Now, this is tough love.
Director/co-scripter Ricky Staub’s impressive feature debut is a gritty, poignant study of father/son bonding, set against a fascinating real-world backdrop that adds even more pathos to the emotionally charged narrative.
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| Fifteen-year-old Cole (Caleb McLaughlin, right) can't begin to understand the horse culture that absorbs his long-estranged father (Idris Elba), particularly with respect to the funny hats everybody wears. |
The story opens on a grim note as Amahle (Liz Priestley), a hard-working Detroit single mother, receives word that her rebellious teenage son, Cole (Caleb McLaughlin, of Strangers Things), has been expelled from yet another school. It’s the final straw, and Amahle is at wit’s end; she knows that Cole is just a heartbeat away from a life on the crime-laden streets.
She therefore packs all of Cole’s clothes in two trash bags, drives him to North Philadelphia, and (literally!) dumps him on the doorstep of Harp (Idris Elba), the long-estranged father that the boy barely remembers. And Harp isn’t even home to answer the knock at the door.
Nessie (Lorraine Toussaint), a sympathetic neighbor, explains that Harp can be found around the corner, at the Fletcher Street Stables. “You’ll smell it when you get close.”
Indeed.
Alongside a hard-scrabble collection of similar horse lovers, Harp is a member of the Fletcher Street Urban Riding Club (an actual 100-year-old organization, whose modern identity dates from 2004, with a tax-exempt status granted in 2015). The horses are purchased at auction, saving them from likely being killed; the loosely monitored program provides a positive — and rigorous — working experience for local youth who otherwise might succumb to the temptations of the streets.
And it’s absolutely the last thing Cole wants any part of. Particularly since his father seems far more concerned about the horses’ welfare, than his son’s. Indeed, Harp even lives with a horse, having built a makeshift stall in his apartment (a thoroughly ludicrous notion, but hey: roll with it).
Cole would much rather spend time with Smush (Jharrel Jerome), a ne’er-do-well cousin who acts as a low-level gopher for a local crime baron who’s clearly Very Bad News. This prompts Harp to lay down the law: Cole won’t be welcome — at home, or at the stables — if he dallies with Smush.
The nature of the story demands that Cole make every mistake possible, and what follows is unrelenting: The boy remains stubbornly defiant, even as he reluctantly gains interest in the stables. Nessie is an active presence there, along with Rome (Byron Bowers), the wheelchair-bound Paris (Jamil Prattis) and Esha (Ivannah-Mercedes).
(The latter two, along with numerous other extras, are actual Fletcher Street Club members.)
The soft-spoken Prattis is terrific as this story’s Yoda: the first individual to take pity on Cole, by pointing out the advantages a wheelbarrow has over a shovel. There is no judgment in Paris’ tone, just patient guidance. He becomes the bridge that brings Cole closer to his father.
Elba, always a marvelously expressive actor, grants Harp subtle nuances. At one moment he’s tough and unyielding — virtually unapproachable — because he doesn’t want Cole to make the mistakes that he did: ill-advised behavior that prompted prison time. But this disciplinary strictness is costly; Elba’s gaze also reflects pain and regret, for the lost opportunity to have gotten to know his son.
Again, the nature of such stories demands a gradual thaw, but goodness, we — and Cole — suffer a lot, along the way.
McLaughlin radiates petulance and stubborn insolence: a kid who’s just this side of lost forever. Yet we never hate him, because such mulish defiance is clearly just a façade; the boy’s expression is too frequently forlorn and miserable. Cole is smart enough to recognize many (all?) of his ill-advised decisions, but not quite strong enough to resist them.
The epiphany, when it comes — thanks to the strength of McLaughlin’s performance — is heartbreaking.
Self-preservation is completely alien to Smush, who isn’t smart enough to perceive the fragility of his existence. Jerome makes him obliviously cheerful and boastful, with delusional dreams of selling drugs only long enough to leave the gang life and invest in horse ranches out west. (We can but shake our heads.)
Cliff “Method Man” Smith has a crucial role as Leroy, a cop who grew up in the neighborhood, and acts as a benevolent link between The Man and the community. He recognizes the difference between Cole and Smush, and sympathizes with Harp and the others when soulless government officials and developers — white, of course — cast a greedy eye on the land occupied by the stables.
That’s one slice of real-world injustice in Staub and Walser’s script; another is the even more infuriating allegation made by city officials, who claim the horses are being mistreated, thereby prompting action by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. (Both events actually occurred.)
One nagging detail left out of this saga, however, is the means by which Harp and the others put food on the table, both for themselves and for their horses. (As horse folks know full well, equine care ain’t cheap.) There’s absolutely no indication of financial flow here; everybody seems to exist on air.
Again, as with the horse in Harp’s apartment, we gotta just roll with it.
Such details aside, few films so deftly blend a solid, relatable character drama with an equally effective indictment of repugnant social injustice. Add the fascinating revelation of the Fletcher Street Urban Riding Club (who knew?), and the result is a solid winner.
Staub’s future film career definitely bears watching.
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