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Atsuko (Atsuko Okatsuka) in the shimmering and altogether moody "Littlerock," directed by Mike Ott.
Atsuko (Atsuko Okatsuka) in the shimmering and altogether moody “Littlerock,” directed by Mike Ott.
Denver Post film critic Lisa Kennedy on Friday, April 6,  2012. Cyrus McCrimmon, The  Denver Post
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Drama. Not rated. 1 hour, 28 minutes. In English and some Japanese with English subtitles. At the Denver FilmCenter/Colfax

At times shimmering and altogether moody, “Littlerock” begins with a question both specific and eternal.

“Is this the right place?” asks Atsuko Sakamoto.

She and brother Rintaro stand beside a highway outside Los Angeles, baggage in hand. The cars and long-haul trucks speeding by hint it’s probably not much of a place.

Yet the small town that gives Mike Ott’s finely crafted, quietly performed sophomore feature its title becomes more than a way station when Atsuko (Atsuko Okatsuka) decides she wants to stay longer than the two days it will take the Sakamoto siblings to get a replacement rental car.

When Rintaro (Rintaro Sawamoto) goes next door at a motel to tell a group of partyers to keep it down, the pair meet Cory, an enthusiastic if not entirely reliable guide. He’s played with a finely aggravating mix of puppy-dog need and passive-aggressive demand by Cory Zacharia.

The film could be described as the pause that might come in the midst of a well-traveled road flick. And when it swerves ever so gently into pilgrimage territory, “Littlerock” astonishes, proving itself and Ott deserving of the kind of indie-world recognition they received last year when they won both the Someone to Watch Spirit Award and the Gotham Awards’ “Best Film Not Playing in a Theater Near You.”

When Atsuko asks to stay, Rintaro — whose rudimentary English makes him the interpreter — hits the road.

What makes Atsuko so intrigued goes underexplained, which doesn’t make her desires any less touching. Sure, she’s fond of Cory and enamored with Jordan (Brett L. Tinnes), but she digs in deeper.

“Littlerock” gently limns an in-between existence. The dusty burg isn’t entirely rural. Nor is it buzzing. The denizens Atsuko makes her friends aren’t dangerous. But this is not the same as being trustworthy.

Rintaro’s absence poses this question: What kind of connections can she really make in a place where she doesn’t speak or understand the language?

The movie’s grander question: What kind of connections can any of us make, even when we speak the same tongue?

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