Movie review by Greg Carlson

Fargo-based filmmaker Matthew Myers recently remarked that director Stefon Bristol was, among other things, paying his bills by driving for Uber until production began on “See You Yesterday,” Bristol’s exciting debut feature. Myers produced the movie with Jason Sokoloff and Spike Lee, a professor to Bristol in the graduate film program at NYU. Bristol, who made a short version of “See You Yesterday” as his thesis film, collaborated with Fredrica Bailey on the original script. Together, they successfully expand the story to full length in a must-see addition to the genre.

As ambitious high school kids who unlock the secrets of time travel in part to secure college scholarships, Eden Duncan-Smith’s CJ Walker and Dante Crichlow’s Sebastian Thomas (reprising their roles from the short) are ideal East Flatbush counterparts to fellow Brooklynite Miles Morales. Their striking monogrammed lab coats, proton pack-gear, safety goggles, and carefully chosen tee shirts — courtesy of costume designer Charlese Antoinette Jones — would be right at home next to the pop style of Sara Pichelli’s Spider-Man designs.

Bristol’s affinity for cinematic reference points represents another intersection with his mentor. “See You Yesterday” pays homage not only to “Do the Right Thing” and other titles in Lee’s filmography, but also to “Ghostbusters,” “Boyz n the Hood,” and a certain 1985 blockbuster that wrote the book on contemporary movie depictions of traveling back in time to make something right.  

The DNA of “See You Yesterday” is so fused with “Back to the Future” that classic Lee-style crew shirts reading “Black to da Future” (with the hashtag “BUYBLACKA,” currently available for purchase online at the Spike’s Joint shop) could be spotted on set. A surprise cameo seals the pact with the most satisfying time travel movie ever made, but aficionados of the mind-bending loops in “Run Lola Run,” “Edge of Tomorrow,” “Before I Fall,” “Happy Death Day,” “About Time,” “Groundhog Day”  — and more — will meditate with the wisdom of Doctor Strange. One of the greatest pleasures of “See You Yesterday” is that the challenges and complexities of the jumps get better as the story unfolds.

Time travel as social commentary is present as early as 1895, in H. G. Wells’ “The Time Machine.” And Sean Redmond notes, in “Liquid Space: Science Fiction Film and Television in the Digital Age,” that in the face of alienation and powerlessness,  “…time travel suggests that Everyman and Everybody is important to shaping history, to making real and quantifiable difference to the way the world turns out.” Bristol’s film nails this last part by striking the balance between the entertaining joy of cinema crafted by someone who clearly loves movies and the painful realities of unconscionable, systematized oppression.   

The frustrations CJ experiences over the racist actions of lethal policing are amplified by the use of the time loops. The audience is invited to share in the character’s pain because no matter how perfectly she executes each plan to alter a catastrophic outcome, the end result is the loss of life for an innocent and unarmed person of color who was in the wrong place at the wrong time — or in the realities of contemporary America, any place at any time. CJ’s refusal to give up or accept defeat defines her heart, her soul, and her commitment to making a difference.  

“See You Yesterday” will be available on Netflix starting May 17.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Jennifer Gage’s sudsy “After” offers run-of-the-mill college romance targeted to the PG-13 demographic. The result, a far cry from the lustier stories upon which it is based, misses the mark despite an appealing performance from Josephine Langford as the virginal heroine Tessa Young. Gage, who wrote the screenplay with Susan McMartin, Tamara Chestna, and Tom Betterton, sands the edges off the good-girl-meets-bad-boy narrative, and the tepid result never achieves the entertaining scope of Stephenie Meyer’s genre urtext “Twilight.” Meyer, of course, has long been scrutinized for her fantasy explorations of teen love, sex, and relationships. Accusations of antifeminism continue to be scrutinized in “Twilight” scholarship.    

The link between “Twilight” and “After” may be more interesting than the final movie product. “After” began in 2013 as online fan fiction inspired by the pop band One Direction. Author Anna Todd, taking notes from photoshopped mashups that depicted the idolized bandmates as ediger, tougher, tattooed versions of their existing personae, expanded the work into a widely-read series of paperback bestsellers. The publication template was so redolent of E. L. James’ “Fifty Shades of Grey” (which famously began as “Twilight” fanfic) that critics identified in-text parallels, raising questions about the potentially abusive behavior of the brooding Hardin Scott (rechristened from 1D’s Harry Styles). And the similarities don’t end there. Todd, like James, wrote a follow-up in which the story is retold from the male character’s point of view.

Sensible and steady Tessa, a first-year undergraduate embarking on a college adventure filled with nothing but world-is-your-oyster promises of success, immediately falls for Hardin (Hero Fiennes-Tiffin, the one-time Tom Riddle), a troubled looker with serious daddy issues, a buried secret from the past, and a toned canvas for a set of inked body art meant to scream “Danger!” Tessa rebuffs an opportunity for a kiss during a round of truth or dare, delightfully spars with Hardin over matters of character construction in “Pride and Prejudice,” and winds up joining Hardin for a dip in his favorite, secret lake spot. High school sweetheart Noah (Dylan Arnold), to whom Tessa has pledged long-distance commitment and loyalty, doesn’t stand a chance.

While “After” might divide its audiences among hate-watchers, bad movie enthusiasts, and genuine appreciators, the filmmakers deserve applause for the casting of Selma Blair, Peter Gallagher, and Jennifer Beals (all in parental mode). Gallagher and Beals get very little to play, but Blair, whose big-screen breakthrough as Cecile Caldwell twenty years ago in “Cruel Intentions” is sharper than anything that happens in “After,” relishing her scenes as Tessa’s mom Karen. Blair gets to pout and scold and frown at Tessa’s questionable choices, and an angry threat to “cut off” her daughter is as delicious as the thought of Karen inappropriately commiserating with Noah back home. Alas, “After” dares not cross that line, failing as well to muster any kind of truly shocking Hardin bombshell — despite teasing one.

If “After” is supposed to land in the 18-30 year-old market referred to as “new adult,” as opposed to “young adult,” fiction, it’s tough to factor the MPAA rating and the chaste, old-fashioned orientation to sex as anything beyond a desire to allow for a wider range of potential ticket buyers. The movie plays it too safe start to finish. And aside from whatever discussions might emerge concerning the representation of toxicity, masculinity, and toxic masculinity, the lack of originality is the film’s Achilles heel.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

A true-to-life setting sparks interest in “The Mustang,” a solid man-and-his-horse story from first-time feature director Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre. Anchored by a livewire performance from the compelling Matthias Schoenaerts, the movie uses the Wild Horse Inmate Program, already the nonfiction subject of John Zaritsky’s “The Wild Horse Redemption” and Andrew Michael Ellis’ “The Wild Inside,” as a heartfelt and human endorsement of second chances. Schoenaerts’ hard-timer Roman Coleman, incarcerated in the Northern Nevada Correctional Center, slowly but surely finds a positive pathway forward once he joins an unusual cohort of fellow inmates allowed to train horses in preparation for public auction/adoption of the magnificent animals.

Administered by the United States Department of the Interior’s Bureau of Land Management, the horse program’s pairing of convict and wild animal provides Clermont-Tonnerre, writing with Mona Fastvold and Brock Norman Brock, the ideal vehicle for elegant and streamlined metaphor construction. Will Roman tame the mustang that comes to be known as Marcus or will the mustang tame Roman? Or are certain spirits beyond breaking? We can hazard a guess, but the only person in the movie in possession of Yoda/Miyagi/McGonagall-level foresight is Bruce Dern’s crusty, temperamental Myles, the rancher who runs the show. He sees something in Roman that Roman certainly cannot.

While the principal plot revolves around Roman’s volatile and evolving relationship with the horse assigned to him, Clermont-Tonnerre fills out the main character’s background via a series of tough visiting day interactions between Roman and his daughter Martha (Gideon Adlon, 180-degrees from her comic touch in “Blockers”). The anger, pain, and bitterness felt by Martha parallels the similar dynamic between Jake and Jesus Shuttlesworth in Spike Lee’s “He Got Game.” Later, Martha’s personal safety is threatened and Roman’s response will layer the melodrama with an anxious tension. Not all of Clermont-Tonnerre’s story moves hold up under logical scrutiny, but “The Mustang” succeeds despite its familiarity.

Some viewers may feel that the talents of supporting actor Jason Mitchell, as program veteran Henry, are squandered — particularly because a subplot revolving around the inside theft of ketamine does not develop into a larger part of the story. I defend Clermont-Tonnerre’s deliberate use of both Mitchell’s character and the drug smuggling thread, and believe both are executed with precision alongside the principal struggles experienced by Roman. Without spoiling any details, Roman’s relationship with Henry ultimately comes to serve as a stark reminder of the dire conditions behind bars.

The built-in training timeline, notable for its brief turnaround of just a few months (somewhat parallel to the 120 or so days of inmate/horse work at the actual facility), foreshadows the inevitable separation of animal and caretaker, but Clermont-Tonnerre finds a fresh, unexpected outcome for the Roman/Marcus bond. The moments in which Roman labors to make progress in the corral are not quite as breathtakingly realized as similar sequences in Chloe Zhao’s “The Rider,” but both films effectively compose the particular, wordless poetry that can only be found in the best examples of the American mythology of the equestrian.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Harmony Korine keeps a tight grip on his title as one of the most critic/critique-proof filmmakers of recent times with “The Beach Bum,” a sultry companion piece to 2012’s memorable “Spring Breakers.” Not without its own kind of middle-aged charm and a worldview to match, “The Beach Bum” is virtually unthinkable without Matthew McConaughey as priapic poet Moondog, a quintessential stoner icon whose consumption of marijuana is rivaled only by his quest for constant sexual gratification. Buoyed by an endless supply of cash from his wealthy and tolerant wife Minnie (Isla Fisher), with whom he shares an about-to-be-wed daughter (Stefania LaVie Owen), Moondog reigns from the Magic City to the Keys as the Sunshine State’s wastrel laureate.

The vibe of “The Beach Bum” is more mellow than the criminal-minded “Spring Breakers,” but both movies share the rainbow glow of Benoit Debie’s neon-addicted photography. Debie, who also regularly collaborates with Gaspar Noe, understands the interaction of light and matter so thoroughly that his optical acumen transforms human bodies into bioluminescent angels. Whether in daylight or in dusk, Debie’s measurements of the visible part of the electromagnetic spectrum tease out colors that merit the price of a ticket entirely on their own. The dazzling technical rigor of Debie’s camera perfectly balances the defiant “margin of the undefined” treasured by Korine.    

Korine’s wild casting made for a mouthwatering trailer, but not all the promises of the preview are kept in the feature. Snoop Dogg works as Minnie’s lover Lingerie, and Jonah Hill is fun as Moondog’s agent Lewis. Martin Lawrence’s cameo as the tourist-hustling Captain Wack, however, is a mixed bag. Korine, unsurprisingly, has no qualms about using Lawrence in a one-off piece of broad physical vaudeville complete with a “those aren’t dolphins” shark attack gag that results in a severed foot. More of the same awaits Zac Efron’s rehab escapee Flicker, who lets his elaborate facial hair carry most of the acting load. Jimmy Buffett plays himself, leaving viewers to marvel at Korine’s powers of persuasion.  

As part of a package that must have cost a hefty chunk of the total budget in music licensing fees, Buffett’s own “A Pirate Looks at Forty” joins instantly recognizable tracks by Gordon Lightfoot, Eddie Money, Van Morrison, Waylon Jennings, Stephen Bishop, and Gerry Rafferty as aural accompaniment to Moondog’s neverending party. The Parrotheads who stick around for the end credits will be treated to a new Buffett/Snoop Dogg collaboration called “Moonfog.” According to Buffett, along with “A Pirate Looks at Forty,” Korine drew inspiration for “The Beach Bum” from “Margaritaville.” The translation is authoritative.  

When the movie’s raison d’etre orbits around aimless drifting and an ironclad commitment to irresponsibility, what might we glean from “The Beach Bum” in terms of a philosophy (or even a point of view)? Moondog’s money-to-burn enactment of the Rake’s Progress-lite ends not with institutional, capital-B Bedlam but with individualized, small-b bedlam. Drawing parallels to income inequality and the wretched excess on display in our leadership’s worship of filthy lucre, some might strain to locate an eff-you in Moondog’s rejection of riches as an end unto itself. But Korine, less provocative here than in previous outings, holds to his absurdist affection for feeling over analysis. Maybe changes in latitudes do, in fact, cause changes in attitudes.   

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Following a world premiere as one of the opening night selections of the Sundance Film Festival in January, conceptual visual artist Rashid Johnson’s adaptation of Richard Wright’s venerable “Native Son” debuts April 6 on HBO. The third big screen version of the story of Bigger Thomas, Wright’s film retains many of the book’s central plot points and its ideological critique of institutional racism. The screenplay, by Pulitzer-winner Suzan-Lori Parks, updates sparingly and, for the most part, efficiently. Only committed devotees of the literature will notice the significant alterations, the most prominent of which revolves around the fate of the character Bessie and the resolution of the drama. Johnson’s movie, despite several shortcomings, is well worth a look.

Ashton Sanders, memorable as both the teenage Chiron in 2016’s “Moonlight” and opposite Denzel Washington in last year’s “The Equalizer 2,” makes an excellent Bigger Thomas (called Big this time out). Enveloped in several stylized trappings of artistically-inclined hipsterism — including fingernail polish, green hair, Malcolm X-evoking eyeglasses, and a safety-pinned leather motorcycle jacket decorated with a painted “Freaking Out” motif ala classic punk rock — Big’s got smarts of both the book and street varieties. Working as a bike messenger but living in less-than-ideal conditions with his family, Big accepts a “golden” opportunity to become the live-in chauffeur for rich white man Henry Dalton (Bill Camp, never better).  

All too quickly Big realizes that his principal responsibilities entail driving Dalton’s manipulative daughter Mary (Margaret Qualley) wherever she wishes to go, which more often than not fails to correspond to Mr. Dalton’s assumptions regarding her activities. Mary’s companion Jan (Nick Robinson), a social activist who, like Mary, is oblivious to his own privilege, rides along. For those unfamiliar with the classic 1940 novel, an almost surreal and certainly absurd tragedy marks the turning point of the narrative. Johnson handles it with the necessary horror, balancing on Wright’s carefully constructed tightrope that supports the weight of not one, but two victims.  

Arguably, the scenes in which Big navigates the white world of the Daltons ring out with the most punch, especially in terms of dialogue and performance. The pressure on Big to perform multiple roles, dependent on the shifting contexts in which he operates, brings code-switching into the equation in a way that allows the filmmakers to explore the most contemporary aspects of Wright’s ideas (along with, of course, the unchanged realities of two Americas). Whether or not Johnson overcomes the arguments made by James Baldwin in essays contained within “Notes of a Native Son” rests largely with the viewer’s sympathies with the objectives and sensibilities of Wright (and Johnson).  

As tech credits go, first-time feature helmer Johnson’s not-so-secret weapon is the presence of ace cinematographer Matthew Libatique, who also serves as one of the film’s producers. Johnson’s striking vision is enhanced by Libatique’s photography, which perfectly outlines the discomfort experienced by Big as he tries — and fails — to fit in anywhere. The vivid images, which capture the ironic juxtapositions of beautiful graffiti in economically depressed neighborhoods as well as the weight of seeing the work of celebrated contemporary African American painters decorating the walls of the Dalton mansion, mirror Big’s pain and his struggle to deal with the liminal state between his own sense of self and the version of it acted out for others.      

Movie review by Greg Carlson

With enough mirrors, doublings, and doppelgangers to make Hitchcock, Kubrick, and Welles proud, Jordan Peele’s “Us” cements the filmmaker’s reputation as a master craftsman and visual stylist. Creepy, funny, and wicked sharp, the film’s genre is horror, the ideas are expansive and the execution clean. An ominous text prologue alludes to the networks of unused and abandoned tunnels snaking underneath the streets and communities of the United States (shortly, a glimpse of the VHS spine of “C.H.U.D.” next to a television sweetens the allusion). Next comes another prologue introducing viewers to Addie, a child traumatized during a solo visit to an amusement park funhouse on the beach of Santa Cruz, California in the mid-1980s.

We reconnect with the grown-up Addie (Lupita Nyong’o) more than thirty years later as a married mother of two, trepidatious and secretive about an upcoming return to the location of her childhood nightmare. Along with husband Gabe (a terrific Winston Duke), daughter Zora (Shahadi Wright Joseph), and son Jason (Evan Alex), Addie sets out for the family vacation home and eventually gives in to Gabe’s desire to meet up with friends Kitty (Elisabeth Moss) and Josh (Tim Heidecker). Peele’s world-constructing unfolds at a deliberate pace, but the director laces this entire build-up with a wealth of important detail that pays dividends in the wild second half.    

Peele’s inclination to invert the 1986 Hands Across America fundraising effort as a means of critiquing the dark forces of wall-building, racism, and selfishness works. Really works. “Us” interrogates the deep divides within and among the population, literalizing the other as the very worst parts of ourselves. In that way, the movie’s timing is perfect, but it also thinks carefully about economic and class divisions by situating the action among families of wealth and privilege. The links between the America of Ronald Reagan and America under Donald Trump don’t intrude on the value of “Us” as entertainment, even though Peele’s thematic interests look poised to inspire a healthy supply of essays.   

“Us” also owes a considerable debt to “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” and both Don Siegel’s brilliant 1956 classic and the 1978 Philip Kaufman edition inform a great deal of the social commentary explored by Peele. The structure of “Us” follows conventional horror tropes, and some viewers may have less patience with the long-simmering arrival of the home invasion component teased in the trailer. Others, however, will delight in Peele’s affinity for tension-breaking comic touches, several of which stand out as highlights — especially those that grapple with the suspension-of-disbelief requirements governing the specific rules of the “Us” universe.  

All the principal actors are called into service for a pair of distinct performances; each plays the twisted and malevolent simulacrum as well as the above-ground “normal” person under attack. Nyong’o, who drew fire from organizations including RespectAbility for partly basing her character Red’s voice on the sounds of sufferers of spasmodic dysphonia, anchors the movie as Addie and Red. Ultimately, the brilliance of “Us” is found in the complex duality offered by Peele’s fascinatingly sympathetic reading of the duplicates called the Tethered. “Us” will make your head spin as you attempt to tell the difference between the heroes and the villains.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Set in the fictional Little Woods, North Dakota — a small town in the western oil patch not too far from the Canadian border — Nia DaCosta’s first feature film as writer-director marks an auspicious and confident debut. Recalling some of the same issues explored in Courtney Hunt’s memorable “Frozen River,” “Little Woods” also shares its point of view through the harrowing day-to-day of two working class women pushed to break the law to survive. While “Frozen River” dealt with the illegal trafficking of immigrants across the northern border, “Little Woods” addresses the limitations of the U.S. healthcare system via the smuggling of prescription pharmaceuticals. DaCosta’s commentary is not limited to the state of absurd drug costs. She also acknowledges the exploitation of the poor by predatory energy speculators, the frustrations of mortgage options for a person of meager means, and abortion access.

Despite the checklist of social issues and the mostly erroneous descriptions identifying the movie as a kind of western, “Little Woods” operates with the tension of a crime thriller. Tessa Thompson adds yet another astonishing performance to her already remarkable filmography. As Ollie, Thompson perfects the weary guardedness that comes from hand-to-mouth living. Coming up on the end of a term of mandated supervision, the reminder given to Ollie by her probation officer Carter (Lance Reddick) that she is just days away from successful completion should clue the audience that the final stretch is going to be a rough ride. Carter’s encouragement of and belief in Ollie don’t prevent him from doing his job, and DaCosta puts together a brilliantly nerve-wracking sequence when Carter pays less-than-truthful Ollie a surprise visit.

Just as she approaches the finish line, Ollie’s single-mom sister Deb (Lily James) confesses that she is pregnant and uncertain about her short term housing options. Coming up with even a few thousand dollars to postpone foreclosure on their recently deceased mother’s place is out of reach. Navigating the system is difficult enough, but Ollie’s troubles are exacerbated by both the father of Deb’s young son (James Badge Dale) and a competing local dealer (Luke Kirby) very unhappy to learn Ollie is getting back in the trade. In large ways and small, DaCosta sharply explores the ways in which women navigate a hostile environment dominated by men.  

Those familiar with the short and long-term impact of hydraulic fracturing on the Bakken formation’s North Dakota oil boom will immediately recognize the living conditions of the men and women working in and around the industry. The look and feel of Yvonne Boudreaux’s production design, Patrick Jackson’s set decoration, and Colin Wilkes’ costuming evoke the tough realities seen in nonfiction films like Isaac Gale’s “Sweet Crude Man Camp,” J. Christian Jensen’s “White Earth,” Jesse Moss’ “The Overnighters,” and Rita Baghdadi and Jeremiah Hammerling’s “My Country No More.” And even though “Little Woods” was shot in Texas, most North Dakotans won’t find much of anything amiss in the representation.   

DaCosta is flat-out terrific at constructing scene after scene of anxious menace. I can’t wait to see what she does collaborating with Jordan Peele on the upcoming “Candyman.” The examples are plentiful (just look at what the director does with a clinic waiting room), but Deb’s harrowing quest to obtain a fake ID while Ollie casually tries to distract a cop is a master class in cross-cutting. DaCosta intensifies the dread of being busted with the terrifying alarm of a possible sexual assault. Sexism and toxic masculinity are not unusual in this genre, but DaCosta’s emphasis on sisterhood and the presentation of a female point of view turn “Little Woods” into a fresh, must-see cinematic experience.

“Little Woods” is the closing night feature of the 2019 Fargo Film Festival, screening on Saturday, March 23 at 7:00 p.m. The film will be released theatrically in April. 

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Early 1960s Oklahoma is an ideal setting for classic coming of age themes in Martha Stephens’s “To the Stars.” Richer in characterization and emotion than it is in plotting, “To the Stars” capitalizes on Andrew Reed’s beautiful monochromatic cinematography, with inky blacks and shimmering silvers aspiring to the same kind of nostalgia conjured by the legendary director of photography Robert Surtees in “The Last Picture Show.” Shannon Bradley-Colleary’s screenplay focuses on teenagers Iris Deerborne (Kara Hayward) and Maggie Richmond (Liana Liberato), two misfits locked in the age-old struggle to find acceptance and love in a stifling environment that prizes conformity and rewards narrow-mindedness.

Hidden behind owlish and ill-fitting spectacles, the introspective Iris fails to conceal the open secret of her urinary incontinence, an unfortunate condition exacerbated by the horrifying epithet “Stinky Drawers,” a nickname frequently hissed by the school’s clique of cruel kids. New girl in town Maggie sees right through the haters, recognizing in Iris a kindred outsider spirit. Maggie’s boast that her father shoots photographs for the venerable magazine “Life” — whether true or not — impresses all the queen bees, who would like to incorporate Maggie into their fold. In fact, Maggie offers the juicy tidbit regarding her father’s occupation as the reason for her recent relocation from a bigger city. Only later will Stephens explore the real reason behind the new town/new start change of address.  

Stephens goes on to render the evolving friendship of the assertive Maggie and the timid Iris through common rites of passage that point toward the possibility of romance between the two. The director handles all the confused attraction with enough sophistication that the plot’s actual direction sneaks up in a manner that smartly defies cliche as well as the audience’s first likely guess. The inevitable punishment for lesbian love still arrives right on time, complete with a melodramatic mob of stone-casters right out of James Whale’s “Frankenstein,” but en route Stephens capitalizes on the revelation of an unexpected pairing.

Hayward and Liberato are supported by a cast that includes Malin Akerman, Tony Hale, Shea Whigham, and Jordana Spiro as the parents of the girls. All four performers, contending with varying degrees of somewhat wispy roles, bring quality to the production. Spiro’s open flirtation with Iris’s classmate Jeff (Lucas Jade Zumann in a sensitive performance with echoes of Timothee Chalamet) recalls, of all things, a similar triangle in Martha Coolidge’s 80s teen classic “Valley Girl.” Whigham is especially warm as the father of Iris, as supportive of his daughter as he is frustrated by his spouse.

Stephens keeps notes of observational humor in the mix, but sticks to a serious-minded realization of the period through the eyes and experiences of the women in the story. This female-centric point of view undeniably unfolds as the greatest strength of “To the Stars,” as the aspirations and heartbreaks experienced by Maggie and Iris ripple out in waves familiar to many of the other women in Wakita, including the kind hairdresser Hazel (Adelaide Clemens). Any storyteller working with content set in an earlier time has the potential advantage of using the past to comment on the present, and Stephens certainly has much to say about the incredible pressure placed upon young women to fulfill the expectations of peers, family, and community.  

“To the Stars,” produced by Northern Lights Films, premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January. A special screening at the Fargo Film Festival is set for Saturday, March 23 at 3:00 p.m. Members of the production team will participate in a Q and A. Tickets are available at the Fargo Theatre box office.