Men like Jerry Kane (Nick Offerman), rural citizens who have twisted common laws to serve their own reality, were once a “silent majority.” But now, with the sharp shift toward the right in online and political rhetoric, they are significantly less quiet. A former roofer from Arkansas, Jerry is a man who spends some of his days traveling across the country to deliver speeches to desperate people, individuals angered by a system they believe is taking advantage of them. Conversely, he occupies his nights by guesting on a radio show where he shares the best ways to defy the law. His political beliefs, however, cannot save him or his reserved teenage son Joe (Jacob Tremblay) from the truth: They are fighting a losing battle.
The writer/director Christian Swegal’s feature directorial debut “Sovereign” begins with the aftermath of a skirmish. A 911 call from a distressed man informs the operator that cops have just been shot in broad daylight. The person who committed the deed is now nowhere to be seen. The film, which is partly based on a true story, then doubles back. Alone at home, Joe receives an eviction notice from a sheriff. He is shocked and then resigned, indicating this isn’t the first blow he’s taken. Despite the bank working to make a deal with his dad, Jerry has refused their overtures in the hopes that if he doesn’t acknowledge their authority, then they’re powerless against him.
Though the film never utters Trump’s name—in fact, the script totally leaves political parties out of the events—Jerry is emblematic of the many who voted for the President. Jerry distrusts the government; he hates the banks; he is suspicious of the education system. It’s why he homeschools his son and never admits when he’s wrong.
A meeting of “Leave No Trace” and “Hell or High Water,” “Sovereign” is a thought provoking political work whose sympathetic eye is given focus by its potent cast.
Swegal smartly begins the film by granting Jerry’s perspective some validity. After all, outrage about the current state of all three branches of the government crosses political lines. And what person is supportive of any bank? When Jerry goes toe-to-toe against these seemingly forces, he’s less of a loon and more like a misguided David fighting an apathetic Goliath. Nevertheless, Swegal thankfully limits whatever sympathy we might have for Jerry by not pitching “Sovereign” from his perspective.
Though Jerry, by virtue of Offerman’s larger-than-life performance, is an imposing figure, “Sovereign” is actually Joe’s story. Through the son’s eyes, we witness how white indignation is generationally passed down. The first ingredient is entitlement. At one point during the film, Jerry takes Joe on his speaking tour, dresses him in a white suit, and makes him participate in the town halls. Joe isn’t adverse to this road trip, especially when his father compliments him. “They’re calling you the young genius,” Jerry says to Joe. “All you have to do is show up.” The second ingredient to white anger is isolation. Jerry only surrounds Joe with people who agree with them, allowing the pair to create their own fictions, enemies, and gripes without needing to look inward.
As Joe, Tremblay nimbly walks a thin line. Though Joe idolizes his dad, his father’s spell is beginning to break, causing Tremblay to occupy the precariously narrow ground that’s only available when you’re one step away from an epiphany. Despite liking spending time with his dad, Joe does want to be a normal teenager. He thinks about re-enrolling in school and is always looking at the girl who lives next door with the sheepishness of a kid who’s looked at the tracks enough times to know he’s on the other side. Tremblay’s bent frame and downcast eyes never oversell Joe’s yearnings, but boy does he give them aching life.
Swegal doesn’t necessarily juxtapose the relationship shared by Jerry and Joe. But he does find a parallel in Detective John Bouchart (an underused Dennis Quaid) and his police son Adam (Thomas Mann). Similar to Jerry and Joe, we can see the father’s values imprinted on his child. John chides Adam when the latter picks up his crying infant son, believing such actions will only make the baby needy. He also proudly watches Adam train. In one session a police instructor teaches these young officers how to put a person in a chokehold, and how to escalate from demanding compliance to wanting control and then leveraging for incapacitation. Though John and Adam are fascinating characters, it feels like Swegal stops just short of offering any meaningful commentary on this separate dynamic other than critiquing the intense masculinity that governs it.
For a film filled with rage, “Sovereign” is a quietly crafted picture. Cinematographer Dustin Lane’s observant photography nods to the copious details that tell us much about the father and son: a front yard filled with disused furniture and the juxtaposition between Joe’s derelict home and the idyllic suburban sprawl his neighborhood crush lives in. You wouldn’t say Joe’s world is a grey one—the film’s insistence on stark lighting actually draws our eyes to the light colors that fill the frame—but it’s not one bursting with vitality. The camera accentuates the gauntness of these actors, which suggests their characters are living through hardscrabble days. The costuming also leans on limited shades of grey and white with splashes of maroon and red, softly foretelling the violent anger soon to come.
“Sovereign” also isn’t in much of a hurry. Because the film foreshadows the grisly turn father and son will eventually take, tension arises from the steady simmer of minor characters like Lesley Anne (a vibrant Martha Plimpton), who for a time financially supports Jerry, and from the increasingly vicious rhetoric Jerry begins to spout at his town halls. Once Jerry begins to advocate for murder and armed rebellion, domination instead of evasion, we know this cannot end well. Worse yet, we know we cannot stop it.
