More Than a Simple Ballast From the Past

Lance Hammer, writer and director of Ballast, is a slight, soft-spoken man, a fact that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who sees his first film. Ballast itself, which examines three familial relationships in the wake of a suicide on the Mississippi Delta, is quiet and spare in much the same way. The only possibly surprising thing about Hammer, really, is that he’s white—the film’s three main characters, along with the majority of the members of its supporting cast, are not.

This isn’t to say, of course, that it’s inconceivable for a white person to make a good movie about black people—Nothing but a Man is a good example to the contrary. It is rare, though, to see a film about black people by a white director, in which race doesn’t even seem to be much of a consideration. Hammer is modest about this distinction. “It wasn’t that I was trying to make a film about an underrepresented region of the country or underrepresented population of the country,” he said. “That was honestly not my motivation ... I accepted that the only way to make this film with accuracy is, you know, you have to use African-Americans, because the demographic is eight-to-one in the South.”

The Southern location was what Hammer deemed most important—he chose the setting for the film long before he started making it. “I traveled to the delta 10 years ago for the first time, and it was in the winter time, and I was overwhelmed by an emotion of sadness—and beauty, at the same time,” Hammer said. “I wanted to capture that feeling. At the same moment, seconds after I had that feeling, I said, ‘I want to make a film that captures this. I have a challenge—can I make a film that’s about tone?’”

He succeeded—Ballast is occupied with languid, perfectly framed shots as beautiful as their content is melancholy. The film is haunted by a character the audience never sees—Darius, a convenience-store owner who has killed himself by the first scene. The story, then, is about the largely unspoken ways people grieve—in this case, Darius’s twin brother, Lawrence (Micheal J. Smith, Sr.), and his estranged wife and son, Marlee (Tarra Riggs) and James (JimMyron Ross). It’s also a redemption story—James’s entrance into adolescence is marked by budding friendships with drug dealers, and he holds Lawrence up for cash more than once in the beginning of the film. Hammer called it a story about “the salvation of a child,” and that rings true—despite Marlee’s devastating poverty, Lawrence’s devastating grief, and their mutual baggage, both are obligated to James.

When casting the film, Hammer canvassed Baptist congregations around the delta. (Micheal Smith is actually a local preacher’s son.) The choice to use non-professional actors was a wise one—the film’s naturalism resonates even more when, say, Marlee stumbles over a word. The actors didn’t even get copies of their lines—Hammer stressed that his script was entirely improvisational. Instead, he explained, he’d say something like, “Here’s what I’m hoping to accomplish with the scene, and here’s the psychological dynamics, the physical choreography. But I want you to use your own language.”

Hammer’s holistic directing method nets brilliant performances from all three of his main actors, but JimMyron Ross stands out. Though he was just 12 at the time of filming, it’s clear on-screen that Ross is completely attuned to the film’s subtleties.

Hammer gets a little sentimental when he talks about Ross. “They all came to Sundance, and I watched JimMyron watch himself ... And his face is like 20-feet big on the screen, and people are just in awe of what he did,” Hammer said. “It was such a rewarding thing for me to see—like what made it all worthwhile.”

Ballast was directed by Lance Hammer and is playing at Film Forum at 209 W. Houston St. For more information call (212) 627-2035 or visit www.filmforum.org.