Films such as this one, are why I love my job.
Cheryl Guerriero’s sharply observed screenplay for this sweet character drama is matched by scrupulously persuasive performances throughout. That said, special mention must be made of stars Justin Timberlake — absolutely the finest, most heartfelt acting job he has turned in thus far — and newcomer Ryder Allen, all of 7 years old during production.
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| Attendance at Sunday morning church service is mandatory for anybody living with Vivian (June Squibb, foreground right), which Palmer (Justin Timberlake, foreground left) quickly learns. Young Sam (Ryder Allen), a semi-permanent house guest, couldn't be happier. |
The premise is familiar, but — when the execution is this earnest — that’s no drawback.
Former high school football star Eddie Palmer (Timberlake), once a hometown hero who earned an athletic college scholarship, took a massively wrong turn and wound up serving 12 years in a state penitentiary. He did “good time”; he kept his nose clean and paid his debt to society.
The film opens as he returns to his small-town Louisiana roots, moving in with his grandmother Vivian (June Squibb), who raised him. The weather-beaten community feels time-locked; although smart phones and computers are present, they remain at the periphery. More than once, Palmer — as he prefers to be called — insists that he’s perfectly content with the rotary phone on the wall.
(Filming took place in Hammond — not too far from Baton Rouge and New Orleans — and production designer Happy Massee ensures that the ambiance is strongly mid-20th century Southern Americana.)
Palmer’s early efforts at “making the rounds” are acutely uncomfortable, Timberlake’s posture and gaze sliding between wariness and embarrassment. He’s greeted enthusiastically by old friends Daryl (Stephen Louis Grush) and Ned (Nicholas X. Parsons), both of whom are Obvious Bad News; we worry about this, although Palmer seems smart enough to steer clear.
His reception from another former friend, Coles (Jesse C. Boyd), is more guarded. Following in his father’s footsteps, Coles has become a cop; some sort of residual tension permeates this reunion, although Coles clearly is happy to see Palmer. The same can’t be said of Coles’ father (Dane Rhodes), the local top cop, who grimly expects to re-arrest Palmer in due course.
The home front offers an additional complication. Vivian’s immediate neighbor, Shelly (Juno Temple), is a chronic drunk and drug addict who lives in a mobile home perhaps 100 yards from Vivian’s kitchen window. She has terrible taste in men; current boyfriend Jerry (Dean Winters) is an abusive jerk.
Worse yet, she has an 8-year-old son, Sam (Allen), who winds up in Vivian’s care when his mother goes on one of her frequent benders.
Poor Sam is a mess; he’s also “gender uncertain.” His best friend is Coles’ daughter Emily (Molly Sue Harrison), Sam’s elementary school desk mate. He and Emily bond over tea parties and a shared devotion to an animated TV series starring “Penelope the Princess” (a hilariously, atrociously sugar-sweet fabrication by the filmmakers).
Sam plays with hand-me-down Barbie dolls; his clothing frequently slides toward girlish, in part because his mother has done nothing to discourage any of this. Sam therefore is the frequent target of school and neighborhood bullies.
As Palmer absorbs all this, the pain in his gaze is acute … and not merely out of sympathy for Sam. We all read personal trauma in Timberlake’s expression: the memory of his own brand of growing up “different,” in his case — as we soon learn — essentially without parents.
But here’s the gratifying part: Palmer is concerned on Sam’s behalf, but not judgmental. The one time he confronts Sam, early on — “You know you’re a boy, right?” — the questioning tone reflects genuine curiosity, rather than condemnation. And while Sam clearly has much to be unhappy about, he’s cheerfully content with his choices, and willing to go boldly where no local boy has gone before.
When Sam asks for help in writing a letter, in order to join the Princess Penelope fan club, Palmer hesitates — Timberlake handles this so well — and points out that the roster likely doesn’t include any boys. Without missing a beat, Sam brightly replies, “Then I’ll be the first!”
You gotta love it.
Are these two destined to become friends? Of course.
Will there be complications? Oh, gawd, yes. This film’s final half hour flutters between tension, trauma and heartbreak. Serious lump-in-throat stuff.
Along the way, though, the developing dynamic between Palmer and Sam is enchanting. Watch what young Allen does with his fingers, on the glass mug, when Palmer takes the boy for his very first root beer float. It is perfectly kid-like, particularly given the scene’s heavily freighted emotions.
Alisha Wainwright also is fine as Maggie, Sam’s observant and acutely perceptive elementary school teacher. She and Palmer begin to hover around each other — he has gained employment as one of the school janitors — while bonding over their shared concern for Sam. Maggie’s “solution” to a potential Halloween catastrophe is delightful (and sheer genius, on Guerriero’s part).
Lance E. Nichols also is memorable as Palmer’s supervisor, Sibs: a quiet, mildly gruff individual who keeps close counsel, but is fair-minded.
Shelly is a nightmare: manipulative, short-tempered and distastefully carnal. Temple’s calculating gaze, whenever she smells opportunity, is acutely unsettling; the notion that this woman is Sam’s mother, is terrifying. We dare not imagine their home life.
Early on — and for quite some time throughout — Palmer exudes patience and deference; he’s calm and polite, almost to a fault. But Timberlake’s gaze and posture bespeak complexity; the effort to be a model citizen is a struggle, and — given the unfolding dynamic with Sam — we can’t help fearing that this placid reserve will crack.
Many films can be enjoyed; fewer are admired. This one notches both.
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