Goods revolves around a single, straightforward question, but writer-director India Donaldson’s debut is mostly about the unspoken – and sometimes the pain, grief and regret that emerge fragmented and awkwardly amid everyday chatter.
A thoughtful indie about a trek marked by life’s pains, teenage malaise, and awkward generational dynamics, this Sundance Film Festival standout, in theaters August 9, is a quietly explosive story of separation and betrayal. Beneath its calm surface lies a well of explosive tension that’s impossible to ignore and hard to resolve.
In a New York brownstone, queer teenager Sam (Lily Collias) prepares for a camping trip with her father Chris (James Le Gros), his struggling actor friend Matt (Danny McCarthy), and Matt’s son Dylan (Julian Grady). Sam’s girlfriend Jessie (Sumaya Bouhbal) laughs at Sam’s preparations for the expedition, but the girl – who is about to go to college – seems reasonably enthusiastic about it.
In brief snapshots of him packing and talking to his wife, Chris comes across as a somewhat fussy and overconfident hiker. As Chris approaches Matt’s house and asks Sam to get in the back seat so Matt can ride, the anger on Sam’s face seems to indicate a bigger problem than just this minor incident. But an even more pressing source of frustration, at least for Sam, is that Dylan won’t be coming, as he’s at odds with his father over the recent separation from Dylan’s mother.
Sam has to come to terms with this now unbalanced state in which she is the only woman and non-adult on the trip. But as with most of his concerns, Goods does not draw undue attention to this situation, nor does Sam mention it; rather, it is just one of several factors that give the proceedings their prickly, unsettling energy.
The trio’s destination is a trail through the woods in the north of the state. It’s not their first hike together, but that doesn’t mean everything goes smoothly. At a diner, Matt is arguing with his ex on the phone about Dylan. At a subsequent stop at a gas station convenience store, Chris and Matt argue about the non-nutritious crap the latter wants to buy, while Sam just has to stand there and bear it – which earns her an understanding smile from the cashier.
Goods conveys details about its characters through snippets of conversation that break up the otherwise nature-focused soundscape of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and running water, and through a score by Celia Hollander that combines acoustic guitar with rhythmic electronic tones that reflect the characters’ patient progress.
Relegated to the back seat (literally and figuratively), Sam remarks that perhaps Matt would understand Dylan’s anger over the ongoing divorce if he tried to see things from the boy’s perspective. During this fragmentary conversation, Chris suggests that some marriages are easier than others, and this is the first reference to the fact (later revealed) that Chris is remarried and a new father. Sam doesn’t comment on these circumstances throughout the film, but the look on her face when the subject comes up suggests that it has had a significant impact on her, especially in regards to her relationship with her father.
With a lyrical serenity reminiscent of the work of Kelly Reichardt, Goods finally reaches the lush, quiet forest. As the group sets up camp, they are joined by three strangers who oddly decide to camp right next to them. Over a game of cards, Chris and Matt reminisce about past hikes (including with Sam’s mother) as if they were talking to themselves.
The whole thing would be even stranger and more awkward if their guests weren’t equally bizarre; alone they talk about dating witches and reading tarot cards, and with Chris, Sam and Matt the only thing they can think of to talk about is a guy who says, “Walking is cool. I love walking.” Donaldson’s script generates humor from awkward moments like this, most of which involve Chris and Matt, whose bickering – over Matt bringing a bottle of liquor and forgetting his sleeping bag, for example – is often laced with hostility (from Chris) and resentment (from Matt).
“You’re little monsters,” Sam laughs as the grown men hungrily eat the Raman she’s cooked over a campfire, but their inadequacies and unhappiness are anything but small. Matt doesn’t show his grief over the end of his marriage and often seems close to tears, and his mood isn’t helped by Chris’s impatience and subtle, sharp jabs. Sam, on the other hand, isn’t thrilled to be stuck between these two and burdened with the role of maternal referee, which only adds to the loneliness that shows in her eyes when she briefly checks her phone messages from Jessie, whom she obviously misses.
Only after two thirds of the way Goodsbut that a casually posed request takes a decidedly uncomfortable turn. More than Chris and Matt’s passive-aggressive bickering and lamentations about the past and future, this question shakes the group’s shaky stability and highlights the ugliness underlying adult midlife crises. Although there are no fireworks, it creates a crisis that is exacerbated by one individual’s subsequent refusal to acknowledge it – and thus show the loyalty that Sam expects, deserves, and needs.
The aftermath of this episode is almost more excruciating than the episode itself, especially because it reveals a selfishness on Chris and Matt’s part that is directly related to their other problems. Donaldson neither lectures nor condemns; the protagonists of Le Gros and McCarthy are viewed with an empathy that makes their pathetic shortcomings all the more obvious.
Still, the film’s loyalty lies with Sam, and Collias brings it to life with wonderfully natural expressiveness. Whether it’s a simple nod, a silent look, or a heavy sigh, the actress beautifully conveys the depth of the thoughts and feelings swirling around in Sam’s head, both before and after things change permanently. Goods “The 40 Years of Collias” is the first major appearance (as is the author and director), but it will undoubtedly not be her last.
