Frybread Face and Me Review: A Heartwarming Coming-of-Age Tale

Frybread Face and Me unfolds as a gentle coming-of-age story about a young boy named Benny who spends a transformative summer on his grandmother’s sheep ranch on the Navajo reservation. Though light on plot, director Billy Luther’s debut feature brims with heart and small yet resonant moments. Set in 1990, the film follows city kid Benny as he struggles to adjust to life with his traditional Navajo family, eventually bonding with his brash cousin Dawn (known as “Frybread Face”) over life’s simple joys and everyday rituals.

While this low-key indie touches on themes of cultural identity and family dysfunction, it’s ultimately a sweet ode to childhood connection and the power of memory. Luther, who is Navajo himself, crafts the film with clear affection for his characters and their world. Visually, we experience Benny’s gradual familiarity with the landscape around him, while gentle humor and eccentric relatives add bits of charming flavor.

The film’s loose narrative and nostalgic tone won’t appeal to all, but Frybread Face and Me gifts patient viewers a sensitive reflection on the power of place, tradition, and heritage in shaping one’s path to adulthood. Past and present gracefully intertwine to reveal how even uneventful summers can subtly alter the course of self-discovery.

A Quiet Bond Forged Over a Sleepy Summer

The plot of Frybread Face and Me is simple yet effective. In the summer of 1990, 12-year-old Benny Lovell is sent from his home in San Diego to spend a few months with his maternal Navajo grandmother who lives on the reservation in Arizona. An older Benny narrates sporadically, hinting that this summer will end up more momentous than it first appears.

At first, Benny bristles at losing his chance to attend a Fleetwood Mac concert and having to suddenly embrace Navajo traditions which feel foreign to him as a city kid. He arrives on the rez to find the landscape barren and his grandmother’s home rather plain. His Uncle Marvin gives him a hard time for not appearing traditionally masculine enough. Benny’s cousin Dawn, nicknamed “Frybread Face,” also teases him for his outsider status.

As the weeks pass, Benny settles into the rhythms of ranch life, helping his grandmother with chores and occasionally getting into minor mischief with Dawn. He befriends some colorful extended family members, goes to a rodeo, learns some Navajo from Grandmother, and absorbs details of the family’s sheep herding business. After an accident leaves Uncle Marvin laid up for a while, Benny steps up to help fix fences himself.

Through all this, Benny bonds with the initially dismissive Dawn over long days together. They have ups and downs, but a mutual understanding grows. The landscape that once felt so foreign to Benny takes on a new beauty as he adjusts to its cadences. Before long, it’s time for him to return to California. An older Benny looks back wistfully at this summer as a pivotal season, suggesting the trip impacted his sense of identity and belonging more profoundly than his young self realized at the time.

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Small Moments That Echo Larger Themes

Though fairly simple in terms of plot, Frybread Face and Me explores several poignant themes primarily through quiet, memorable scenes rather than overt drama. As suggested by sporadic narration from adult Benny, the main themes include coming of age, connecting with one’s cultural heritage, and overcoming family dysfunction.

The coming-of-age aspect is clearly conveyed through Benny’s journey from feeling out of place to finding affection for his Navajo roots. Key scenes capturing this include Benny arraying his treasured Fleetwood Mac dolls around Grandmother’s modest home, highlighting the divide between his interests and his new reality. A later scene where Benny dons one of Grandmother’s woven rugs on his shoulders, beaming with pride, marks a pivot toward embracing his Navajo identity.

The theme of cultural heritage shines through Benny’s evolving friendship with Dawn. As she teaches him words in Navajo and lets him participate in rituals like sheep herding, Benny gains insight into traditions his urban upbringing lacked. A poignant scene shows them riding silently in the back of Grandmother’s truck, peering out at the land’s rugged beauty as she heads to a shop to sell her handmade goods. This simply composed moment captures the connection with nature and heritage Benny is absorbing.

Family dysfunction lurks as a secondary theme. Benny alludes to problems back home and Dawn’s father is entirely absent. Much goes unexplained, keeping the focus on the kids’ perspective. But Uncle Marvin’s injuries provide texture, suggesting rodeos have taken a toll alongside his brusque attitude. A campfire scene finds him uncharacteristically opening up through Navajo songs, hinting at a longing within his gruff exterior.

Finally, a recurring visual motif of photographs lining Grandmother’s home underscores the power of memory. Past and present intermingle as Benny’s memories are shaped by this season. The nostalgic tone ties directly to the film’s bittersweet ending, when Dawn sits alone surrounded by family photos after Benny departs, invoking his lasting imprint on her path too.

Complex Characters Anchor This Coming-of-Age Tale

The core characters in Frybread Face and Me are thoughtfully constructed to drive this gentle coming-of-age story. Benny and his cousin Dawn especially avoid feeling one-dimensional as their dynamic personalities and family circumstances add poignancy.

Protagonist Benny breaks free of potential stereotypes as the “city kid” sent to get in touch with his roots over the summer. His love of rock music and action figures makes him initially bristle at ranch life, but Benny shows emotional depth. He stands up to bullying from Uncle Marvin and hurtful fights with Dawn, revealing a touching sensitivity amidst boyish grit. Actor Keir Tallman captures both Benny’s petulance and his burgeoning wisdom. By summer’s end, Benny has organically transformed from a fish-out-of-water to someone at home on the rez.

Benny’s cousin Dawn at first seems to represent a common “tough girl” archetype—bossing Benny around and pointing out his ignorance of Navajo ways. But as we learn Dawn’s father is incarcerated, her prickly exterior takes on new meaning. Actress Charley Hogan deftly depicts Dawn gradually letting her guard down with Benny while still projecting underlying hurt. She becomes Benny’s guide to the culture he lacked, generously sharing her own hard-won knowledge and traditions to shape his understanding of this side of his family.

Benny’s traditional grandmother, as portrayed by real-life Navajo weaver Sarah Natani, forms the steady moral center holding this makeshift family together. Though she only speaks Navajo, her wordless caretaking and spiritual rituals showcase the dignity and wisdom she embodies.

Finally, Uncle Marvin intrigues as a gruff bully who partly fits the “stoic cowboy” type but reveals hidden layers over time. His injuries make him more sympathetic, while a scene of him singing emotionally by the fire suggests stifled pain under his machismo. Actor Martin Sensmeier keeps Marvin unpredictable, showcasing flawed humanity.

Together, these principal characters steer a classic coming-of-age entry toward resonance, with echoing complexities illuminating the story’s central themes. Benny, Dawn, and the microcosm of family they inhabit over one sleepy New Mexico summer stick with the viewer thanks to their skillful portrayal.

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Evocative Images Echo a Protagonist’s Inner Journey

On a visual level, Frybread Face and Me takes a subtle yet impactful approach to underscoring its coming-of-age themes. Most noticeably, DP Noah Rosenthal’s thoughtful cinematography uses the land itself to echo protagonist Benny’s gradual sense of connection to his Navajo heritage.

When Benny first arrives at his grandmother’s home, the terrain looks barren and empty, filmed in flat wide shots reflecting the feeling of being an outsider. The trailer appears small and plain, contrasting Benny’s cluttered bedroom back in California that we glimpse briefly. Yet as Benny settles into ranch life, the land transforms along with him. We start to notice mystical rock formations on the hills, jagged plants and trees dotting the vistas, mesas rising sturdily in the distance. The same home looks cozier too, often filmed in warm magic hour light, with Benny contentedly positioned in foreground.

Beyond the use of landscape, period details add flavor, like glimpses of Benny’s posters and his Starman VHS tape—touchstones to 1990 kid culture. Costuming also marks Benny’s evolution, as he sports cowboy hats and eventually vibrant traditional garb, visually cementing his embrace of his Navajo identity.

Most interesting are surreal dream sequences depicting Navajo myths, amplifying the sense Benny is connecting with something larger than himself. These stylized scenes filled with symbols of animals and magic induce an oneiric atmosphere. Otherwise the film avoids showy camerawork, staying intimate and patiently observant, much like Benny’s watchful point of view as the summer unfolds around him.

The evocative cinematography roots this simple story of a boy’s coming of age in palpable sensations of place, culture, and self—visuals working hand-in-hand with the themes to drive things home. Subtle changes in Benny’s surroundings tell the story as much as dialogue or action.

A Slice-of-Life Story Fusing Influences

In terms of style and possible artistic influences, Frybread Face and Me fuses qualities of several genres while crafting something uniquely its own. With wistful narration and ‘90s period details driving the plot’s warm nostalgia, director Billy Luther’s indie drama most resembles a slice-of-life coming-of-age story. Low stakes and episodic chapters trace a children’s eye view of the world unfolding over one summer.

Yet the Native American backdrop adds specificity and cultural weight. Thoughtful inclusions like characters conversing in Navajo, traditional Indigenous music on the soundtrack, and distinct details of desert ranch life all ground the story in Luther’s own Diné heritage. The gentle pace and ironic humor also nods to Taika Waititi, the film’s famous executive producer. Waititi’s own semi-autobiographical films similarly extract deadpan comedy and hard-won wisdom out of everyday misadventures in rural communities.

Bits of magic realism in Frybread Face and Me’s fever-dream digressions also seem Waititian in flavor. But the film ultimately charts its own humble path. Minor family dysfunction tinges the action à la Little Miss Sunshine or The Kids Are Alright, but Luther’s debut eschews that indie dramedy subgenre’s tendency toward zany theatrics or uber-dysfunction taken to parody. The family here feels genuinely grounded and compassionately rendered.

While familiar coming-of-age tropes do glimmer through—a summer of builds character, quirky relatives offer life lessons, etc—the subtly profound treatment and stellar casting help sidestep cliché. What does feel highly original is simply seeing contemporary Indigenous family life portrayed with nuance and depth for young protagonists. The lack of hackneyed “noble savage” stereotypes makes Frybread feel fresh and engaging.

Balancing entertainment and resonance, Luther borrows from various traditions to stitch an affecting, specific story. The film blends just enough magic with the real, comedy with drama, familiarity with originality to craft a promising debut carrying on the tradition of character-driven festival hits about children forced to confront life’s less glittery truths when fate and family foibles intervene.

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Authenticity Anchors This Flawed But Promising Debut

In assessing Billy Luther’s directorial debut, what clearly soars is the film’s cultural authenticity and sincere performances. Luther infuses lived experience into Frybread’s community portrait and coming-of-age tale. The excellent casting delivers naturalism – from the young leads to Navajo elder Sarah Natani, ideally cast as Grandmother. A nostalgic atmosphere also rings touchingly true, as does the light hand with which difficult topics are broached. The film’s flaws stem less from major missteps than an occasional over-reliance on indie drama clichés.

The child performers deserve great credit for carrying this gentle film with their guileless charm – no small feat for non-professional actors Keir Tallman and Charley Hogan. They convince as outsider Benny and wounded tomboy Dawn, wearing their characters’ complex emotional states lightly. Relative newcomer Martin Sensmeier likewise brings stoic depth to Uncle Marvin’s volatility.

What resonates most is the film’s authentic glimpse into Indigenous family life in the US Southwest. Details from sheep herding to craftmaking practices to traditional songs performed around a desert campfire have an insider’s ring of truth. The casual bilingual dialogue between English and Navajo also feels organic rather than performative. Known artisan Sarah H. Natani movingly represents the quiet dignity and practical spirituality so key to this culture.

If the film stumbles a bit, it’s largely from overplaying a few standard coming-of-age story beats. Twinges of heavy sentimentality occasionally cheapen emotionally honest moments. The plot also leaves some weighty family issues opaque when a bit more background could have anchored the human drama even more impactfully.

But in capturing specific memories with endearing rapport between new friends and relatives of clashing temperaments, Luther ultimately checks more right boxes than not for an accessible debut. Flawed, yes, but heartfelt. His tale touches on universal rites of childhood with lyricism and respect for the culture it represents.

A Promising Debut Giving Voice to Seldom-Heard Stories

At just 82 minutes, Frybread Face and Me may unfold modestly, but its compassionate lens carries ripples of significance nonetheless. Director Billy Luther gifts audiences a rare glimpse into Indigenous family life, steering clear of reductive stereotypes about Native Americans while touching on universal coming-of-age themes sure to resonate across cultures.

This film matters simply because stories spotlighting Native American lead characters with thoughtful authenticity remain far too rare in mainstream entertainment and media. Beyond issues of fair cultural representation, we miss out on better understanding the full diversity of American life without voices like Luther’s. Even when his debut stumbles slightly into indie drama clichés, its balanced heart and insider perspective tell an impactful tale.

Appreciation will depend somewhat on taste. Mainstream viewers craving high-concept plots may lose patience with the film’s unrushed slice-of-life cadence and small emotional scale. But fans of character-driven festival hits are likely to be its core demographic. The movie speaks most profoundly to those interested in walks of life beyond their own — anyone seeking to understand how universal the quest for belonging remains across individuals from all backgrounds.

At its heart, this is a story about the quiet transformation possible when we open ourselves to unfamiliar people and places. When young Benny first disembarks from the bus onto the reservation’s arid soil, he closes himself off to growth out of homesickness. But with patient guidance from his grandmother and brash cousin Dawn, he gradually sheds limiting assumptions to blossom in unanticipated directions. Therein lies the gentle profundity Luther leaves us with — that sleepy summer interludes so often underestimated in youth can shape much more below their placid surfaces.

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