The modern romance faces many trials, but few are as peculiar as the one presented in Eugene Kotlyarenko’s The Code. The film introduces us to Celine and Jay, a couple whose intimacy has evaporated, leaving a void they decide to fill with a creative project. Celine, an aspiring filmmaker, proposes a documentary about relationships navigating the pandemic, positioning their own troubled connection as the primary case study.
Their trip to a Joshua Tree rental is meant to be both a therapeutic retreat and a film set. The narrative finds its engine when Jay’s paranoia takes hold. Haunted by a past online cancellation, he fears Celine will weaponize the documentary against him.
His solution is not communication, but counter-surveillance. He rigs their temporary home with a web of hidden spy cameras, determined to seize control of the story. What begins as a documentary project quickly devolves into an all-out technological war, a battle of competing narratives where every glance and utterance is potential ammunition.
The Medium Is the Mayhem
The film’s storytelling structure is inextricably linked to its visual execution. The Code operates as a piece of “screenlife” cinema, a story told not through a traditional camera lens but through the myriad screens that mediate its characters’ lives.
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The narrative is fractured across an impressive array of sources: Celine’s professional-grade camera, Jay’s cheap spy cams, iPhone screen recordings, laptop webcams, and the unblinking eye of home security footage. The result is a deliberate visual cacophony. The editing mirrors the chaos, employing a relentless pace and an aggressive use of split-screens.
Viewers are often forced to watch several feeds simultaneously, processing conflicting information from different angles of the same event. This technique is not merely a stylistic flourish; it is central to the film’s purpose.
The overwhelming sensory input is designed to simulate the disorienting information overload of digital existence. The structure turns the viewer into an active participant, a digital detective tasked with sifting through layers of biased footage to find a glimmer of truth.
The Authenticity Paradox
The film’s frantic style directly serves its exploration of modern artifice. From the moment the first camera is turned on, Celine and Jay become performers. Their authentic selves are buried under layers of behavior calculated for their respective audiences—each other.
The very tools meant to capture their reality become instruments for its distortion, breeding a potent strain of paranoia that erodes what little trust remains. This dynamic brings the idea of exploitation to the forefront. Celine’s project, ostensibly about human connection, feels deeply self-serving, a way to mine her personal turmoil and a global crisis for artistic currency.
The film uses the specific anxieties of its 2021 setting as narrative fuel. The pandemic provides a backdrop of isolation, while the specter of cancel culture gives Jay’s paranoia a concrete motivation. These elements are not just window dressing; they are the catalysts for the characters’ self-absorbed spiral, shaping a story about how difficult it is to be genuine when a camera is always watching.
Finding a Signal in the Noise
Beneath the technological frenzy and thematic inquiries lies a surprisingly human story. The relationship between Celine and Jay is a portrait of profound dysfunction, yet their elaborate surveillance war functions as a bizarre and misguided form of couples therapy.
It is a strange attempt to force a connection, any connection, back into their lives. The performances from Dasha Nekrasova and Peter Vack are key to selling this dynamic; their chemistry effectively conveys a strained, often toxic codependence. This dramatic tension is consistently undercut by the film’s pronounced comedic sensibility.
The Code is, in many ways, an oddball, raunchy comedy that finds its humor in the sheer absurdity of the characters’ actions and their escalating predicament. The film concludes not with a tidy resolution but with a strange sense of romantic accomplishment. Through their mutual espionage, the couple finds a uniquely chaotic path back to each other. The film successfully filters the narrative arc of a traditional romantic comedy through a distorted and aggressive contemporary lens.
Full Credits
Director: Eugene Kotlyarenko
Writer: Eugene Kotlyarenko
Producers & Executive Producers: A.J. Del Cueto, Alex Hughes, Riccardo Maddalosso, Eugene Kotlyarenko
Cast: Peter Vack, Dasha Nekrasova, Ivy Wolk, Vishwam Velandy, Casey Frey, Nick Corrirossi, Ruby McCollister, Richard Edson, Casey Adams, Desiree Loya, Paul Gellman, Isabelle Gillette, Andy Faulkner, Joshua Ovalle, Natasha Newman‑Thomas, Jane Brown, Lynn Jensen, Brighton McCloskey, Allen Hannawell
Director of Photography: Barton Cortright
Editors: Tucker Bennett, Sabrina Greco
Composer: Dylan Brady
The Review
The Code
The Code is a formally audacious experiment that succeeds more as a technical feat than a conventional narrative. Its relentless, multi-screen style brilliantly captures the anxiety of a life lived online, and its exploration of performance and paranoia in a modern relationship is sharp. While the central characters' toxicity can be grating, the film's commitment to its chaotic premise and its darkly comedic tone make it a fascinating, if dizzying, watch about finding love in an age of total surveillance.
PROS
- Innovative "screenlife" filmmaking and editing.
- A sharp, relevant commentary on surveillance and online performativity.
- Strong chemistry between the lead actors.
- A unique and darkly comedic tone.
CONS
- The frenetic, overwhelming style can be fatiguing.
- Characters are intentionally dysfunctional and may be difficult to connect with.
- Its narrative sometimes feels secondary to the stylistic exercise.
