‘Ricky’ Review: Powerful Sundance Drama About an Ex-Con Navigating a World of Booby-Traps Establishes Rashad Frett as a Born Filmmaker

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Approximately twelve years ago, I attended the 2013 Sundance Film Festival at the Eccles Theatre, where I watched Ryan Coogler’s real-life drama “Fruitvale” (later titled “Fruitvale Station”). This film was about Oscar Grant, a young man who tragically lost his life due to police shooting in the Bay Area, despite his innocence. As the movie concluded, it was evident to everyone in the audience that we had just witnessed something extraordinary, and that Coogler was destined for filmmaking. His enthusiasm on stage, mixed with gratitude for the response, also hinted at a deep reservoir of stories he yearned to share. For any viewer or critic, the Sundance experience is a dream: stumbling upon an unknown movie, only to realize two hours later that a potential great filmmaker has just emerged.

Today, I experienced a familiar wave of emotions as I found myself seated at the Eccles once more, watching “Ricky,” a drama penned by Rashad Frett. This heartfelt production revolves around Ricardo Smith (Stephan James), a young man from East Hartford, Conn., who has recently been released from prison and is grappling with navigating his life in a world that appears treacherous and difficult to traverse.

One approach for creating a social justice drama about an ex-convict striving for redemption is by illustrating the biased nature of the system. However, the challenging and authentic approach – the one that resonates deeply with truth – involves showing how the system is intentionally designed as a steep uphill battle, sometimes unfairly so, while simultaneously highlighting the self-destructive patterns hidden within an individual’s actions. When this is done effectively, it moves beyond depicting victimization and transforms into a moral drama, which is exactly what Rashad Frett achieves in “Ricky.

Frett, let me put it plainly: “Ricky” possesses an array of talents: a knack for pacing, suspense, and atmosphere; ability to create unexpected or slowly simmering violence; a keen eye for cinematography that captivates with its fluid, intrusive intimacy; skill in arranging scenes in three dimensions, making each character vibrant with their individual motivations; and the art of blending hope, despair, anger, and decency in a manner that mirrors classic Hollywood films yet remains grounded in modern reality. In essence, this film dives deep into darkness while uplifting honestly.

Initially, when we encounter Ricardo, or “Ricky,” it’s been scarcely over three weeks since his release from prison. Instead of providing a brief summary of his past, the filmmaker, Frett, chooses a more authentic approach, opting not to delve into explanations. Instead, he gradually paints Ricky’s background, much like watching a picture unfold, giving it depth and realism.

Ricky tends to keep his feelings hidden, being rather reserved and moody, often holding back from expressing his thoughts, even when the circumstance calls for it. Initially, he violates protocol multiple times, showing up late for a meeting with his parole officer and missing mandatory gatherings – essentially 12-step sessions for ex-offenders – which are obligatory for him. It’s clear that Ricky doesn’t wish to return to prison. Yet, it seems like he’s creating unnecessary obstacles for himself.

It takes some time for us to understand the events leading up to his incarceration: at age 15, he and his friend Terrence (Sean Nelson) committed a store robbery. Under Terrence’s guidance, he shot the cashier during this crime, and subsequently took the blame, serving time in prison for attempted murder. At 15 years old, he found himself behind bars among hardened criminals. The film does not overtly address the racial aspects of his imprisonment; it is implied without being explicitly stated.

It’s hard for us to fathom Ricky’s experiences, and there’s no need for “Ricky” to tell us about them. Instead, the movie illustrates the transformation Ricky underwent: he appears as a desensitized spirit, someone who isn’t just lacking social skills but has learned to mistrust everyone. He spent his upbringing watching out for danger, always on guard, assuming the worst – this was how he survived. He must learn an entirely new way of living, and the movie doesn’t make it seem like a simple task.

He has one unique talent he honed behind bars: an exceptional ability in barbering, crafting intricate hair designs that seem sculpted. This is how he initially encounters Jaz (played by Imani Lewis), a mother hesitant to trust him but drawn by his stoic demeanor. Ricky, portrayed by Stephan James, carries an expressive, youthful countenance reminiscent of young Matt Damon. He skilfully plays each scene with sensitivity, balancing between the wisdom of the streets and the innocence of the unknown world. He allows us a peek into his thoughts, a risky approach for such complex roles. However, James’ captivating performance makes it easy to understand his unspoken feelings.

Frett constructs a cast of characters that form a troubled society, reminiscent of real life. Born of Caribbean American heritage, raised in Hartford with its vibrant Caribbean community, the filmmaker crafts a world we recognize: Simbi Kali portrays Ricky’s stern yet radiant Old World mother who has endured torment during her son’s absence; Maliq Johnson plays Ricky’s brother, James, a hothead willing to assist Ricky but only with minimal effort; Anrene Ward-Hammond is Cheryl, the ex-con Ricky meets at his support group, initially appearing sympathetic and welcoming, yet revealing an unstable side that ultimately causes chaos; and Sheryl Lee Ralph delivers a flawless performance as Joanne, Ricky’s parole officer. She has ties with Ricky’s mother in the past (at least until she was expelled from the church due to her sexuality), and acts like a stern disciplinarian reminiscent of Lou Gossett Jr.’s character in “An Officer and a Gentleman.

Ricky’s narrative unfolds smoothly, devoid of the conventional structure typically found in indie films. Rico is trying to maintain employment, avoid trouble, and steer clear of drugs and criminals, but the movie demonstrates at every juncture how challenging this task truly is. The difficulty stems not from a single cause, but rather from the cumulative effects of generational trauma. Since Ricky doesn’t have a driver’s license, he must walk everywhere in Hartford, covering long distances in his red T-shirt. However, he deeply yearns for a car, and when Mr. Torino (played by Titus Welliver) offers to sell his, Rico finds it hard to resist the temptation. The allure is too strong to ignore.

In the movie titled “Ricky,” there’s no compromise or shortcuts taken, instead, it portrays an authentic depiction of the risks associated with each decision Ricky makes. The audience’s eagerness to witness Ricky’s victory amidst obstacles that include his immigrant past (his father was deported), the allure of crime in popular culture, and his own mistakes, is evident. Rashad Frett, the filmmaker, skillfully demonstrates that it’s possible to create a captivating narrative while maintaining honesty, which is the essence of a true filmmaker.

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2025-01-25 05:47