There is a code that good and proper New Yorkers abide by re: apartment-living and thin walls—Thou shalt be cool. As dense as the city is, with as many transplants, strivers, and dreamers as there are, and with the generally omnipresent miasma of stress we are all under, proper social conduct means sucking it up a little bit and not causing unnecessary conflict by getting on a neighbor’s case for noise. I mean why do you even live in the city if you’re opposed to informal dance parties at 2am from time to time?

This goes both ways of course. Thankful for the grace extended to us, we are supposed to reciprocate by being exceedingly conscientious of our noise footprint and self-modulating accordingly. Troy does not, and the chaotic force of Troy cannot be ignored. A gay sex worker who entertains multiple clients a day, his extremely loud and explicit labor is a constant disruption to his neighbors, Thea and Charlie (Adina Verson & Michael Braun). While Troy has undoubtedly broken the code, his conflict-averse victims cycle through a fascinating pattern of emotions in their reticence to confront him. What could easily serve as the setup for a dark comedy about a couple being driven to the edge, becomes, in the hands of celebrated theater talents Jen Silverman and Mike Donahue, a surprisingly sweet exploration of our capacity for emotional connection.

[caption id="attachment_38260" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Troy Mike Donahue

Michael Braun & Adina Verson star as Charlie & Thea, neighbors to the titular Troy[/caption]

Troy the film is 16 minutes long, but its pace belies that. The first few minutes are a quickly-paced montage of killer sight and sound gags as Thea and Charlie experience ordinary scenes of life set to the soundtrack equivalent of a gay porno (this is a good time to mention that unless you’re wearing headphones Troy is NSFW!). The immediate contrast between the mundane visuals and the aural ecstasy is primally funny—pounding grunts over shots of making pour-over coffee, dirty talk set to puzzle night, screams of climax set to scenes of Thea and Charlie in bed—kept awake, slightly angry, slightly mortified, but also slightly…amused? Entertained? Aroused?

Begrudgingly impressed by Troy’s capacity for fucking, their rarely-glimpsed, but often-heard neighbor becomes an object of fascination for the couple in a strange, but deeply humane manner. Furthermore, this fascination is invigorating to them, injecting enthusiasm into their lives and a little touch of spice to their relationship. However, when Troy experiences a breakup with his boyfriend he is sent into an emotional funk, alarming Thea and Charlie and instigating more direct and intrusive actions on their part, as they’ll do anything they can to help their crestfallen neighbor—as long as it doesn’t require them actually talking to him.

"I wanted to make something joyous and openhearted"

The winner of the Oscar-qualifying “Best Comedy” award at Aspen Shortsfest this year, the film is, first and foremost, deliciously funny. Jen Silverman writes the script based on a story idea by Silverman, Donahue, and Dane Laffrey, and several lines and gags are etched into my mind—glimpsing Troy in the laundry room pouring copious amounts of bleach into the machine, familiar character actor Dylan Baker showing up at Thea and Charlie’s door accidentally only to slink away in embarrassment, the over-the-top pathos of Troy leaving a drunk voicemail. Yet it is surprisingly tender too, with Donahue telling us that his goal was to make something “ joyous and openhearted”, as well as “inspire us all to have a little more curiosity and compassion for one another.”

Having had the chance to see it a couple of times with audiences, Silverman and Donahue have succeeded in these aims, and do so by capturing a seemingly overlooked aspect of city life that folks deeply relate to. Part of the cope of living in a city is the ability to shut out the mass of humanity that constantly surrounds you. This willfully blinkered “not seeing” others is something visitors often remark on as strange and vaguely distasteful, but is both a defensive mechanism as well as a show of respect to others, allowing them a degree of privacy and anonymity even in a crowd. Yet, as humans this is not natural, we’re used to living in small groups and observing, gossiping, and generally being busybodies. More than anything Troy dramatizes a certain type of parasocial relationship that city-dwellers recognize, where we are so intimately familiar with aspects of the lives of people we don’t know, and yet the collection of these one-way connections can feel very important in the aggregate—if only to demonstrate, to ourselves most of all, our capacity to care is still intact.

After premiering at Tribeca 2022 and playing Sundance this year, Troy is now online in time for an awards-season run. The team has partnered with The New Yorker for the online release, which not only strikes me as a perfect pairing of film to an audience, but the publisher is coming off a terrific showing in last year’s Oscars with five short film nominees. Will Troy add to the count? I wouldn’t be opposed! In the meantime, Donahue tells us that he is currently working with Silverman on his debut feature film, and this winter will direct 'Highway Patrol' at The Goodman Theatre, which he co-created with Dana Delany, Dane Laffrey, and Silverman.