The first two days of the 2019 
Sundance Film Festival felt a lot 
like the first two days of college. 
I was alone in an intimidating, 
new environment, surrounded by 
people I didn’t know, struggling 
to acclimate to a tight routine and 
figure out how to get from place 
to place. As someone in their final 
semester, I found this change to be 
especially jarring. But as the days 
went by, the Sundance experience 
slowly became less about trying to 
fit in with the festival’s esteemed 
guests and more about what the 
festival was really focused on: a 
celebration of independent cinema.
Sundance kicked off its first 
string of premieres on Thursday 
evening. 
That 
first 
night, 
I 
embarked to the press screening 
for “Native Son,” and though the 
film itself wasn’t the best way to 
start the festival — as you’ll read 
about in my review below — the 
palpable air of excitement from 
fellow cinephiles and critics was 
exhilarating. Making conversation 
is the first big step in ingratiating 
yourself into the Sundance culture, 
a challenge I pushed myself to 
prevail against by chatting with the 
woman in front of me in the line for 
“Native Son,” who just so happened 
to be a Michigan alumna. Amazing 
how a festival as big as this can still 
feel like a small world. 
The 
following 
morning, 
I 
ventured to two equally captivating 
panels, the first being an interview 
moderated by the Jewish Film 
Institute with filmmaker Matt 
Tyraneur, 
who 
discussed 
in 
comprehensive detail his riveting 
documentary 
“Where’s 
My 
Roy Cohn?,” and the second a 
wonderful, important conversation 
on advancing inclusion in the film 
industry, conducted by The Black 
List creator Franklin Leonard. 
With hours to kill before my second 
and third screenings of the festival 
— “Share” and “Give Me Liberty” 
— I explored the downtown area of 
Park City, where crowds of people 

bundled in expensive jackets, boots, 
scarves and beanies shuffled about.
Over the course of these busy 
24 hours, I learned very quickly 
that Sundance isn’t as scary as I 
thought it would be. Sure, there 
were plenty of folks who looked 
like they could destroy me if I met 
their eyeline, knowing immediately 
that I was a novice. But I had to 
remember that everyone is here for 
the same reason, that learning the 
tricks of the trade is second-hand 
to the jittery anticipation of seeing 
a movie for the first time.

‘Native Son’:

With the recent critical and 
commercial successes of “Get Out,” 
“BlacKkKlansman” and “Sorry to 
Bother You,” social allegory cinema 
is in high demand. Young audiences 
are craving stories that can unspool 
the intricate web of social conflicts 
plaguing our society, with the 
hopes that current issues like 
race relations, gentrification and 
microaggressions can make us 
think deeper and give us some 
sense of clarity about how to 
combat the systemic nature of such 
problems.
“Native Son,” first-time director 
Rashid Johnson’s daring, disjointed 
adaptation of Richard Wright’s 
1940 novel, is one such story 
that tries so desperately to say 
something, anything, important 
about modern-day racism and class 
divides. And while the film has all 
the right pieces — timely themes, 
gorgeous visuals, an A24 stamp and 
a refreshingly diverse young cast — 
none of these elements coalesce 
into a tale that you can sink your 
teeth into. Even the modernized 
update of Wright’s book, while 
certainly ambitious, fails to wring 
out any new insight from its source 
material.
Segmented into three chapters 
— “Fate, “Fear” and “Flight” — 
“Native Son” revolves around 
Bigger Thomas (Ashton Sanders, 
“The Equalizer 2”), a green-haired, 
black-nailed loner who receives 
a lifetime opportunity working 

as a chauffeur and caretaker for 
an affluent white family in the 
suburbs of Chicago. The light-
hearted first act, “Fate,” presents 
a promising start, immersing us in 
Bigger’s fragmented world through 
his love of punk rock, his strained 
relationship with his mother Trudy 
(Sanaa Lathan, “Nappily Ever 
After”), his rowdy friends and his 
high-maintenance girlfriend Bessie 
(Kiki Layne, “If Beale Street Could 
Talk”).
All that dramatic momentum, 
however, loses steam when the 
second act, “Fear,” kicks in. The 
coming-of-age undertones slowly 
evaporate into a dread-induced 
thriller when Bigger begins to 
service the Daltons, a family whose 
socioeconomic bubble and all-
too-harmless demeanor bring to 
mind the creepy antagonists from 
“Get Out.” Even more disturbing 
is Bigger’s connection with his 
employer’s 
rebellious 
teenage 
daughter Mary (Margaret Qualley, 
“The Leftovers”), a social justice 
warrior 
with 
good 
intentions 
but prone to making problematic 
assumptions 
about 
Bigger’s 
attitudes and interests.
Discomfort is to be expected 
when narrative and all-too-relevant 
subject matter collide, though 
in the case of “Native Son,” the 
discomfort is rooted in the jarring 
tonal shifts, plodding pacing and 
surface-level 
characterizations. 
These issues are no more realized 
than during a late second act twist 
so horrific and viscerally alarming, 
it elicited a bevy of anxious groans 
from the audience at my screening.
Though “Native Son” remains 
a distinct entry in the social 
allegory 
canon, 
the 
parallels 
with the aforementioned films 
are undeniable. It evokes the 
white-liberal guilt of “Get Out,” 
the 
provocative 
undercurrents 
of “BlacKkKlansman” and the 
surreal satire of “Sorry to Bother 
You.” But compared to those 
far more superior takes on the 
complex interplay between race, 
class and power, “Native Son” 
remains muddled and unfocused 

in its messaging. Through a series 
of poetic narrations by Bigger and 
some vague symbolism, the film 
suggests that blindness toward 
our own actions creates dire 
consequences for ourselves and for 
others, an idea that could have been 
intriguing had it not been for its 
flimsy execution.
There are, of course, a few 
instances in “Native Son” that 
save it from falling completely flat 
on its face. The fleeting moments 
of levity peppered throughout 
the film soften the ebb and flow 
of tension, especially during one 
early comical scene involving a rat 
that interrupts a family breakfast. 
Matthew 
Libatique’s 
reliable 
cinematography is as sharp as ever, 
amplifying the soft blues of Bigger’s 
bedroom walls and the orange tints 
of a house party.
Sanders is also a marvel to 
watch. Fresh from his breakout 
role in 2016’s “Moonlight,” he 
moves through each sequence 
with a swaggering gait, making 
the most of the film’s uninspired 
dialogue with an unprecedented 
balance of gravitas and charm. 
What’s frustrating, however, is the 
weak script, penned by Suzan Lori-
Parks (“Their Eyes Were Watching 
God”), inhibits Sanders from giving 
a fully nuanced 
performance, 
ultimately 
undermining 
his 
character’s 
motivations 
and 
masking his emotional interiority. 
The same goes for Layne, who 
delivers a striking performance 

despite her character having very 
little substance and arguably not 
enough screen time.
Much like Bigger’s aimlessness, 
“Native Son” meanders in its 
storytelling, setting up a potentially 
thrilling story only to disappoint. In 
the melodramatic final act, “Flight,” 
Bigger muses via voiceover: “The 
only thing worse than being blind 
is seeing but having no vision.” 
Ironically, “Native Son” seems 
to have a vision, one that’s both 
specific and fitting to the current 
socio-political landscape, but can’t 
see its own faultiness. 

‘Share’:

In the wake of the #TimesUp 
and #MeToo era, victims of sexual 
assault and harassment are finally 
getting the justice they deserve. 
Yet they are frequently left out of 
the conversation, with the media 
spotlighting its attention more 
on the perpetrator of the crime. 
When those affected are given 
the time to speak out, they have 
the unfortunate duty of reliving 
their trauma over and over and 
over again, as evidenced by Dr. 
Christine 
Blasey 
Ford’s 
long, 
comprehensive testimony during 
Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court 
Justice hearing.
No matter how hard we try to 
bury it, trauma is truly inescapable, 
a constant reminder of our inability 
to control the terrible, inexplicable 
things that happen to us. In the Age 

of Internet, it’s even more amplified 
and publicized than before, a 
trend that “Share,” a sensitive, 
haunting, feature-length follow-up 
to writer-director Pippa Bianco’s 
2015 short film of the same name, 
tackles with a humanistic deftness. 
In 87 lean, economical minutes, 
“Share” follows 16-year-old Mandy 
(newcomer 
Rhianne 
Barretto) 
in her quest to fill in the gaps of a 
humiliating experience captured 
on video that surfaced online. The 
experience in question remains 
ambiguous for both Mandy and 
the audience. It’s unclear whether 
an actual assault took place or not, 
but with the sparse details we’re 
given — a bruise on Mandy’s back 
and upper arm, a group of boys 
laughing at her unconscious body 
in the video — we get the sense 
that something nefarious definitely 
occurred. 
Rather than exploit Mandy’s 
assault like Netflix’s “13 Reasons 
Why” did with its protagonist 
through 
pulpy, 
high-school 
melodrama, 
“Share” 
does 
something different. It concentrates 
less on the people surrounding 
Mandy 
— 
her 
basketball 
teammates, her parents, the alleged 
perpetrator of her assault, the 
investigators looking into the crime 
— and more on Mandy’s reaction to 
her circumstances.

SAM ROSENBERG
Daily Arts Writer

From the Sundance Film Festival: Days one and two

A heavy, jam-packed third day 
here at Sundance. I (almost) got the 
bus system down, met some more 
cinephiles and Michigan alums and 
learned how to structure my eating 
schedule: Find the cheapest places 
possible (coffee shops, Subway, Five 
Guys) and chomp on the go.
From Sunday afternoon to night, 
I watched three queer-themed 
films: two coming-of-age stories — 
the enjoyable but inessential “Adam” 
and the dull “To the Stars” — and 
a documentary, “Where’s My Roy 
Cohn?” Though the documentary 
was the best of the trio, “Adam” 
had the most engaged, enthusiastic 
audience. After the credits rolled, 
the crowd was treated to a quick 
Q&A session with the director and 
some of the cast from “Adam.”
(A quick note on walkouts before 
we get to the films: People ideally 
go to Sundance to support the 
artists and their work. But when 
someone walks out of the theater — 
sometimes at the beginning of the 
film, most times in the middle and 
confusingly right before the very 
end — it’s disheartening, entitled 
and antithetical to the spirit of the 
festival. The only valid exception for 
a walkout, in any given situation, is 
if a film is too graphic or triggering. 
But the walkouts I’ve observed so 
far, mostly in the press screenings, 

seem to be based more on the film’s 
quality and pacing than its content. 
Witnessing 
multiple 
walkouts 
during “Give Me Liberty,” “Where’s 
My Roy Cohn?” and “To the Stars” 
was distracting and aggravating, to 
say the least.)

‘Adam’:

“Adam,” the directorial debut 
of “Transparent” producer Rhys 
Ernst, is the kind of movie that 
will polarize audiences before it 
even comes out in theaters. Its 
risqué premise involves the titular 
character 
(Nicholas 
Alexander, 
“Good Girls”), a cisgender straight 
male, posing as a trans man in order 
to attract an older queer woman.
The 
controversy 
behind 
performing a marginalized identity 
is a well-known hot-button topic 
in Hollywood, with the intense 
backlash against Jared Leto and 
Scarlett Johansson’s attempts at 
playing trans characters being 
a pretty clear indicator that the 
LGBTQ+ community is adamant 
about proper representation in film. 
But even with its provocative plot, 
“Adam” doesn’t let its protagonist 
get away that easy, often forcing 
him to reconcile the inherently 
problematic nature of lying about 
his gender identity.
Additionally, the film, adapted by 
Ariel Schrag from her 2014 novel, 
makes plenty of room for actual 

queer and trans actors to play three-
dimensional 
characters 
whose 
gender and sexual orientations 
aren’t the only things that define 
them. Funny and even touching in 
parts, “Adam” flips the coming-out 
narrative on its head, playing with 
our preconceived notions about 
gender and sexuality through the 
lens of a naive teenager. It may not 
be the most groundbreaking nor 
inspired queer film, but it’s a start.
The film opens on a house party 
during the weirdly nostalgic year 
of 2006, where Adam, a bumbling, 
gangly high schooler, hesitates to 
make a move on a girl. Frustrated 
with his inability to get out of his 
comfort zone and the confines of 
suburban life, Adam decides to 
spend the summer with his gung-
ho older sister Casey (Margaret 
Qualley, in her second film at 
Sundance following “Native Son”), 
who has thrust herself in the New 
York City lesbian and trans scene. 
It’s at the Manhattan Pride Parade 
that Adam sees the free-spirited 
Gillian (India Menuez, “Nocturnal 
Animals”) and later meets at a post-
Pride function, only to lie to her 
about his age and his gender in order 
to impress her.
Once 
the 
initial 
discomfort 
of Adam pretending to be trans 
subsides, “Adam” unveils itself to 
be a fun albeit slight cringe comedy 
with hints of social commentary 
regarding the obliviousness of the 

straight world interacting with 
the queer world. In order to fit the 
part of a trans person and maintain 
Gillian’s attraction, Adam studies 
and memorizes every possible 
facet of the trans experience, from 
watching hormone tutorial videos 
to lying about which doctor did his 
top surgery.
Seeing Adam struggle to adjust 
to this charade is both the film’s 
greatest and weakest asset. It propels 
the action forward, but it’s only a 
matter of time before he’s found 
out. During one squirm-inducing 
sequence, for example, Adam finds 
himself at a women-only BDSM 
party with Gillian and hides his 
face with a leather fetish hood when 
he spots Casey at the venue. It’s a 
silly, delightfully absurd moment, 
but also representative of the film’s 
message. Through his exposure to 
a marginalized community, Adam 
begins to understand what’s it like to 
wear a mask, to hide parts of himself 
in order to conform with the rest of 
society.
Again, the concept of educating 
a straight cis male about what it’s 
like to be trans may not resonate 
so strongly with those who feel 
that actual queer people should be 
relegated to the center of the story as 
opposed to the background. There 
are certain moments in the first 
act that will definitely test people’s 
tolerance of the subject matter, such 
as when Adam makes out with an 
intoxicated 30-year-old woman in 
the bathroom of a gay nightclub and, 
mistaking Adam for a trans man, she 
fetishizes him, saying that she loves 
“tr*nny cock.” 
Notwithstanding these cringe-
worthy scenes, Ernst, a trans 
filmmaker himself, does a solid job of 
crafting queer and trans characters 
who exist beyond Adam’s world. 
Qualley, a master Movie Crier, 
delivers a searing performance 
as Adam’s sister, oscillating from 
supportive to combative with near 
seamless grace. In his acting debut, 
University alum Leo Sheng ‘17 
shines as Casey’s roommate Ethan, 
who embraces Adam as an unlikely 
friend and holds him accountable 
when he’s in the wrong. “Pose”’s 
breakout star MJ Rodriguez makes 
the most out of her all-too-brief 
cameo during the film’s climax.

If anything, the major flaws 
of “Adam” lie more within its 
mediocre script. While there are 
some genuinely clever quips and 
meaningful 
lines 
of 
dialogue, 
Schrag’s screenplay struggles to 
stir up enough compelling insight 
into Adam’s journey from clueless 
to conscientious ally. The constant 
references to 2006 pop culture 
— flip phones, popped collars, M. 
Night Shyamalan’s “Lady in the 
Water” — somehow feel more 
fleshed out than the main storyline, 
which seems to favor awkward 
humor and misunderstanding over a 
well-developed dissection of Adam’s 
incompetence.
Even with these faults, “Adam” 
compensates 
for 
its 
perfectly 
adequate 
execution 
with 
a 
consistent 
amount 
of 
charm. 
If viewers are willing to accept 
its 
controversial 
plot 
without 
dismissing it at face value, it might 
further the conversation on what 
LGBTQ+ inclusion could look like in 
the film industry. Just don’t go into it 
expecting to be the most exceptional 
queer film of the year. Instead, 
take it for what it is: an enjoyable, 
competent 
and 
entertaining 
coming-of-age story.

‘Where’s 
My 
Roy 
Cohn?’:

In Tony Kushner’s acclaimed 
play “Angels in America,” Roy Cohn 
is portrayed as a cruel and closeted 
lawyer dying of AIDS, haunted by 
the ghost of Ethel Rosenberg. While 
his role is technically fictionalized, 
it’s not too far off from the actual 
Cohn, who, according to Mark 
Tyrnauer 
(“Studio 
54”)’s 
new 
documentary “Where’s My Roy 
Cohn?,” spent the majority of his 
lengthy career lying not only to the 
public, but to himself.
A revealing, fascinating portrait 
of one of America’s most notorious 
political fixers, “Where’s My Roy 
Cohn?” highlights the trajectory of 
Cohn’s rise and eventual fall from 
fame, starting with his crucial 
role in the trial of Julius and 
Ethel Rosenberg in the 1950s and 
ending with his HIV diagnosis in 
the late 1980s. Through striking 
archival 
footage 
and 
in-depth 
interviews with Cohn’s closest 

associates (including one with 
the 
recently 
indicted 
Roger 
Stone), the documentary pulls no 
punches in critiquing Cohn for his 
ruthlessness, corruption, hypocrisy 
and manipulative influence over 
the political landscape during the 
second half of the 20th century.
Those 
unfamiliar 
with 
Cohn’s story will appreciate the 
comprehensive social and historical 
background used to contextualize 
his ascent to power. Those familiar 
with his story might dismiss it as 
just a visual extraction of Cohn’s 
Wikipedia 
page. 
Either 
way, 
“Where’s My Roy Cohn?” holds 
its 
titular 
subject 
accountable 
for his immoral crimes against 
American law, as well as for enabling 
controversial figures — specifically 
Joseph McCarthy, Ronald Reagan 
and Donald Trump — to assume 
leadership in the United States.
Like the best kinds of villains, 
Cohn’s upbringing was integral to 
his cynical attitude and abrasive 
personality. Cohn’s mother Dora 
treated him like a prince, which 
one of the interviewees of the 
documentary believed to be how 
he inherited a lack of ethics. The 
financial failure of his uncle Bernie 
Marcus’s bank during the Great 
Depression also motivated Cohn 
to succeed in order to rectify the 
shame his uncle brought onto their 
family.
After establishing himself as a 
hotshot lawyer in the early ’50s with 
the execution of the Rosenbergs, 
Cohn received the respect of 
Joseph McCarthy, later becoming 
his 
second-hand 
man 
during 
the 
infamous 
Army-McCarthy 
hearings. A thread the documentary 
weaves into this part of Cohn’s life 
— and later on after the downfall 
of McCarthyism — is the irony 
of his words juxtaposed against 
his actions. Whenever someone 
asked an implicit question about 
his closeted gayness during the 
Lavender Scare, for example, Cohn 
would consistently deflect, spinning 
the question back onto whoever 
was confronting him with vicious 
eloquence.

Sundance Film Fest: Day 3

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SAM ROSENBERG
Daily Arts Writer

5 — Friday, February 1, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

