be visible for a short time window as it flies over the night sky, which is something to look forward to for everyone by the end of the film.
Ralph’s plans, however, are disrupted by a string of quirky nighttime passengers. There’s luck and whimsy involved at every turn, as the night kicks off with Ralph winning the local scratch lottery and treating himself and passenger Harry (Darryle Johnson) to a hearty meal at a diner. As the two establish a connection, a quiet friendship is born, even though the two men don’t have much in terms of common ground.
Elsewhere, Elaine (Eliza VanCort) checks into a hotel and remains quiet throughout, existing merely as an afterthought in contrast to the chaotic shenanigans that encircle Ralph and his passengers. This jarring absence of women with depth or agency would’ve been a leading critique of Masciari’s film if it weren’t so devoid of depth as a whole.
Every character except for Ralph and Harry — be it the unpredictable Jack (Jeff DuMont) or the secretly frustrated Stanley (Endres Kincaid) — fails to make a mark beyond the superficial. Even the oddball adventures that Ralph is roped into are devoid of humor, perhaps appealing to those who think that the idea of grown men gawking at women working at a strip club is comedic for some reason.
The glaring flaws of “Stationed at Home” are made palatable by Bjarnar’s brilliantly understated performance, as his Ralph feels deeply layered even when the narrative fails to signify that. Mundanity is the point of this one-night adventure, as Ralph’s everyday existence is made extraordinary on the one night when he craves peace and normalcy. He’s fascinated with all things space, so the International Space Station is his metaphorical shooting star, something to be viewed as a miracle on a cold and lonely night.
By the end of his shift, Ralph isn’t quite where he wants to be, but he still views the flyover as a wonder, as it grants everyone in Binghamton a sense of community. This goes hand in hand with a persistent reminder to “always look up,” where the act of looking at the stars is meant to unify humanity, no matter what kind of circumstances we’re forced to grapple with every day.
The constant struggle to earn our daily bread makes fools out of us all, but the promises made by the cosmos — which feel within reach, but aren’t — make for a tender escape into the extraordinary. Even moon landing deniers like George (Peter Foster Morris) are swept away by the lull of the International Space Station, which flits through the night sky like a beacon of hope. While this central conceit is rather sweet, just like Ralph’s soothing presence, it isn’t fleshed out enough to emerge as anything substantial.
Overall, the lack of thematic coherence, combined with an extremely indulgent runtime, makes “Stationed at Home” an exercise in patience. There are moments of fleeting beauty to reel you in, but even these glimpses of fantastical non-reality aren’t enough to nourish this nightly escapade.
