Good One hinges on a single unambiguous question, but writer/director India Donaldson’s debut is primarily about what’s unsaid—and, sometimes, about the pain, grief, and regret that’s articulated awkwardly, in bits and pieces, amidst everyday chitchat.
A contemplative indie about a hiking trip that’s marked by middle-age malaise, teen unease, and uncomfortable intergenerational dynamics, this Sundance Film Festival standout, in theaters, on Aug. 9, proves a quietly explosive tale of disconnection and betrayal, its placid exterior masking a wellspring of combustible tensions that are both impossible to ignore and difficult to resolve.
In a New York City brownstone, queer teenager Sam (Lily Collias) gets ready for a camping trip with her father Chris (James Le Gros), his struggling actor buddy Matt (Danny McCarthy), and Matt’s son Dylan (Julian Grady). Sam’s girlfriend Jessie (Sumaya Bouhbal) laughs at Sam’s preparations for this expedition but the girl—who’s on the cusp of leaving for college—appears mildly excited about it.
In brief snapshots of him packing and speaking to his wife, Chris comes across as a somewhat fussy and gung-ho hiker. When, while approaching Matt’s house, Chris asks Sam to sit in the backseat so Matt can ride shotgun, the annoyance on Sam’s face seems to speak to a bigger issue than just this minor incident. Yet a more pressing source of frustration, at least for Sam, is that Dylan won’t be joining them since he’s at odds with his dad over his recent split from Dylan’s mom.
Sam must agree to this now-unbalanced state of affairs, in which she’s the sole female and non-adult on the excursion. However, as with most of its concerns, Good One doesn’t call undue attention to this situation, nor does it have Sam remark upon it; rather, it’s just one of several factors providing the proceedings with its prickly, discomfiting energy.
The trio’s destination is a trail through the upstate woods. It’s not their first hike together, although that doesn’t mean it’s smooth sailing. At a diner, Matt argues outside on the phone with his ex about Dylan. At a subsequent pitstop at a gas station convenience store, Chris and Matt squabble about the non-nutritional junk that the latter wants to purchase, all as Sam is left to stand there enduring it—which earns her an understanding smile from the check-out girl.
Good One conveys details about its characters through the snippets of conversation that break up its otherwise nature-oriented soundscape of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and running water, as well as a score by Celia Hollander that marries acoustic guitar with rhythmic electronic tones that echo the characters’ patient forward progress.
Consigned (literally and figuratively) to the backseat, Sam remarks that maybe Matt would understand Dylan’s anger over the ongoing divorce if he tried to see things from the boy’s perspective. During this fragmentary chat, Chris opines that some marriages are easier than others, and it’s the first clue to the fact (revealed later) that Chris is remarried and a new father. Sam doesn’t comment on these circumstances during the entirety of the film, but the looks on her face when the topic arises suggest that it’s had a significant impact on her, particularly with regard to her relationship with her dad.
With a lyrical serenity that recalls the work of Kelly Reichardt, Good One eventually reaches the lush, tranquil woods. Once the crew sets up camp, they’re joined by three strangers who oddly opt to bed down right beside them. Over a game of cards, Chris and Matt reminisce about past hikes (including with Sam’s mom) as if they were speaking to themselves.
This would be weirder and more embarrassing if their guests weren’t equally bizarre; alone, they talk about dating witches and doing tarot card readings, and with Chris, Sam, and Matt, the best they can offer for conversation is one guy stating, “Walking’s cool. I love walking.” Donaldson’s script generates humor from cringe-y moments such as this, most of them having to do with Chris and Matt, whose bickering—about, say, Matt bringing a booze flask and forgetting his sleeping bag—is often laced with hostility (on the part of Chris) and resentment (from Matt).
“You guys are little monsters,” chuckles Sam as the grown men hungrily eat the Raman she’s prepared over a campfire, yet their shortcomings and unhappiness are hardly small. Matt isn’t shy about his sorrow over the termination of his marriage and frequently seems to be on the verge of tears, and his state of mind isn’t helped by Chris’ impatience and subtle, sharp digs. Sam, meanwhile, is less than thrilled to be stuck between these two and saddled with assuming a maternal-referee role, which only exacerbates the loneliness that manifests in her eyes whenever she briefly checks her phone messages from Jessie, whom she obviously misses.
It's not until two-thirds of the way through Good One, however, that things take a decidedly unpleasant turn via a casually delivered request. More than Chris and Matt’s passive-aggressive squabbling and laments over the past and future, this query shatters the group’s shaky stability and shines a spotlight on the ugliness underscoring the grown-ups’ midlife gripes. Despite the lack of fireworks, it creates a crisis that’s compounded by one individual’s subsequent refusal to acknowledge it—and, by doing so, to exhibit the loyalty that Sam expects, deserves, and needs.
The fallout from this episode is almost more agonizing than the episode itself, in large part because it reveals a selfishness on Chris and Matt’s part that’s directly related to their other problems. Donaldson neither lectures nor condemns; Le Gros and McCarthy’s protagonists are considered with an empathy that makes their pathetic deficiencies all the more glaring.
Still, the film’s allegiance is with Sam, and Collias brings her to life with marvelously unstudied expressiveness. Be it with a simple head nod, a silent glance, or a heavy sigh, the actress beautifully conveys the depth of thoughts and emotions swirling inside Sam’s head, both before and after things become permanently altered. Good One may be Collias’ first marquee outing (as it is for the writer/director), but it undoubtedly won’t be her last.
