The Peanut Butter Falcon

The Peanut Butter Falcon (2019), is a film that could have easily been written off as a moral tax write off for Hollywood stars Shia Lebouf and Dakota Johnson. That’s what the marketing would like you to believe. Every trailer and poster I’ve seen for this film has made a spectacle of the kindness behind the making of the film, rather than the film itself, which had me worried at first. But it’s pretty clear about ten minutes into the movie that there’s a genuine passion here not just for collaborating with your idols, but to tell a genuine and heartfelt story as well.

The basic premise of the film is that it’s a modern-day interpretation of “Huckleberry Finn,” in which Zak (played by Zack Gottsagen), a young man with Down syndrome, escapes an assisted living facility in order to learn how to wrestle from his idol, the Salt Water Redeck, a southern wrestler featured on VHS tapes he has watched religiously. Soon after escaping he meets up with Tyler (played by Shia LeBeouf,) a fisherman on the run from some local thugs. They then make their way down south to get to the wrestling school, all the while trying to escape the aforementioned thugs and a worker at the assisted living home (Dakota Johnson) desperately trying to get Zak home. It’s a pretty basic concept that has been done many times (and better, frankly) but what really shines in this interpretation is the chemistry between Zak and Tyler. 

Now, with a concept like this, it’s easy for a film to lean into audience sympathy to artificially inflate the quality. The marketing for this film led me to believe this was the case, and I was wary, however, both Zak and Tyler never cross into that territory, and instead give genuine performances that feel more like two long lost brothers bonding over some rafting and campfires than two misfits making the best out of a bad situation. Lebouf especially shines in this role, never really outright acknowledging Zak’s disability, which fortifies their relationship even further. This genuine connection, pitted against the beautifully captured southern marshlands, really solidifies the film as a “Huckleberry Finn” for the modern-day, while also giving the film a timeless feel.

That feeling, however, can not save all the film’s problems. The focus on this brotherhood makes for a great middle section, but the free-flowing nature of the film’s story works against it when these loose ends are unceremoniously tied in the last five minutes of the film, where the spinning plates the film has been fumbling with for the better part of 80 minutes all come crashing down. To call the ending a mess is an understatement, but it’s more akin to a glass cup knocked over by your cat than a tire fire. Yeah, there’s a mess to clean up, but you still love your cat, and that genuine love for your cat can convince you to forgive it as you sweep up the glass shards into a dust tray. The Peanut Butter Falcon is that cat, and I urge you go pet it while it’s still in theaters.