Frank and Penelope (2022)

Frank and Penelope has the sweaty, neon-lit pulse of a grindhouse romance—part crime thriller, part horror-tinged fever dream—where desire and desperation feel dangerously close to the same thing. Sean Patrick Flanery directs with a scrappy confidence, letting the east Texas backroads, seedy interiors, and constant sense of threat do as much storytelling as the dialogue, while Billy Budinich and Caylee Cowan sell the central connection with a raw, bruised sincerity that keeps you leaning in. It’s the kind of film that doesn’t aim for polite suspense; it aims for that stomach-tightening dread of watching two people gamble everything on one last shot at escape. Fair warning: the content is intense—violence, sexual assault references, and explicit language—so it’s not for everyone, but if you like your thrillers grimy, romantic, and unpredictable, this one has a wicked bite.

Frank and Penelope is trying to be a grimy, doomed-romance road thriller where two damaged people cling to each other while the world gets meaner, and it definitely commits to that sleazy East Texas vibe. The problem is it often feels like it’s spinning its wheels: scenes pile on shock and cruelty without much narrative momentum, and the character choices can come off more forced than fated. Performances are serviceable but not strong enough to elevate the rough writing, so what should feel like a tense descent can instead feel like a road trip to nowhere. If you’re sensitive to sexual assault and harsh violence, or you want your crime thrillers to build toward something satisfying rather than just getting uglier, this is an easy skip—though if you’re in the mood for exploitation-leaning grit and a feverish, low-budget edge, you may find it watchable.