Take two of these, and don’t bother calling

By Steven Snyder

The intrigue starts with the title: Just who is self-medicating themselves, and why? In one corner of this searing family drama is Andrew (Monty Lapica, who also wrote and directed the film), a teenager on the road to the self-destruction. In the other is Louise (Diane Venora, a regular face on the New York theater scene), a detached and distraught mother who is still struggling to cope with the loss of her husband, and who believes she is witnessing in Andrew a similar implosion.

Things come to a head late one night when Andrew, who has lost himself in a cloud of alcohol and marijuana, and who has driven drunk against his girlfriend’s wishes, finds himself attacked in his home. Pounced on by a gang of men wearing black outfits, he screams out for his mother, only to shriek in horror as he realizes she is watching it all without lifting a finger.

Sobbing herself, and telling him it’s for his own good, “Self Medicated” makes an unexpected right turn away from a conventional story about a son lost to drugs and a mom lost to prescriptions, and towards a story of involuntary imprisonment and familial betrayal.

It’s this abduction scene that alters the tone and the tempo of the movie, and what gives “Self Medicated’s” routine blueprint an explosive, unpredictable shot of adrenaline. As Andrew arrives at a strange facility designed exclusively for juvenile delinquents, confined hundreds of miles from home and isolated by the surrounding desert, his increasingly belligerent confrontations with his captors goes against our expectations. This, we quickly realize, is not a story about how a troubled young man is forced to face his inner demons, but how this prison doesn’t begin to recognize or cure his problems.

In both cases, Andrew and Louise are living a lie, masking the pain caused by a family death that neither has dealt with. The ashes of Andrew’s father are still sitting in the living room, a constant reminder of what is no longer there. Louise’s attempt to have her son forcibly removed from her home is less the act of a worried parent than the cop-out of a broken adult looking for someone else to blame for her maternal inadequacy. As long as she can label her son an addict or a troublemaker, she can ignore the fact that she herself is incapable of helping him to heal.

Creating not only the character of Andrew, but the words in the script and the visuals on the screen, “Self Medicated” represents a tour de force accomplishment for young Lapica. Unapologetic in the way he writes the characters, or thrusts the camera in their faces, he brings an equally imperfect edge to Andrew, as a teenager who quickly realizes he cannot depend on anyone but himself. Venora, meanwhile, immerses herself completely within Louise’s contradictory emotions, crafting a character that can simultaneously reach out to her son in hopes of reaching his heart but order him locked up as a way of advancing her denial.

Near the film’s end, as all the drama of Andrew’s incarceration fades into the distance, “Self Medicated” comes to a powerful finale. It’s here where the true heart of this dark story emerges, and the title finally begins to make sense. To help one another, these two souls must first find a way to make peace with themselves.