Honey Boy: A Bold & Therapeutic Experimentation
Written by actor Shia LeBeouf (who also plays his own father) and filtered through director Alma Har’el’s poetic and dream-like direction, Honey Boy is the mostly autobiographical telling of LeBeouf’s relationship with his overbearing and deeply flawed father. Initially designed as a form of therapy, this devastating gem is easily one of the most fascinating experimentations to grace screens this year, and it’s proof that someone can work out their past and exorcise their personal demons through the creative process (and in this case, the industry) and come out with a pretty darn good piece of art that resonates with audiences of all walks of life.
A young actor's stormy childhood and early adult years as he struggles to reconcile with his father and deal with his mental health.
Bouncing between two eras (1995 and 2005), which are told using two different actors (Noah Jupe and Lucas Hedges), Honey Boy serves as a complicated and unflinchingly honest portrait of a father who wasn’t really a father, as well as an exploration of the psychic distress a parent can inflict on their young child. While it’s prone to the occasional meander and somewhat flounders to its softly resonant close, the film is highly effective in both regards. The jumping backward and forward in time brings a lot of nice contrast to the surface — not just between the two eras in the protagonists’ life but between father and son as well — which would not be as apparent or effective in a linear format.
The narrative takes place in 2005, but it’s more firmly rooted in 1995, as it continually looks to the past to determine (and then examine) the source of its protagonist’s — Otis’ — post-traumatic stress disorder and how it may be playing a part in his own substance abuse and anger issues. What older Otis finds is obvious and abundantly evident: his dad wasn’t a good guy whose domineering attitude (including physical and verbal abuse), along with the hereditary problems he gifted Otis, really messed him up. James Lort, Otis’ father, is more of fair-weather friend than a father, and his past is smeared with a number of mistakes and glaring red flags. He’s an alcoholic (with splotchy reform), a registered sex offender (with a continually wandering eye), and he’s a former rodeo clown embittered that his son made it big instead of him. And for all his overwhelming negatives, and despite that the film is rooted in pain, it’s very clear that LaBeouf still has a lot of admiration and affection for his father.
Every single performance is fantastic and rings with an authenticity, but it’s LaBeouf who shines the brightest. Not only does he take a huge risk in baring his soul and sharing his family’s troubled past, but he also totally transforms and disappears into the role of his father — which is one of the best and most bizarre casting decisions of the year (and possibly of all-time). LaBeouf’s portrayal is fierce, funny, complex, sincere, and zany in the best possible way, and it makes for one of the year’s most powerful performances. Noah Jupe, Otis’ younger counterpart, is astounding, and he serves as the emotional heart of the movie. Lucas Hedges, Otis’ older counterpart, dials in the solid performance you’d expect, but it took a bit of time before we could buy into him as a legitimate counterpart to Jupe (or LeBeouf). FKA Twigs (in her feature debut) does a lot to radiate a presence (and does so mostly without the aid of dialogue), but her character fell more on the problematic end for us.
The story is pretty straightforward, but (as we mentioned above) the editing really helps to enhance the narrative at every turn, turning it into a roiling jumble of emotion and memory. The main focus is on the father and son dynamic, but it veers into a relatively unnecessary sub-plot between a young prostitute (FKA Twigs), who lives in Otis’ motel. Although it provides a gentle reprieve from the harrowing and rocky father/son relationship, lending itself to a few sweetly tender moments, it detracted a bit from the story at large, and kind of came across like filler to pad the film out to 90 minutes. Some of the specifics of James’ character (like his rodeo clown past and relationship with a chicken) aren’t fully developed or apparent, so when certain things are introduced or discussed, it can be a bit confusing — albeit easy to glean in context. Har’el’s direction gives the film a dreamy atmosphere and a sense of cohesion. Though she leans into the handheld-documentary style a bit too heavily at times, she finds solid footing within the poetic and concludes the journey with a soft symbolism that resonates with a punch.
Constructed in a haze of memory, Honey Boy solidifies LaBeouf as an integral figure in American cinema; someone who’s not afraid to take bold (and sometimes weird) risk. His courage and confessional approach are very much appreciated, and his story should connect with audiences from all backgrounds. LaBeouf has surrounded himself with a lot of incredible talent to turn Honey Boy into fruition, and while he’s the source of a lot of media attention, everyone involved deserves a hat’s-off round of applause.
Recommendation: If you’re not already on the Shia LaBeouf wagon, Honey Boy will turn you into a STAN. Though it’s a rough watch due to its subject matter, there’s therapeutic value to it (for the audience, as well as creator). Seek it out.
Rating: 4 pies in the face outta 5.
What do you think? We want to know. Share your thoughts and feelings in the comments section below, and as always, remember to viddy well!