I definitely can’t say that The Peanut Butter Falcon was my kind of movie. But what other film is going to give you a sequence involving a half-naked Shia LaBeouf dressing an endearing man with down syndrome in a falcon-based wrestling costume while they smear peanut butter on one another around a blazing campfire?
And, the cinematography may have been the blandest of the bland amongst the indie releases this year, but at least I got to watch 45-minutes of Dakota Johnson on screen! Ahh, celebrity crushes. Everybody’s got one, and they should always be kept a secret. Shit.
There’s truly nothing offensively bad about The Peanut Butter Falcon; it works serviceably amongst the hundreds of other indie dramas that follow similar trails. But in the same realm, however, there’s nothing here that’s impressively supreme.
Shia LaBeouf is good in it—even if he’s essentially become a younger version of his counterpart in the movie (Jon Bernthal) at this point. Dakota Johnson plays the same old (aha, I’m awkward and quirky, oh gosh, this is so embarrassing) Dakota Johnson—except this time around she has a god-made human-GPS-tracker on her throughout this entire movie (LIKE SERIOUSLY CAN SHE TRACK HUMAN SCENT LIKE A DOG?). However, Zack Gottsagen is probably the reason why I was never fatigued during the whole shebang and that’s just a progressive plus for our current, semi-maturing American film community.
However, this is the “unlikely friendship”—or brotherhood—tale’s tale we’ve witnessed about a billion times before, resulted with every predictable scenario you could possibly conceptualize. It’s loosely written and feels dated as hell. I can’t recommend features that manage to embody the many copy-and-paste, by-the-book prescriptions that we’ve been told countless times at our cozy bedsides since we were wee-little children.
Hey, at least The Peanut Butter Falcon was pretty darn funny though. Ain’t that something?
“The Peanut Butter Falcon” is now playing in theaters.