Powder (1995)

Powder is one of those earnest, high-concept dramas that dares to treat empathy like a superpower, and it’s surprisingly moving in the way it turns a “different” kid story into something stranger, gentler, and more spiritual. Sean Patrick Flanery commits completely to Jeremy’s quiet intensity, while Mary Steenburgen and Lance Henriksen ground the film with a wary, human decency that keeps the fantasy elements feeling emotionally real. The vibe is part small-town fable, part coming-of-age bruiser—there are moments of cruelty and discomfort, but they’re in service of a film that wants you to feel what other people feel, not just watch it from a safe distance. It won’t be for everyone if you’re allergic to sincere, big-hearted metaphors or you’d rather your supernatural stories stay purely escapist, but if you’re open to a movie that reaches for wonder with conviction, Powder lingers.

Powder is aiming for a modern-day fable about empathy, cruelty, and the healing power of connection, with a supernatural twist that wants to leave you feeling uplifted. The problem is it often mistakes solemn speeches and big “message” moments for genuine insight, so the emotion can feel pushed rather than earned, and the powers veer into “sure, why not” territory instead of convincing mythology. It also leans hard on bullying and humiliation to make its point, which can be unpleasantly intense for a PG-13 drama and may feel manipulative if you’re not already on its wavelength. If you can accept a slightly absurd, very earnest 90s fantasy-drama, there are a few heartfelt performances and striking scenes that still land—but if you want subtlety, realism, or nuanced storytelling, this probably isn’t your time well spent.