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The precise genre categorization of Sebastián Silva’s Tyrel is difficult to pin down in concrete terms, namely because it is based entirely on the specific cultural baggage each individual viewer brings to the film.
For many, it’s a horror movie; for others, just a wild night out with friends. And it’s that ambiguity that elevates the film’s darkly subtle examination of race relations. There’s no clear villain – at least, no character believes himself to be the villain – in this delicate portrait of the intersection of code-switching and bro culture.
When Tyler (Jason Mitchell) is invited to a birthday weekend at a secluded cabin in the Catskills by his close friend Johnny (Christopher Abbott), it becomes immediately clear that he is the only black guy in the bunch.
White in more ways than they could ever know, the friend group already has a clearly defined dynamic, an established language that only serves to further isolate Tyler. As the alcohol starts flowing, the young men become increasingly unhinged, and Tyler’s nightmare swerves into even more chaotic waters.
So much of the film rests on the character of Tyler, a perpetual odd man out who must reconfigure his identity to fit whatever situation he finds himself in at any given moment. He’s caught between two worlds, never truly welcomed into either, and as such he experiences an alienation like no other. With larger than life characters in such films as Straight Outta Compton and Mudbound, Jason Mitchell has been at the forefront of race dissections in the past, but here it isn’t the extreme journey we’ve seen. Instead, the character is much more easily recognizable, more approachable. There’s a poignancy in Tyler’s harsh relatability.
As with many of Silva’s previous films, Tyrel is so personal in its execution that it feels like eavesdropping. Toxic masculinity is easy to spot, but it isn’t always quite so simple when it comes to accurately replicating its impact on film.
Silva has a great ear for conversation, even those in his second language, and he is able to capture both the intensity and emotional detriment of male friendships. Through a series of painfully intimate exchanges and objectively idiotic bonding rituals, we learn a great deal about these characters, including those attributes they are far too guarded to share outright.
Tyrel probably won’t tell you anything you don’t already know. There are no easy answers or tidy resolutions. However, it works as a functional icebreaker, a starting point for those conversations we only whisper when we’re around those we know already share our beliefs. A raw, fly-on-the-wall window into a world of isolation you either know all too well or are blind to altogether, this brutal portrayal strips away metaphor and symbolism to simply display the world as seen through Tyler’s eyes.
Tyrel” isn’t the name of its lead character, a young black man joining a boozy excursion hosted by a bunch of white dudes, nearly all of whom he doesn’t know. Our protagonist is Tyler, but the letter-reversing, implied black-ification of the name in Sebastián Silva’s squirm-inducing character study of racial alienation, is also a symbol of how forced the movie’s high-wire act of suspense and sympathy is.
Jason Mitchell’s friendly but reserved New York restaurateur tags along with buddy Johnny (Christopher Abbott) for a weekend stag party in the woods celebrating the birthday of Johnny’s friend Pete (Caleb Landry Jones).
Though no one is openly threatening and Johnny routinely keeps tabs on his friend’s feeling included in the shenanigans, the wintry air of isolation, testosterone, pranking and whiteness triggers in Tyler a form of personality disintegration, a psychological precipice made worse by the free-flowing alcohol and increasingly daring antics. (Silva regular Michael Cera is also part of the group.)
If “Get Out” comes to mind, certainly with Jones in the cast, you may think of this drink-fueled scenario for Tyler as the Sodden Place. Mitchell’s commandingly pain-stricken performance — a pinwheel of wariness, confusion and anxiety — is certainly something to admire, but Silva’s affinity for social discomfort, also exhibited in “Crystal Fairy” and “Nasty Baby,” has finally reached what feels like a clinical dead-end this time around. “Tyrel” is a lab experiment with no insight into feelings of otherness beyond the blinding light directed at its wigged-out subject.
It was hard not to see the blurb for Sebastián Silva’s Tyrel at the Sundance Film Festival in January of this year, as Get Out was doing its awards lap, and feel a little bit of déjà vu. Tyler (Jason Mitchell), a black man, the summary tells us, heads upstate with an all-white crew for a weekend that gets out of hand in some way or another.
(The deftly brutal title comes from a momentary misunderstanding of his name early in the film.) But Silva’s film is more modest in scale, and thus gets time to explore even more of the kind of murky, almost imperceptible little aggressions and performances its characters do for each other, and needn’t build to literal horror to be wrenching in its own regard (though it certainly could have!).
What makes Tyrel so effective is that the dilemma of Mitchell’s character would have worked even without the “when you’re the only one” setup. The film opens with Tyler and Johnny (Christopher Abbott) rolling a pooped-out sedan down an icy dirt road in the Catskills. Their destination is a house owned by Nico (Nicolas Arze) for a birthday celebration for Johnny’s friend Pete (human incarnation of acid reflux disease — and I mean that in a good way — Caleb Landry Jones). Everyone else knows each other but Tyler, and rarely have I seen a depiction of just feeling left out at a party so observant and dead-on. The moments Silva gives Tyler alone say everything: heading to bed hours before everyone else, finding comfort in the acceptance of the household dog, the moment you step out and just barely catch someone making an underhanded joke about you in the next room. It’s painful, paranoiac stuff, and your heart breaks for Tyler, who feels increasingly trapped among a crew of rowdy, drunk, irreverent white dudes, as these little injustices mount.
But the issue of Tyler’s race — rarely addressed explicitly but of course always in the room — compounds all the garden-variety alienation. Early in the film, the boys gather round the fireplace for a game that can only be described as Problematic Celebrity: They pass around a bowl filled with accents and “types” — Indian! Chinese! — to impersonate. Tyler absolutely wants no part in the game, but doesn’t know these people well enough to do anything more than try to laugh it off. When they eventually goad him into doing a “Black New Orleans Grandma” impression, the room eats it up, and we and Tyler feel a pit form in our stomach. Meanwhile, Dylan (Roddy Bottum), the sole gay man in the group, is the only one whose discomfort with the game matches Tyler’s, but the possibility of him as an ally is repeatedly floated and betrayed throughout the film — something so theoretically nice as intersectional solidarity is not necessarily on the table here.
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The next day, heightened chaos arrives in the form of Alan (Michael Cera), a rich kid Tyler takes a liking to without noticing (or perhaps choosing not to notice) the dicey way in which Alan relates to him and his race. Hey, at least he addresses it at all, we can feel Tyler thinking as he proceeds to get shit-faced with the rich kid. From there, all the paranoia that’s been building — particularly between Tyler and Johnny, gets sent through a fun-house mirror, and soon Tyler finds himself more alone than ever.