my favorite movie & meal of the year so far
A new indie and a twisted sushi restaurant
GOOD ONE
India Donaldson
When you’ve watched enough movies it can feel like narratives often revolve around a limited set of themes. In interpersonal dramas, familiar emotions unfold in various permutations. So the beauty lies in the unique ways these stories can unfurl, and when a filmmaker does it right, in their own way, it can be invigorating.
That's absolutely the case with India Donaldson's debut feature Good One about a 17-year-old queer girl on a camping trip in the Catskills with her dad and his lifelong best friend. Relying on gestures and tone of voice, this intimate, triangular drama gently pushes us to ask what’s askew and what can go wrong, as she’s caught in the crosshairs of their jocular bickering. In just a few short moments, at the film’s climax, the facade of adulthood and the limitations of our parental figures, are exposed—or in this case affirmed.
Sam (Lilly Collias, quite a breakthrough) projects a wisdom uncommon in one so young, prone to watching more than speaking and acting as mediator when dad-Chris (James Le Gros) and friend-Matt (Danny McCarthy) regress into whatever familial patterns they established as young men. Donaldson’s deeply personal story bears the mark of hindsight, anchored by patient observation and precise attention to the unique rhythms of dad-speak, which take on a new inflections in the hands of the actors. When Matt shows up ill-prepared, packed to the gills with denim, cheese, and no sleeping bag, Chris is quick to roll his eyes and cast judgment, like a snippy, exasperated partner. (Le Gros has been a regular in the films of Kelly Reichert, to which Good One shares kinship.)
As the unfiltered and unprincipled Matt, McCarthy is an undeniable comedic presence. The character/stage actor has a burly, pressurized girth, as if he's about to burst out of his own skin. Everything he says carries an edge of yelping urgency, on the knife’s edge of anger. Matt is an out-of-work actor going through divorce; Chris has a steadier career (in architecture?) on his second marriage with a much younger woman. Despite superficial differences, they are the same—slightly sad, casually patriarchal, blinkered, middle-aged men.
Visually, the film grounds us in the charming grime of camping. As someone whose personal sanity is predicated on feeling subjectively clean, the voluntary act of roughing it in the wilderness is beyond my personal comfort zone. Watching Good One, I learned how to filter water and clean your plates so as not to attract animals. Enhancing the tapestry is Celia Hollander's limber score, which nearly layers dissonant melodies. It feels floating and out-of-place (not at all the overzealous suspenseful violin music we’ve come to expect from such a story), reinforcing the hippie woodsiness while fostering a contemplative ambiance. In select theaters now. Eventually streaming on Metrograph.
RIYL—or what to watch next: Old Joy, The Loneliness Planet, Fish Tank, Leave No Trace
ROSELLA
All the elements of a successful restaurant— service, ingenuity, vibes— are juggled excitingly at this unconventional East village sushi restaurant. The bartender told us, as he might tell you, that our time at Rosella would be great or life-changing, resulting in either a broadly wonderful meal or the discovery of your new favorite restaurant depending on how you order.
Rosella is priced a la carte, but you also have the option to place yourself in the restaurant’s care, and let them choose dishes on your behalf. You should. The chef Jeff Miller demonstrates the culinary daring to fuck with established methods and a singular commitment to sustainability. Thoughtfully adaptive and delightfully in-flux based on what’s available—not just caught locally, but caught in a way that doesn’t damage the ecosystem, and highly rated on Seafood watch— though the blueprint for many remains the same. A quick Google-review scan reveals what to expect before dining there: neither a prosaic buffet nor a hushed omakase temple, this is an unorthodox sushi bar. For some, like me, other people’s central complaint is in fact a commendation.
I’ll also point out that given the rising price of omakase in this city, which can quickly ascend into the $400 range (I’m not kidding), Rosella is a relative bargain. And unlike sushi palaces, high and low, it has the kind of engaging service that makes you feel like family, where the its members are refreshingly passionate about what they do.
Here’s what I ate:
Ceviche is a label applied loosely. Scallops in coconut milk and lime outfitted with crunchy hominy. Like a bowl of cereal, it was cold, crunchy, and crisped.
Crudos are usually reinforced with fruit, sometimes tangerines, one tomatillos. This time it was watermelon precisely the same color as the tuna.
Dragonfly salad, showered with ginger dressing—an homage to a standby sushi joint in Gainesville, where the chef went to school—is more than a mere afterthought, showered with taut slices of nectarine, and a litany of herbs, shiso, cilantro, dill.
Some dishes, like trout nigiri dotted with ginger and fried shallots, are mainstays for a reason. In that one bite I rode a gentle wave of smoke (applewood), salinity, then warm spice. Such a considered, ethereal bite that epitomizes Rosella. I was, to be honest, a little moved.
After a pickling in rice vinegar, buttery, fat Prince Edward Island mussels turn elegantly sour.
For shrimp nigiri, thin slivers of South Carolina prawns were lightly torched and layered onto the rice like a helmet. This is only the second place in my life where I have been convinced to eat, and enjoyed, raw shrimp. (The first was Sushi Nakazawa in its heyday.)
The heartiest dish were XO grits with uni and goat cheese, which you may not have room for at the end.
I’ve always wondered how best to end a meal at a sushi restaurant. A square of tamago is usually sufficient but Rosella goes beyond. Coconut milk sorbet with a pool of pesto is tangy and earthy; energized by miso, the carrot cake is softly spoonable and strewn with edible flowers. Beautiful and delicious.