Mass is the coming together of two couples linked through their relationship to a mass casualty tragedy that rocked the small community years prior.  The log line is simple, but the film delves deep into the concepts of grief, blame, regret, as well as compassion and forgiveness. 

The film opens and closes following Judy (Breeda Wool) and another church employee, Anthony (Kagen Albright).  Judy is frantic and nervous as she awaits Kendra’s (Michelle N. Carter) arrival.  It is a rough start: there are allusions to Anthony’s past that do not go anywhere and are unnecessary, Judy is gratingly anxious, and when Kendra finally does arrive their interactions are clunkily cryptic.  Writer/director Fran Kranz clearly wants to keep some of the foundational elements of the film close in hand and not reveal too much, but the film does not need this mystery and is at its strongest when it confronts it themes and topics head on. 

We do not need to wait too long as Jay (Jason Isaacs) and Gail (Martha Plimpton) soon arrive at the church.  There is some more dancing around what is happening with Kendra before the second couple enters.  Richard (Reed Birney) and Linda (Ann Dowd) come into the room with a gift of flowers that is awkwardly exchanged before the four take their seats at the table in the center of the room.  Once alone, we begin to get a clearer idea of what this meeting is all about: the aftermath of a school shooting. 

Mass will be endlessly questioned about why it was not made into a stage play, and it’s a fair question.  Most of the film takes place in a single room of a single location.  The cast is small, and everyone has their turn in the spotlight.  But Mass, as it is presented here, can only ever be a film.  Kranz has total control over his camera and knows when to cut away or hold on his actors.  He balances when we should close in tight and then takes us back out to a wide shot for air, but not before we sit and feel the weight of the words just spoken.  Mass is brutal and unflinching once it gets moving but finds tender moments as well so that it is not 110 straight minutes of anguish. 

What is most unique about the film is its commitment to its purpose.  It is four people, in a room, reconciling with great and terrible emotions around lives cut short.  A lesser script would fall back onto flashbacks and an emotional score, but Mass does none of that.  It relies solely on its actors and the words on the page.  With very few audio cues – hardly enough to be considered a score – in its quietness, the film’s message bellows and echoes and resonates with its audience. 

Its messaging is expertly delivered as it highlights many of the failings of our society but does not place blame exclusively on any singular part.  By truly showing every angle and exploring the different viewpoints, it opens up the topic for discussion in a non-hostile way as it is more interested in understanding than finger pointing.  The other very refreshing thing about Kranz’s script is that it does not lean heavily on religion.  Instead, he forces us to focus on the very uncomfortable emotions and reconcile with all of those feelings on a human level before the idea of forgiveness can even be broached. 

Kranz’s film is very tough to talk about on a structural level as there is very little plot.  It truly is just four people alone in a room together.  There are revelations that are made, and it is truly an actors showcase, but the concept demands a tell not show style of filmmaking which is counter to every piece of conventional wisdom regarding modern filmmaking and script writing.  Small in scope but grand in ambition, Mass, when it finally releases our own subconscious from its grip, will undoubtedly find itself being played in philosophy classes across the country.  Will it solve our problems?  No.  But it will strike up important conversations about how we need to do better as a community and hopefully guide the minds to create a more human-focused generation of future leaders.