Benny (Keir Tallman) is upset when he learns that he will be spending his summer at his grandmother’s (Sarah H. Natani) ranch on the Navajo Reservation instead of at home in California where he was going to see Fleetwood Mac in concert.  Toiling away fixing the sheep fence with his Uncle Marvin (Martin Sensmeier), Benny’s only real reprieve comes when his cousin, Dawn (Charley Hogan), nicknamed Frybread Face, also comes to spend her summer on the ranch.  The two youngsters begin to bond, and soon, Benny begins to appreciate his indigenous heritage having been given the opportunity to live and learn about it.  

Billy Luther writes and directs the coming-of-age memory film, Frybread Face and Me, which was picked up by ARRAY after its South by Southwest premiere, though its debut on Netflix is where it will meet its largest domestic audience.  Indigenous stories are very important to Luther who uses his platform to bring those stories to light across a variety of mediums and genres. Belonging to the Navajo, Hopi, and Laguna Pueblo tribes himself, that love of culture and family is evident in every sun-soaked frame of the 83-minute film, his first narrative feature after having worked in documentaries, shorts, and television.  He coaxes out incredibly poignant performances from his core cast of newcomers – Tallman, Hogan, and Natani – so that they can navigate the nuances of memory alongside the more veteran cast who help guide the narrative into facing its more complex themes about identity. 

At the center of it all is Benny, the eleven-year-old boy who was pulled from his San Diego home, and now feels like a stranger in his own family.  Between the language barrier with his grandmother who does not speak any English, to being the city boy dropped off at the dusty sheep ranch, Benny’s world has been turned upside down with only a moment’s notice in the opening scene. Tallman is in almost every scene, and under Luther’s careful direction in bringing his memories to life, the young actor is able to deliver a great performance. As the narrative unfolds, he grows in appreciation of his culture which he had largely been kept apart from living in the city. For instance, he does not speak any Navajo, and Luther is particular about when and when not to subtitle the dialogue for audiences. One moment that really sticks out is when his grandmother tells Dawn to translate for her as her grandson does not know a word she is saying. While Benny does not learn that language across the course of the film, he does seek to immerse himself in the culture and traditions with a wide-eyed wonder; though it is unlikely that he will be asking for mutton any time soon. Tallman navigates the emotional swamp of preteenhood with shocking ease as he displays an appropriate amount of rebellious apathy, idle born mischievousness, but also an incredibly sweet and tender side.  

Luther, who identifies as gay, places some of that struggle on Benny resulting in some of the best scenes of the film in a narrative thread that really only reveals itself when accounting for the film as a whole.  It starts with the age-old debate of dolls or action figures asked by all the men in his life, and that grows to the just as subtle question of masculinity masked by jabbing from his uncle if he is a “cowboy or a cowgirl” since the boy is wearing his mother’s hat when he arrives. He shrugs off this barb with a simple and concise: “I’m just Benny.”  Later, he and Dawn share a freeing dance scene together while he dons a skirt and scarf, then later he has his nails pained by his Aunt Lucy (Kahara Hodges), a free-spirited, jewelry maker and aspiring beautician who, if the reservation rumors are to be believed, is a lesbian.  These hints do not make Frybread Face and Me a primarily queer drama, but that these moments were included makes the film feel like something special. 

That special feeling truly extends to the entire film as the very nature of the story is a meandering trip down memory lane, and while its lack of traditional goals or focus may be frustrating for some looking for a more straightforward narrative structure, the warmth of the story is more than enough to carry the film.  It is not quite a stream-of-consciousness film, rather, it is like reading through the pages of Luther’s diary and its short and sweet runtime does not overstay its welcome.   

That being said, given Luther’s work in television, he has maybe cut his story down a little too much.  It butts up against the drama of the moment, but there is very little narrative depth to the scenes so at a certain point the characters become more like caricatures.  In a way, that is effective at keeping the film filtered through Benny’s emotional state as often time children associate and define the adults in their lives with a few characteristics. For instance, there is an entire film’s worth of struggle and triumph behind Marvin, but to Benny, he is just a bitter and angry adult barking orders.  This approach to the story works for the ancillary characters, but it does a great disservice to Benny’s main counterpart, Dawn.  Taking top billing in the title, Frybread Face has so large a story to tell of her own, but because the film is entirely from Benny’s point of view, we only ever get a few glimpses of the life she leads.  To her credit, Hogan delivers a nuanced performance that conveys so much; a girl whose only stability comes from always being welcomed back at her grandmother’s ranch when her own parents fail her time after time.  From quoting every line of Starman (1984) because the late fees would cost too much to return at this point to her doll, Jeff Bridges, with the cabbage patch kid head, Dawn brings a lived-in energy to the film. 

In its execution, Frybread Face and Me is emulative of Sean Baker’s work in how it tells marginalized stories while promoting actors in those communities by bringing them to the screen.  Because of that, the performances are unrefined with some stilted line readings, but where Luther differs from Baker is that he is telling his story instead of highlighting someone else’s so there is never that slightly grimy feeling of exploitation or gawkish nature that often comes with Baker.  It is sweet, almost excessively so, but because of that firmly rooted base of truth, it does not overwhelm.  While the memories explored are deeply personal to Luther, the film is widely accessible to all audiences.