Mark Reviews Movies: HONEY BOY

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Review by Mark Dujsik | November 21, 2019

One always must be wary in asserting the autobiographical nature of a writer's fictional story. Take Honey Boy, for instance, which was written by Shia LaBeouf, an actor who, in recent years, has become more noteworthy for his off-set behavior than for his on-screen performances. That's unfair, obviously, because LaBeouf is a legitimate talent and, despite some unfortunate choices in material (which is to be expected for any upcoming actor), has been for almost two decades.

The only reason even to hint at LaBeouf's troubled personal life is because of his first feature screenplay. It's entirely about an actor who started as a child and who, as an adult, lives a troubled life.

Even though the basics seem true to life, caution is still vital in stating outright that this is entirely autobiographical. The details, though, still seem accurate. The opening shot of director Alma Har'el's debut narrative feature does, after all, see Otis (Lucas Hedges), a 20-something actor, being flung backwards on a wire, while science-fiction sounds and explosions burst out around him.

LaBeouf, of course, is no stranger to such movies, having starred in a trio of awful action movies about transforming robots from a distant planet. If we are to take this film as at least semi-autobiographical, there's a rather pointed commentary about his feelings toward those movies and his own work in them, when Otis, looking quite bored and undignified, is pulled back on the wire as the shot is re-set to go again. We don't see the next take being shot, and a third one might have been a bit too on-the-nose.

There are two major reasons to be careful before declaring this film a work of autobiography. The first, of course, is the chance of being wrong. The second is that to do so might be unfair to LaBeouf (not to mention the other people who might be fictionalized here), because that suggests everything that happens in the film actually did happen the way that it happens here. To sum up a person's life in such a way is reductive to that person's experience. Even if everything that happens here did happen in real life in the exact same way, there's clearly much more to the actor than a difficult childhood—which, along with the relationship between the child actor and his father, becomes the crux of the film's narrative—and those more contemporary troubles.

The existence of this film, especially its screenplay, proves that. This is a raw work, balancing along some difficult lines—between excuse-making and confession, between self-pity and actual self-exploration, between blame and simple explanation. If this film is autobiographical in any way—and it's almost a given that it is, given the evidence within it, particularly actual photographs of a young LaBeouf and his father during the closing credits—the accomplishment is even more impressive.

The older Otis' problems, which mainly involve drinking and anger, send him to court-ordered rehabilitation (Har'el incorporates a fascinating juxtaposition to these introductory scenes, intercutting between Otis' real life and his work on movie sets—highlighting the film's own relationship between reality and fiction). There, a professional diagnoses the young man with post-traumatic stress disorder and tries to help him control his emotions. Otis is resistant to the idea, not only because of his anger, but also because he believes that his pain holds the key to his acting abilities.

This section of the story, which appears every so often as a narrative of the young actor's past unfolds, is far less detailed and explored than the other. In that one, we follow a 12-year-old Otis (Noah Jupe), who also first appears being pulled by a wire on a movie set—but after being hit in the face with a pie. After completing a day of shooting, Otis lives with his father at a nearby motel, which is mostly a haven for sex work. The father, a former rodeo clown, makes sure that his son is prepared for the next day's scenes, but he's also filled with jealousy about Otis' success and resents that the only good work he can still get is from having his son be his boss.

In a pretty vital detail, the father, named James, is played by LaBeouf himself, in a deeply sad performance of an increasingly disconcerting character. The story's main character may be Otis, in seeing how his childhood has come to define his young adulthood, but in a notable act of generosity, especially if we transfer the film's other evidence of being autobiographical to this character, James becomes the film's most complex, most troubled, and most troubling figure.

He's a recovering alcoholic, sober for four years with the aid of support groups, although the apparent elimination of the substance fueling his addiction hasn't improved his behavior or personality. James is angry and bitter—and both in petty ways. There was a time he believed he could have been a success, but now, James just sits by and watches as his son surpasses even his own dreams of making it. Meanwhile, the boy, who holds out hope that there's a loving father beneath all of that rage and jealousy (which does turn violent at times), just wants his dad to hold his hand, to listen to him, to support him without pressure or envy, and just to be a good, decent father.

In the end, only LaBeouf himself will know how much of this film is a true representation of his own life, and that is entirely his right. For us, though, Honey Boy comes across as a writer, an actor, and a person searching for understanding and maybe even some peace about the pain of his life. It's a daring, honest piece of work.

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