Rachel Lambert’s Sometimes I Think About Dying is a love letter to introverts and those who identify as socially challenged. Conceived at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and based on a short that originally premiered in 2019, the feature explores the difficulties of human interaction, through the eyes of a character who finds that particularly challenging.  Though it’s not as thematically grand as its opening shots suggest, this is still a quirky, low-key delight brought to muted life by its star, Daisy Ridley.

Lambert’s film centers on Ridley’s character, Fran, a loner who works in a dreary office along the Oregon coast.  The workplace culture is cringey, with a boss who talks about the team being a “family” (real-life advice—if a potential boss says this to you, run, don’t walk, in the opposite direction) and awkward water-cooler small talk. Fran avoids all this and keeps to herself. She enters the office and goes straight to her desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. Instead she stares at the water stains on the drop ceiling and fantasizes about dying—being hung from a crane, lying lifeless on a mossy forest floor with a gash in her forehead, and so on. Her days end with a glass of wine (before she’s even set her bag down), a microwaved patty topped with cottage cheese, and a game of sudoku. Rinse and repeat, until a new face joins the office—the outgoing, affable Robert (Dave Merheje). The two are gradually drawn to each other, forcing Fran to acknowledge and explore her need for human connection.

The seemingly disconnected images in the opening frames initially suggest a film with Something on its mind.  Apples are discarded in a sewer drain. A wild bush grows against a desolate landscape. A deer walks lazily down a set of concrete stairs to a sidewalk. This twinning of beauty and ugliness is provocative, amusing, and melancholy, and it’s a bit disappointing that the implication of these images is largely left unexplored. The rest of the film instead settles firmly into low-key, indie film character study mode, which, while entertaining, seems a bit disconnected from those first few seconds.  The imagery instead shifts to support, and mirror, Fran’s journey. As her courtship with Robert progresses, her vivid daydreams of death become less frequent, while at the same time, the greenery in her apartment subtly increases, leading to a final scene in which the houseplants almost seem to be multiplying in real time. These visual touches, while subtle, are effective in communicating the inner thoughts of a character who has difficulty expressing her emotions.

Ridley fully commits to the character, as ‘dowdy’ would be a charitable description for Fran’s appearance. In an office filled with bigger personalities and brighter clothing, she stands out with her close-crimped hair and conservative, dingy brown and beige clothing. The actress isn’t fully de-glammed, ala Charlize Theron in Monster (to use an extreme example), but the intent of the clothing design is apparent enough.

The script, by Kevin Armento and Stefanie Abel Horowitz, wrings some uncomfortable laughs from her alexithymia and social awkwardness, particularly when she’s interacting with Robert, her gregarious foil.  Fran may be an understandable character—we all know someone like her (or we are her), she’s not always likeable. Though she feels drawn to Robert, she often resists his efforts to get to know her, sometimes to a cruel degree. It’s a testament to Ridley’s performance that we’re still drawn to the character. Robert is her opposite in almost every way. He seems to draw his energy from being around people, and their personality clash is sure to spark curiosity in the audience as to where their relationship will go. It’s ultimately a touching journey, as we watch the push and pull, not only between the two of them, but between Fran’s own warring desires. She clearly enjoys being alone, but finds Robert a compelling presence. Ridley effectively communicates Fran’s internal struggles, with her sheepish, furtive glances and self-recriminations following particularly awkward interactions with her would-be beau.

The film is also buoyed by the supporting cast, particularly Merheje.  His movie-loving, chatty Robert is an open book and is immediately endearing to the audience, giving the movie a welcome shot of warmth. Also notable are Parvesh Cheena, who shines in a small part as Garrett, the impish coworker who seems utterly above the office politics. In an even more minor role, Marcia DeBonis stuns as Carol, their recently retired colleague who’s struggling with her own demons. Indeed it’s this character who appears to sum up the movie’s main message: “It’s hard, isn’t it? Being a person.”

Sometimes I Think About Dying is ultimately a moving film, albeit in subtle ways.  With some minor exceptions, there are no huge floods of emotion here, no giant catharses.  Nothing here is truly groundbreaking, as the film liberally borrows from various sad-sack indies (Harold and Maude, almost any Mike Leigh film).  Indeed your mileage may vary depending on how much you identify with the main character. But for those who are won over by its low-key charms, there’s a lot to enjoy here, from Ridley’s admirably committed turn, to her enjoyably awkward banter with Robert, to the unexpected sources of emotion (again, subtle). This is a world worth spending time in, and even if the film lacks some bite, it’ll speak to those who long for human connection but sometimes struggle to find and maintain it.