I watched a movie last weekend, for purposes I won’t get in to as to save something from an unfavorable Google search. The movie was one of those aimless indie jobs where some character comes to a vague life choice that seems like it should matter, but really the kid just needs to stop being a pussy and grow up.

(Fast aside, the “old, stodgy, conservative folk” in the movie give the kid the same advice – and we’re not supposed to look at them favorably, as they are artist crushing philistines!)

The movie had some pretty moments where the cinematography and the musical overlay worked perfectly, but the entire way through it was plagued with this aimless, limp-wristed, hard to hear dialog. Pacing was nonexistent, lines were constantly stepped on and you could tell they were improving at least ninety percent of it on the spot. To say it was painfully boring would be a gross understatement.

The dirt under my fingernails became as intoxicating as a Megan Fox/Scarlett Johansson lesbian porn in comparison to what was on my television. (Ok that bit was for Googlebots.) I started out telling myself I wasn’t going to drink while watching it, so I wouldn’t miss anything as the booze fuzzed the edges of my brain. By minute sixty of a seventy two minute film, I was drinking straight whiskey, having plowed through three whiskey and cokes already.

I wrote my bit on the film, trying my best to hide my opinion that I had just watched the cinematic equivalent of a wet white-bread and mayo sandwich. But, when I passed the film back, something weird happened. I was informed that there are lots of movies like this, that they represent the vanguard of something called mumblecore, a new movement in American indie filmmaking.

Mumblecore works like this: twenty-something character, super low budget, unpaid/not-professional actors and a “script” that is little more than some notes the director tossed together to give the actors a scene to improv off of. They all pretty much look like American Apparel ads, star people who look like they belong in American Apparel ads, and have soundtracks from bands that you probably should know if you were cool, but you don’t because you aren’t.

As this was being described to me, a distant noise sounded in my head. It grew louder, and I recognized it as the keening rage of every sound engineer, script writer and professional actor in the world. You know, the people we rely on to properly record the expertly crafted words that are delivered in perfect intonation. Mumblecore is a giant middle finger from hack filmmakers who can’t afford to produce a real movie, or have the chops to write one, or the technical skills to make one.

You can see the mental line these filmmakers are drawing to make these movies, too. They look at masters like Lars von Trier and indie heroes like Ken Park and think they can do “that” – “that” being the weird ephemeral thing those two do – right from the start. Not once thinking for a second that one must master the basics of film before you can deconstruct them. Compression and decompression in storytelling can only be understood once you can make a solid movie at a neutral pressure. Mumblecore eschews that for a self-gratifying indie sensibility that makes me want to take a baseball bat to these people.

Also, for fuck’s sake people, you’re taking part in a movement that was named by a drunken sound tech in a bar during South by SouthWest. Is that really where you want your artistic birthplace to be? Wait, what the fuck am I talking about, of course that’s where you people want it to be.