Independent film - the term itself - is so inclusive these days that it's rather useless as a descriptive. At the same time, there are still movies released every now and then that really seem to bring the term back into strict, sharp focus; they are films with no stars, with budgets that are clearly less than, say, that of Sundance hits like Garden State, but with stories and styles so fresh and compelling that there's really no place for them but the big screen (of course, there are quite a few films that fit this criteria but never end up on any screen at all). Recent examples of this sort might include David Gordon Green's masterful George Washington, or Shane Carruth's Primer, and now we have Elliot Greenebaum's Assisted Living.

Greenebaum's film is about a young stoner named Todd (Michael Bonsignore) who works as a janitor at an old folk's home - a job from which he will be fired by the time the film is over. The audience knows this from the outset, because Greenebaum begins the film with a series of interviews with other employees at the home, all reflecting on Todd and the events which lead to his dismissal. This footage is an early key to what eventually makes the film so great - that being the use of documentary techniques to create a physical context for the narrative to take place in. By documentary techniques, I do not mean shaky, handheld cameras, or even necessarily the interview footage that is interspersed throughout the film; I mean that the line between what is real and what is not is almost completely dissolved through Greenebaum's technique. To wit: the film was made in an actual nursing home, and most of the characters are actual residents. Some act, others do not, and it's impossible to tell when the cameras are catching a real moment or a staged one.

What is clear is that all of these people, whether they are acting or not, are intelligent, observant people whose physical and/or mental incapacities are in many cases exacerbated by the coddling treatment they receive from the staff of the home. Well-meaning nurses speak to their patients like they would to a toddler, and the frustration and confusion this causes is evident in the many lingering shots of the residents' faces as they try struggle to make sense of, or acquiesce to, the routine that's implied upon them. I don't believe Greenebaum is trying to criticize the nursing home industry; any indictment is merely a side effect of his success in humanizing an overly maligned segment of society.

The film is rife with montages of daily existence in the home - eating, sleeping, watching TV, playing bingo - shot and edited in a lyrical fashion that recalls the style of the (aforementioned) David Gordon Green. In many of them, Todd is interacting with the patients, often sardonically (he like to call them and pretend he's a dead relative, assuring them of the wonders of heaven), often with disinterest. He takes frequent breaks to sneak outside and puff on the pipe he keeps in his pocket.

Over the course of the one day the film takes place in, as we grow accustomed to the routine of the environment, the core narrative begins to rise to the surface. There is one resident in particular, a woman named Mrs. Pearlman (Maggie Rile), who is quite fond of Todd, possibly because he reminds her of her son, whom she claims lives in Australia. Mrs. Pearlman is a refined woman; she puts on her makeup every morning and does her best to maintain her dignity; she's also aware that her mind is falling prey to Alzheimer's. There's some question as to whether her son actually exists, although she repeatedly insists that he'll be coming to get her sometime soon. At a certain point, Todd attempts to cheer her by impersonating this son over the telephone; the results are disastrous, and the scene in which the phone call takes place is an astonishing culmination of the way Greenebaum has merged the truth and fiction of the film. Mrs. Pearlman's breakdown is a prolonged, devastating moment that is, for all intents and purposes, as it occurs on screen, completely real.

This blunder, of course, forces Todd to abandon his apathy, and inspires him to make what he considers a moral decision. The hints laced throughout the film in the interview footage make one wonder how far he will go in his attempt to rectify Mrs. Pearlman's worsening condition, but what happens is simple and provocative in a very subtle, thoughtful manner. Once again, Greenebaum does not make statements; he merely depicts, and perhaps, in depicting, suggests.

It is often the case with low budget films that directors rely on their style to define themselves; they're making their mark, as it were. What amazed me about Assisted Living, though, was that Greenebaum's amalgamate style, so assured and so graceful in its execution, is utterly devoid of self. This is one of the most empathetic films I've seen in some time. There has been some concern over the treatment of the elderly in the film, claims that they were taken advantage of on film, but such accusations surely were made by people who hadn't seen the film, or the deep consideration it affords its subjects. Watching the film, one responds not just to them but to the entire context - the entire dilemma, even - that they represent. In other words - this is a great dramatic film that works on its audience the way a great documentary would.