American Honey (2016)

American Honey feels special because it turns the American road movie into something raw, lived-in, and strangely beautiful—less a plot machine than a pulse you fall into. Andrea Arnold follows Star with intimate, sunburnt immediacy, and Sasha Lane’s breakout performance has that rare quality of seeming discovered rather than cast, while Shia LaBeouf and Riley Keough crackle around her like competing weather systems. Robbie Ryan’s cinematography makes parking lots, cheap motels, and Midwest backroads glow with a restless, almost dreamy energy, capturing the rush of freedom and the ache underneath it without ever tipping into easy judgment. It’s long, explicit, and deliberately loose in structure, so it won’t be for everyone—but if you want a bold, original drama that feels like you’re riding shotgun through someone’s real life, it’s absolutely worth the trip.

American Honey is trying to be a raw, sunburnt slice of modern American youth—more lived-in road diary than neatly packaged drama—and when it clicks, Andrea Arnold captures a gritty, intimate sense of freedom and loneliness. The problem is it’s deliberately loose and repetitive, so if you need a strong plot, clear character arcs, or a “point” that lands decisively, this can feel like an indulgent three-hour hangout that mistakes aimlessness for depth. The explicit sex, nudity, drugs, and constant chaos aren’t window dressing either; they’re the texture of the film, and it can be exhausting rather than edgy depending on your tolerance. If you’re patient with languid pacing and you love atmospheric, naturalistic performances (Sasha Lane is genuinely compelling), you may find it hypnotic—but if you value structure and momentum, it’ll likely test your goodwill.