It's risky to make a film with only three characters. If the audience dislikes even one of them, that's 33 percent of the ensemble gone. In the case of Yeast, a three-person mumblecore debacle by Mary Bronstein, I hate all three of them. How am I supposed to enjoy a film when I dislike 100 percent of the characters?
Something tells me Bronstein would be pleased by this reaction, and part of me admires the chutzpah required to make a film so blatantly cringe-inducing. The wife of Ronald Bronstein, whose similarly aggravating Frownland is currently making the rounds, Mary Bronstein has achieved something notable with Yeast. It's a sort of litmus test: Whichever character you hate the most says something about you.