'Adrienne' is a sparkling portrait of late 'Waitress' filmmaker
I hesitate to classify Adrienne as true crime, though that’s objectively what it is.
The catch-all genre term carries a stigma of exploitation with it that doesn’t adequately describe the moving tribute done here. Still, Adrienne is inarguably a true crime film — anchored by an act of violence and containing a reflection on justice clearly fitting of the label, however problematic. It's important to make this distinction, considering the film's outstanding approach could prove valuable elsewhere in the true crime space.
In the extraordinary project for HBO, first-time director Andy Ostroy looks back on the life and death of his late wife, filmmaker and performer Adrienne Shelly. As an actor, Shelly was best known for appearing in Hal Hartley’s The Unbelievable Truth (1989) and Trust (1990). Later, she wrote and directed her own feature-length works, including Sudden Manhattan (1996), I’ll Take You There (1999), and most famously Waitress (2007).
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On Nov. 1, 2006, Shelly was murdered in her Greenwich Village office during a robbery gone wrong. An initial investigation ruled the matter a death by suicide, but the case was later reopened and a 19-year-old construction worker was convicted of Shelly’s killing. Waitress, starring Keri Russell and featuring Shelly’s last performance, premiered at the Sundance Film Festival the following January.
From the first scene, Ostroy approaches the painful subject head-on. Walking through Times Square while filming Adrienne in 2019, Ostroy approaches a line of strangers waiting to see the Broadway adaptation of Shelly’s film. Ostroy asks the theater-goers, “Do you know who Adrienne Shelly is?” Each person answers politely that no, they do not. It’s the inaugural heartbreak in a film full of devastating moments. But Ostroy doesn’t appear fazed. If anything, the lack of recognition seems to embolden him to create an intricate, exhaustive documentary capturing Shelly’s spirit — as well as the void left in her absence.
Yes, it’s a tall order — one I’d argue no filmmaker other than Ostroy could achieve half as well. While his narrative tone sometimes falters and a multitude of interviews borders on monotonous sameness (subjects ranging from Paul Rudd to a retired NYPD detective appear), Ostroy renders a heart-rending portrait of the late artist as only a spouse could. His effort runs from the screen like water, a fastidious flood of adoration contained in its 1 hour and 39-minute runtime.
Scenes from Shelly’s films appear alongside home videos, recitations of old diary entries, and intimate discussions with her daughter Sophie, who was 3 when Shelly was killed and 15 while filming Adrienne. The teenager and her father visit relatives and even return to the real diner where Waitress was filmed. It’s a wealth of remembrance, but never a mess and never too long. Making a movie means making countless decisions; watching Adrienne, you can feel the care put into every one. In the film’s climactic last act, Ostroy visits Shelly’s killer in prison. The result is a raw and deeply moving piece of footage that sits better knowing Ostroy himself chose to seek it out.
It’s telling that despite HBO releasing a documentary about the death of Hollywood star Brittany Murphy just last month, Adrienne is more closely compared to films made by other victims’ loved ones, like Murder on Middle Beach or Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father. What Ostroy does with Adrienne is a courageous act of love. It's also a testament to the value of having family members of crime victims play key roles in telling these stories. The result is one of a kind, flawed yet radiant.
Adrienne is now streaming on HBO Max.
Topics Documentaries
