Here Lies Joe (2016)
Director: Mark Battle
Screenwriter: Mark Battle & Pamela Conway
Starring: Dean Temple, Andi Morrow, Timothy J Cox, Mary Hronicek, J P Valenti, Kristie Stumpf Rork
Poignant and thoughtfully observed, Here Lies Joe confronts a pressing public issue—suicide and mental health—in a direct, unvarnished way that feels both brave and sensitive. The film refuses easy answers and instead offers a carefully constructed, intimate study of loneliness, despair, and the fragile moments that can begin to shift a life.
The opening sequence is stark: close-up images show a man attempting to suffocate himself inside his car. That harrowing scene quickly gives way to a suicide awareness support group where the protagonist, Joe, finds himself. There he meets Z, a younger woman whose unpredictable, energetic presence forms a bond with Joe that promises to change the course of both their lives. The encounter sets the emotional center of the film and frames the story as a study of connection at the edges of crisis.
Visually, Here Lies Joe is striking. The cinematography and mise-en-scène are deliberate and precise; each frame feels carefully composed to reinforce the film’s tone. Wide, detached shots and lingering compositions create an atmosphere of isolation and weight, amplifying the characters’ internal struggles. The camera’s restraint and the film’s sparse aesthetic underscore the rawness of the subject matter rather than sensationalizing it.
Location choices further underline the theme of solitude. The movie largely avoids populated spaces and extras, favoring expansive, empty environments: a graveyard, an underpass, and other open, desolate settings. This spatial isolation gives the impression that the characters exist in a small, suspended world—almost a liminal space where the decision to end a life and the decision to continue coexist. The geography of the film mirrors the internal geography of its characters: wide, barren, and quietly fraught.
Sound design is minimal but effective. The film eschews a conventional score, relying instead on a few diegetic songs performed by characters and a single, haunting indie track near the end. Intermittent birdsong punctuates the silence, creating a subtle counterpoint: the natural beauty of birdsong continues regardless of human anguish. That contrast feels intentional, a reminder of life’s small, persistent details that often go unnoticed by those consumed by pain.
Dean Temple’s portrayal of Joe is restrained and convincing. He embodies a man at the end of his rope with a quiet, believable defeatism that never tips into melodrama. Temple’s physical stillness and interior focus make Joe a compelling study in resignation. Opposite him, Andi Morrow’s Z operates as a catalyst—her kinetic, expressive performance brings lightness and unpredictability to the film. Where Joe is compact and reserved, Z is expansive and impulsive. Their interplay creates a dynamic of opposites—stoicism meeting frenetic hope—that explores how human connection can interrupt patterns of despair.
The supporting characters—members of the suicide awareness group—provide an unexpected tonal counterbalance through dark humor. Their conversations, which touch on everything from joking about overdosing on vitamins to the absurdity of reworking a suicide note, are played straight, producing a disquieting comedy that remains tasteful rather than exploitative. Those moments reveal how people facing similar struggles can use humor and candid exchange to bridge isolation.
If the film has a weakness, it lies in characterization. Joe remains an enigmatic figure: he is sympathetic in emotional tone, but he is not always fully fleshed out as a three-dimensional character with a distinct arc beyond his despair. This may be intentional—a deliberate, metaphorical approach to make Joe emblematic of a broader issue—but at times the character feels more like a vessel for theme than a person with a detailed past. Z is more textured and relatable, though her portrayal occasionally borders on the “manic-pixie” trope, as if her primary purpose is to reflect the male lead’s inner life. Even so, Morrow largely avoids caricature and brings a believable vitality to the role.
Overall, Here Lies Joe handles a taboo subject with respect and an unflinching eye. It neither glamorizes nor simplifies suicide; instead, it examines the messy, contradictory reality of people on the brink and the small, fragile gestures that can change a trajectory. The film’s atmosphere is aptly summed up by a line in which Z describes a statue in the graveyard as “perfectly morose”—a description that captures the movie’s melancholic beauty. Mark Battle’s direction offers a thoughtful, measured film that treats a vulnerable subject with sensitivity, leaving the viewer with an uneasy but honest reflection on life, loss, and the possibility of connection.
Score: 17/24
Written by James Cullen
‘Here Lies Joe’ was brought to attention by one of its cast members, Timothy J Cox. You can support the film through its official social channels and listings.