From Omeleto.
A teenager is tested.
APOLLO is used with permission from Giles Perkins. Learn more at https://gilesperkins.com.
Angus is hanging out for the summer with his older brother Carter’s friends. Quiet and observant, he’s fascinated by the older boys as they hang out, watch sports and drink together around the bonfire. He enjoys their company and wants to fit in, and when the older guys, led by the group ringleader Cal, seem to adopt him as one of their own, he’s visibly thrilled.
But when Cal locks Angus in a shed for a night, he gives Angus a cruel test he must pass before he lets him out. By the next morning, Angus emerges, changed and unable to go back to the carefree boy he was.
Directed and written by Giles Perkins, this gritty yet lyrical short drama chronicles a devastating coming-of-age for one teenage boy eager to grow up and fit in. There’s something of Terrence Malick’s touch in the film’s poetic portrayal of a rural setting unadulterated by outside life, with its emphasis on textures, vistas and the poetic sensory details of nature. Angus moves in a milieu that seems untouched by adult interventions or institutions, part of a pack of young men who seem unburdened by responsibilities. They’re wild and free, and the sense of belonging they engender in Angus is intoxicating. As Angus, actor Isaac Witte doesn’t have much dialogue, but his watchful, youthful presence deftly conveys a boy’s glee in being part of the group, constantly taking in what it means to be a man, unfettered and independent.
But a muted, shadowy cast in the cinematography, as well as an almost reserved stillness in the camerawork, slowly builds into something ominous and dark. The visual progression mirrors Angus’s arc as he undergoes a harrowing family ritual in his journey to adulthood, instigated by Cal, his brother’s friend, played with lazy, malevolent charisma by actor Nick Skonberg. As Cal subjects Angus to this hazing ritual, a silent but palpable challenge emerges between Cal and Angus’s older brother Carter. As Carter, actor Cal Freundlich turns in a sensitive performance, conveying horror at what his younger brother is enduring but eventually cowed by Cal’s dominance. The rules of pack hierarchy still stand, despite the urge to protect family.
That unspoken hierarchy of dominance and power lies at the heart of APOLLO, offering a moody, weathered take on the coming-of-age of a boy into manhood. Its approach is minimal and its assured craftsmanship is quiet and restrained, but even with its sparse set of elements, it nevertheless captures the complexities of masculinity, adulthood and the bargains they demand of those making the transition. When Angus and Carter quietly deal with the aftermath of the ordeal, Carter tries to offer words of comfort. But both he and the audience know Angus will never be quite the same, sworn to the code of silence when it comes to those troubling emotions. In this way, Angus is inducted into adulthood, complete with moral burdens and terrible secrets to protect.
