As someone who reviews films and is pretty obsessed with movies in general, I rarely go into a screening without an idea of what’s about to happen. Lately, I’ve become one of those “I don’t want to see the trailer” people, but even still, I usually have at least a decent understanding of what the film is about.
The Sweet East was the rare exception. I was not prepared for where this Odyssean satire of modern life was going to take its viewers.
All I knew going in was that a pair of rising stars — two of my personal favorite up-and-coming actors, Ayo Edebiri and Jacob Elordi — were involved in some capacity. I assumed it was a charming coming-of-age indie movie in the vein of Mid90s or The Kings of Summer. I wasn’t familiar with the director, had not seen a trailer, and had not read a review. I hadn’t even skimmed a Rotten Tomatoes blurb.
Less than 10 minutes into the proceedings, 2000s sketch-comedy oddball Andy Milonakis arrived on screen as a QAnon-esque madman attempting (and failing) to shoot up a bowling alley. I knew I was in for something far different, and far weirder, than what I originally expected.
Sean Price Williams — known mostly for his work as a cinematographer for indie filmmakers like the Safdie brothers and Alex Ross Perry — made sure to throw all of his thoughts on modern life into his directorial debut, possibly for fear of never getting another go at it. It makes for a tonally jumbled, truly bizarre and strangely compelling experience.
The Sweet East
Talia Ryder, magnificent in the 2020 teen abortion drama Never Rarely Sometimes Always, stars as Lillian, a listless high school senior on a class trip to Washington, D.C. During her trip, she’s separated from her classmates and embarks on a series of misadventures through modern America. It plays as a sort of post-ironic Forrest Gump — with simultaneously lower and more realistic stakes — as Lillian runs into white supremacists, religious cults and clueless film-business figures. Scenes hazily blend into one another. Instead of Gump’s appearances at the most important events of the 20th century, The Sweet East ambles its way through a Twitter-curated discourse checklist.
Through each of her episodic stops, Lillian absorbs bits and pieces of what the eccentric characters — played with a manic zest for the material by the likes of Edebiri, Elordi, Simon Rex, MCU newbie Rish Shah, Tony Award-winning playwright Jeremy O. Harris and Gibby Haynes of Butthole Surfers — have to say about life in America in the 2020s. The various nutcases feel, at times, like they are barely more than a cipher for screenwriter Nick Pinkerton’s thoughts, but when you gather together such a fun group of actors, that hardly matters.
A violently comedic, over-the-top clash between white supremacists and perplexed crew members on a film set is the “Am I on drugs?” tipping point — it feels like anything can happen from that point on.
Price Williams sends his Gen-Z Alice down a conspiracy-fueled rabbit hole, and the results are often baffling. But for a patient viewer, the payoff may be worth it.
