THE STORY – Lance, Clay, and Darby have spent their childhoods drinking, wreaking havoc, and filming crude stunts in their small town. Everyone hates them. Wanting to finally prove their lives have meaning, the boys set out to make a “real movie” and, in the process, are forced to confront emotions and experiences they’ve never considered: love, loss, and ultimately, what it means to grow up.
THE CAST – Gabriel LaBelle, Finn Wolfhard, Billy Bryk, Noah Parker, & Abby Quinn
THE TEAM – Dempsey Bryk (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 90 Minutes
All movies need a great hook. Whether it’s a unique premise or stylistic flourish or an attention-grabbing opening sequence, the necessity of getting your audience invested from the jump cannot be underestimated. Dempsey Bryk’s debut feature, “Crash Land,” opens with a fantastic montage that accomplishes this goal with flair. In a series of home videos, we watch young wannabe stuntmen Darby (Billy Bryk), Clay (Noah Parker), Lance (Gabriel LaBelle), and Sander (Finn Wolfhard) attempt a series of wild stunts – jumping a bike through a flaming tire swing, getting hit with heavy objects, doing backflips, and, of course, getting punched in the nuts. The boys’ reckless, youthful energy and the film’s punk energy are instantly engaging and endearing, capturing the bonds that tie best friends together for life.
Unfortunately, after a stunt attempt, Darby passes out and doesn’t come back to life. In mourning and longing for something to give them purpose, Clay and Lance decide to make a real movie in Darby’s honor, building a narrative around the footage they already have of him and shooting Clay in Darby’s jumpsuit for the rest of the scenes. They tap Sander to direct, and ask Jemma (Abby Quinn), the only girl in town who doesn’t hate them, to be their lead actress. The only problem is that Lance has very specific ideas about what belongs in their movie, and emotion isn’t one of them. Will the process of making their movie actually help them process their emotions and mature, or will it shield them from even acknowledging their pain?
More than anything, “Crash Land” feels authentic. Bryk’s screenplay captures the teasing and even straight-up meanness that define young male friendships while also clearly showing the love these boys have for one another. Their friend group keeps them going while living in a dead-end rural town with seemingly no one else who’s younger than 40. The setting and characters feel like a direct response to the recent handwringing over the state of young men in America today. All the boys have broken families; the orphaned Sander lives in a trailer alone in the middle of a field, Lance’s mother is dead, and Clay’s mother lives on disability and welfare payments. They have no real prospects in town, but also no real way out. Making this movie now and practicing stunts while Darby was still living have been the only things keeping their hope for a better tomorrow alive, but the deeper into filming they get, the more the real world keeps rearing its ugly head in the form of injuries and people who expect them to act more like adults.
The coming-of-age aspects of the story, largely backgrounded for the film’s first half, add emotional depth to its second half. This shift from a tribute to independent filmmaking to a story about boys becoming young men plays out seamlessly, even though the tone becomes less comedic. The conflicts that arise between the boys are mostly rooted in their grief over Darby’s death and their differing ways of dealing with it, an emotional throughline informing every action the boys make. The whole film feels personal, but the emotion that builds up in the last act takes it to a deeper level while the boys reckon with the choices they’ve made and reassess their dreams. Bryk’s screenplay is pragmatic but hopeful, allowing the boys to grow up without abandoning their core values. The lessons they learn are important but not harsh, and the characters’ growth feels hard-won. The film essentially matures alongside them, slowly shedding its punk energy for something (slightly) more restrained.
Bryk’s instincts as a director are surprisingly sharp for one so young. Some of that likely comes from his choice of collaborators, but the film feels focused and unified in a way that speaks to a strong directorial hand. The authenticity in every aspect of production is a boon; the film feels lived-in and raw, heightening our connection to the characters. The endearingly boyish sense of humor captures young, straight male friendships in a way that’s instantly recognizable, right down to every last loving nut tap. Love this strong between young straight men has rarely been portrayed onscreen with this much actual love. That love – for stunts, for filmmaking, for lifelong friends – is the secret ingredient that lifts “Crash Land” above other youthful comedies.
