Written by Brenda Julian-Yanez
This review contains spoilers for the film.
“Grass Stains,” a coming-of-age movie that drifts back and forth between a drama and a romantic comedy, wants to remind us that even the smallest choices can have lasting consequences. Pablo Schreiber, who plays the adult version of the protagonist, Conrad Stevens, alludes to this “bigger message” in the opening voice-over. But too many times thereafter, writer and director Kyle Wilamowski interrupts his own narrative and prompts us to remember this same notion.
After the voiceover, we travel back in time and watch a young Conrad, played by Tye Sheridan, (best known as the lead in Jeff Nichols’s “Mud”) meet Grace Turner (Kaitlyn Dever). Grace approaches Conrad, and without playful banter to guide her into a conversation, she laments the ease with which the fish below them in the creek are manipulated.
Less than five minutes in and the dialogue feels robotic and, even worse, the story is already dripping with a sense of teenage angst. And rather than denying our sense that we’re in search of the writer’s purpose, Wilamowski lets those moments linger on.
This rushed introduction, coupled with Grace’s declaration of love only two minutes later, fails to take advantage of young stars’ chemistry. The chemistry is, of course, complicated by Conrad’s role in the death of Grace’s brother, Eric (Nolan Gross). Conrad and his best friends, Hunter (Austin Abrams) and Tim, (Ryan Lee) steal garden decorations around town.
What started as an innocent Fourth of July prank, turned into a car chase that resulted in Eric’s death. Alone, the manifestation of Conrad’s guilt is neither new nor remarkable. But paired with Grace’s increasingly forward sexual advances, the acting – sans voice-over – is enough to propel the movie forward.
Denver, who was praised for her role as Jayden Cole in the film “Short Term 12,” commits to her character’s role even when it lacks depth. The director attempts to depict her overt sexuality as a coping mechanism. But not all her moves are convincing because her character always rushes into them (kissing Conrad, getting undressed in front of him, etc.). When we see through the facade, it’s not the acting that we’re seeing through; it’s the writing.
A few days after her brother’s death, Grace invites Conrad to her house and kisses him for the second time. Without prompting, she takes off her shirt and covers herself only when she notices his discomfort. But her hasty behavior has a purpose: to advance his development – never mind that these moments take us out of the story.
And even when we’re in the story, the director doesn’t trust himself.
In one scene Conrad sets fire to a mini rocking horse that Grace picked out. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen a fire; the film opened with fireworks and we saw the fireworks again on the baseball field. We understand the symbolism.
But rather than trusting that we understand his work, Wilamowski resorts, once again, to robotic dialogue about the way that destroying an object can’t destroy your memories associated with that object. We’ve moved beyond teen angst on to existential dread.
Toward the end, we are painfully aware of the writer’s presence. While a half-naked Grace lays in bed with Conrad, we want to indulge on the realness of the moment – on the awkwardness and the innocence and the vulnerability. But he cuts the moment short and we hear questions of “what if?” What if we had never met? What if one moment changes everything? And cue the reminder of the writer’s intention.
As a first-time independent film director, Kyle Wilamowski cast a dynamic group of actors. What he needed to do next was get out of their way and let the story speak for itself.
