Throughout the last decade, filmmaker Julia Hart has been building a delicately beautiful body of work, putting her own expressive stamp on everything from superhero films (“Fast Color”) to neo-noirs (“I’m Your Woman”) and Disney fare (“Stargirl”). And if there is one thing that has remained a constant throughline in her work, it is her caring portrayal of women stuck in an in-between. Thankfully, her characters have never been your cookie-cutter “strong” females—an emotionally empty promise movies made a lot in the 2010s. Instead, they are real humans with relatable ups and downs: messy, vulnerable, conflicted, sometimes a joy to be around (sometimes not), and yet, always well-equipped to help themselves and those around them in the end. In other words, “strong” in ways that actually count in real life.
This is more or less the world of the disarmingly lovely “Don’t Say Good Luck,” Hart’s latest familial drama that splits the difference between a thoughtful coming-of-age tale and a gently simmering tragedy lurking around its margins. Chiefly, the story follows teenage Sophie Birenbaum (the absolutely wonderful Sunny Sandler, whose dad Adam serves as a producer), a sensitive young girl who scores the lead role at her high school’s upcoming production of “Waitress: The Musical” when she wasn’t even going for top billing. With her best friend Carolyn (Scarlett Estevez) also in the musical with a small part, Sophie tries to settle into her new reality of small-scale stardom with a big crush on the production’s lead, Jack (Jack Champion). But bigger realities are brewing elsewhere, namely Sophie’s home, with her loving mom Elizabeth’s (a reliably wonderful Melanie Lynskey) cancer coming back unexpectedly, spreading faster than she’s imagined.
“Don’t Say Good Luck” is largely perched amid this push-pull, with Sophie trying to exist as a peppy high-schooler on the one hand, trying to savor her rehearsals and newfound closeness to Jack, while also navigating a brief speed bump in her friendship with Carolyn. On the other, she tries to be present for her mother and family, experiencing a dose of guilt (and a taste of adulthood) when her priorities don’t always match up with life’s urgencies and surprises. The script, written by Hart, Jordan Horowitz (producer and Hart’s husband), and Laura Hankin, honors both of Sophie’s worlds with compassionate detail. Lynskey especially brings out a dying parent’s worries with empathy and warmth, establishing Elizabeth’s relationship with Sophie so palpably that you believe in the duo’s kinship like they’re people you’re acquainted with. In the role of Sophie’s dad, Max Greenfield is sturdy as a family man who operates a busy deli. Meanwhile, the ingeniously cast duo Steve Buscemi and Bebe Neuwirth add a generational layer to the tale about family and unspeakable grief.
But of course, the real star here is none other than young Sandler, whose Grade-A pipes and emotional maturity turn Sophie into a timeless character young ones should make a staple of in their lives. Wish we got more of her singing in the film, as well as the “Waitress” production in general, but still. Her heartbreaking performance of “She Used To Be Mine” smooths over this hiccup. In a demanding role that asks for a significant range from her, Sandler breezes through both the humor and the heartbreak of the tale with grace.
Meanwhile, Hart has always been on the record about having worked as a school teacher, an experience that notably informed her gorgeous outing, “Miss Stevens.” It’s easy to see how she still leans into that time of her life for insights. Her movie effortlessly seizes the joys of friendship, school-aged amateur artmaking, and the dramas teens toggle between their home and school lives. She also has the generosity to see the kids beyond cliches. In Hart’s world, mean girls can sometimes mean well, and you can maybe kick some gentlemanly sense into your poorly-behaved crush if you confront him.
Not unlike 2024’s “Ghostlight,” “Don’t Say Good Luck” tributes the healing properties of art and community in times of despair. It’s a disarmingly sincere family affair, on the screen and off. And that earnestness proves irresistible.
