Beach Rats (2017)

Beach Rats is special because it looks at a young man’s confusion and craving for escape with a rare, clear-eyed tenderness—never sensationalizing, never judging, just watching him breathe (and sometimes suffocate) inside his own life. Eliza Hittman directs with an intimate, almost tactile immediacy, and Harris Dickinson gives a breakout performance built from small glances and guarded silences that say more than speeches ever could. The Brooklyn summer atmosphere feels sun-bleached and dreamlike, with cinematography that turns boardwalk lights and late-night shadows into a mood you can practically taste, while the film’s empathy keeps pulling you closer even when the choices on screen get messy. It’s not for everyone—there’s explicit sex, heavy drug use, and a raw, uneasy vibe—but if you want a coming-of-age drama that feels honest rather than comforting, this one lingers.

Beach Rats is aiming for a raw, intimate portrait of a young guy suffocating under macho expectations while quietly testing his identity, and it nails that uneasy, sweaty Brooklyn atmosphere. The problem is it can feel more like a series of heavy moods than a fully shaped story, with pacing that drifts and a script that sometimes hints at big emotional turns without really earning or resolving them. It’s also explicitly sexual and steeped in drug use, so if you’re not up for graphic intimacy or bleak, self-destructive behavior, this will be a rough sit. Still, Harris Dickinson is compelling and the film’s observational realism will work for viewers who prefer character studies that leave you unsettled rather than satisfied.