Short Stop: The Miracle basks in mixed-media ambiguity

 What good is paradise if you have no one to share it with? That's one of the thoughts that entered my head early on while watching Nienke Deutz's The Miracle. It wasn't the last question the film raised. Here is a short that basks in ambiguity, raising a lot of questions, not providing many answers, which I love. Sometimes, that's a recipe for discomfort, which can be a really exciting viewing experience. But weirdly, that wasn't the case here. I felt so comforted by the uncertainty, by the ellipsis of the ending, by the wanting to know more. Like soaking in a tub at a spa where you can hear a distant dripping, maybe. At first, it rings out harsh, but eventually, the rhythm is relaxing.

The title refers to The Miracle Hotel, where our endlessly compelling protagonist Irma is on vacation. There's a spa, fresh seafood, a water slide, beautiful views. Irma seems like she might be the only visitor who's there solo. She video chats with her sister, tries to make connections with some of the other guests, but she mostly drifts around on her own. She can't even order a lobster at dinner -- they're reserved for pairs.

How much these attempts at connection mean to Irma, ultimately, I can't quite say. There's a contentment to her countenance, a strong sense of self, that makes it harder to pin down exactly what she's feeling moment to moment. Maybe she doesn't even know. At times, she seems to bask in the freedom of being alone, the anonymity of it (even though the hotel staff smartly call her by name, professionals that they are). Other times, it's more complicated.

I should mention a quirk that seems particular to Irma. When she sees a pregnant woman, she can see the fetus floating inside of her. This is weird, yeah, but within the visual language of the film, it oddly makes sense. The Miracle is a fascinating mixed-media project. The world is rendered in 3-D, with various stop-motion elements. The characters, however, are 2-D, see-through skin, painted-on clothes, staticky details. It's a jarring but appealing mix, where you never quite know what you're going to be looking at next. A lot of fun to watch and take in.

But that brings us back to the floating fetuses, 3-D beings within 2-D bodies, looking straight out of the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey. When Irma sees them, she seems a bit disturbed, confused. It's impossible to say what it is she feels on a deeper level. Does she want to have kids? Does she long for romance, and pregnancy is a reminder of her lack of a partner in life? Is she relieved she isn't among the legion of pregnant bodies at this resort? Ten people might read her ten different ways, maybe reflecting their own ideas, their own lifestyles. I don't even know where I land in reading Irma, which is part of why I love her. People are only knowable to a certain point, even unto themselves. It's in their complexity, their un-knowability, their strangeness that you can get to the meat of a person, something to really chew on. And there's a lot to chew on with Irma.

Even her departure from the hotel is a sort of tight-rope Rorschach test of a scene, one where she's laughing, or crying, or maybe both, before finally leaving her room. It's a beautiful grace note of an ending, one that makes you feel like -- whatever the truth of Irma is -- she's going to be okay.