Mark Reviews Movies: SWORD OF TRUST

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Review by Mark Dujsik | July 18, 2019

Director Lynn Shelton and Mike O'Brien's screenplay for Sword of Trust simultaneously—and strangely—is overtly political and has nothing to do with overt politics. Indeed, just a few a years ago, we'd probably find its premise, in which a quartet of people try to sell a relic of the Civil War to a group of online conspiracy theorists, to be a purely comedic lark. It still is that, mind you. After all, Shelton and O'Brien are more concerned about the personalities of these characters and the absurdity of the scenario than the underlying political implications of the mess into which this group gets itself.

Still, there are many underlying social, cultural, and political implications to that mess. Shelton and O'Brien aren't here to dissect them or figure out any kind of solutions to those issues, but they certainly want us to laugh at how farcical it all is. A few years ago, we wouldn't think too deeply about the humor of this plot and the political mechanics that keep it going. In this age of online weirdos being legitimized and irrational conspiracies being seriously considered, though, the laughter feels pleasantly cathartic.

The film almost feels like a throwback to a more innocent time, when such nonsense would have been seen as the dark, mostly hidden underbelly of society—instead of a loud, active, and often discussed part of it, from TV news to actual elections. In other words, it harkens back to a time when such ideas would have been the perfect fodder for a farce. That's what we get here—simple, uncomplicated farce, only now with a sadly relevant and smartly targeted bite.

The four central protagonists are divided into two pairs. The first is made up of Cynthia (Jillian Bell) and Mary (Michaela Watkins), a married couple who think they've inherited a house after the death of Cynthia's grandfather, which is perfect since they want to start a family. Before his death, though, the grandfather, who suffered from dementia, got into financial trouble. Instead of a house, Cynthia and Mary end up with only one thing: a sword from the Civil War, complete with authentication papers from a strange organization and a personalized letter that tells a hell of a (thanks to its writer, confused and confusing) tale.

That's how the other pair comes into the story. Mel (Marc Maron) runs a pawn shop in Birmingham, Alabama. He almost seems as interested in using the shop to obtain items for himself, like a new pair of boots or a guitar, as in running the business. The owner also has a past which he's trying to evade, personified in Deirdre (played by Shelton), who has followed him to Birmingham and claims, to Mel's disbelief, to have gotten her life in order. The other half of the second pair is Nathaniel (Jon Bass), Mel's regularly distracted, absent-minded employee, who'd rather watch online videos than do any work.

Cynthia and Mary arrive at the shop with the sword, the papers, and an even more jumbled version of the weapon's already muddled history (This becomes a running gag, as the story is repeatedly told by multiple people, all of whom think it's B.S., with assorted variations). Explaining the particulars of the story would be pointless, and to reveal what the tale means specifically might wreck the comedic impact of Cynthia and Mary's first attempt to pretend they understand it—not to mention the rather ludicrous point of the sword's place in the record of the Civil War.

It's enough and fair enough to say that the sword is supposedly evidence of an alternative view of history. It's one that goes far beyond the inclination of some people to refer to the war as one of "Northern aggression," the Confederates as "rebels" or "freedom fighters," and glossing over the racism inherent in glorifying the losing side.

Mel, who surely has heard a tall tale or a dozen in his time running the shop, is more than skeptical. Nathaniel, who's prone to watching online conspiracy videos (His primary subject of interest is the theory of a flat Earth, and we later realize just how into it he actually is), discovers that there's a market for such items of strange, revisionist curiosity, primarily from a secret organization. The four decide to get as much money as they can for the sword from this shadowy group.

All this may be played as farce, but Shelton and O'Brien don't undermine the sinister nature—both from a political and more general perspective—of such thinking. They certainly mock it, but the whole process of the deal brings with it a certain sense of tension, from a couple of racists who try to get the sword before it can be sold (They're made a joke when one of them pulls a screwdriver on Mel—twice—and, later, when they're seen as losers even by the secret group) to a long ride in the back of a delivery truck to some unknown location in the middle of nowhere. Once the quartet arrives at the organization's headquarters to sell the sword, we have to start keeping track of guns—who has them and who might be hiding another one.

Sword of Trust, from its tone to the all-around solid performances, never takes itself too seriously. That feels refreshing at a time when everything has started to seem political, and in a way, that approach might be the film's explicit political argument: When confronted with ideas and people as irrational as the one's in the shadows here, it's fine and even necessary to laugh at them.

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