RESOLVING THE LEDGER
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See the full story · 3 sourcesIf writer-director Andrew Patterson’s new cult classic The Vast Of Night , a small self-financed sci-fi, confines the magic of a small-town Southern community using the language of first contact, his sophomore film— The Rivals Of Amziah King —unleashes it using every subgenre at Patterson’s disposal. The rollicking and wild potluck of influences and indulgences marches in and out of Patterson’s control, like the spell cast by the sorcerer’s apprentice. And like that spell, this is one that relies on music and charm to corral its chaos for as long as possible. True to its unwieldy title, The Rivals Of Amziah King doesn’t give a good goddamn about being anything aside from itself.
It’s two jam-packed hours with distinct divides demarcating the wry Coens-like comedy from the low-key modern Western thrills and the honey-sweet musical earnestness. When all this is combined, The Rivals Of Amziah King takes on the tenor of a backwater fantasia, one where the rumors and hearsay were all true, where the nostalgia was tangible and the lore as familiar as your neighbor’s family tree. It’s intentionally odd in ways both invigorating and infuriating; maybe the only thing unsurprising about the movie is that Matthew McConaughey agreed to star in it. His blend of Kentucky Fried woo-woo and slinky charisma match the tone beat for beat, even after the film stops its pickin’ and grinnin’ to settle into something a little more serious-minded.
McConaughey plays Amziah King, a local legend who attracts redneck rabble to him like nectar draws in the bees he keeps. He’s everyone’s scraggly hippie uncle, loved by church ladies, cops, and convicts alike. McConaughey’s in his dirtbag element, roguishness tarnished with time and waning under the demands of reality, better than he’s been in a long while.
The first half of Rivals , cast in a washed-out sepia, establishes the found-family familiarity of Amziah’s cohort—a winning array including Vast Of Night ‘s magnetic Jake Horowitz, a Boomhauer-like Scott Shepherd, and reliable character actors like Tony Revolori and Rob Morgan. They can break out into a bluegrass song at the picturesque drive-in diner, with a gravel lot and Dr. Pepper bubbling in the fountain, just as easily as they can screw something up with their tomfoolery and get someone sent to the hospital after a tragicomic honey extractor accident. It’s John Carney with a twang (or Logan Lucky with a lot more mandolins), immersing the audience not only in its frantic mix of tones, but its mix of traditional and contemporary folk. One thing stumbles into another, and two developments shock Amziah’s unflappable system: His one-time foster daughter Kateri (newcomer Angelina LookingGlass, steely and understated) rolls back into town, and his beehives get stolen.
What was once a slow, sauntering Okie musical about beekeeping and keeping it cool is then interrupted by scrappy heists and revenge plots, just like it had been earlier interrupted by smiley jam sessions and sharp comedy scenes (an elementary school bee infestation is a riot). It’s as jarring as a tipsy pickup ride down a bumpy dirt road, but the immediate destinations the film arrives at from moment to moment are almost all witty and original. Patterson’s dialogue rings true and lets the jokes roll easily off the tongue, and his filmmaking is clean enough that chase scenes flow like moonshine.
The only things that don’t really click are the songs. It’s not that the music is bad to listen to. It actually sounds great, with rich harmonies and sonic depth. But it’s also interminably sappy, everyone bearing smiles like being cajoled into an Avett Brothers cover is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to them. Paired with the frantic camera, rushing around until it lingers on sweaty close-ups, and the choppy editing, and there’s an insistent stylistic push for the audience to give into the same religious-like fervor as the characters in the film.
Patterson thrives with long, flowing tracking moves, watching people walk or rafts float down a river or trucks chase each other through sleepy main streets. He also shows care when blocking out his large ensemble cast or demystifying the process of honey production. His frames are controlled, composed, warmly lit and packed full. But when the music starts, or the narrative gets especially excited, The Rivals Of Amziah King jerks and spasms and freezes like a man writhing with the spirit in him. This disorienting choice works when it’s used to give the narrative the feeling of an old-timer recounting an anecdote, but when deployed during songs or during more routine chunks of storytelling, it takes on the jittery mania of someone high on their own supply (or at least someone’s supply). That Patterson’s spent six years on this passion project clues you in on where some of that comes from.
Yet, for all its overblown sincerity and definition-defying dedication to shifting gears every 20 or so minutes, The Rivals Of Amziah King also smothers the audience with the same affection it holds for itself. It’s far too much, a sopping ladle of stylistic gravy poured over three or four contrasting movies piled on the same plate, but it’s better to overindulge than go hungry. If the film gets dull, or so quirky you can’t stand it, just wait. The next unrestrained minute could trot out Cole Sprouse’s greasy information broker, working out of an off-brand Long John Silver’s, or Kurt Russell’s big-time ag biz operator. More likely, it’ll let LookingGlass develop her performance into a quietly impressive lead turn, the consistent force underneath the shaggy southern jawing. The Rivals Of Amziah King is a lovable scamp of a movie, a rascal always crossing the line from charmingly incorrigible to mawkishly ...
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