Someone needs to tell me why Stephan James isn’t an A-list actor right now, sought after by directors far and wide for intimate and blockbuster-sized projects. His breakthrough role as Jesse Owens in Race was a solid starting block, and while he’s been good elsewhere, it’s never clicked perfectly the way it does in Ricky. Rashad Frett’s drama, an expansion of his short film that was here at Sundance a couple of years ago, boils over with the emergence of raw talent. As an ex-con struggling to stay out of prison and do right in a world that seems stacked against him, James balances ferocity and vulnerability to create a character who feels instantly real, and like someone we all might have in our lives.
James plays Ricardo Smith, and he’s only a few weeks out on parole after serving a 15-year stint in prison. Given that he’s only 30 years old, Ricky doesn’t have the tools to survive that an adult his age should have. He’s also got severe rage issues, and can snap at a moment’s notice. Ricky has spent half of his life in prison with violent adults, learning not to trust anybody as a means of self-preservation. This is no way to exist in the real world, though; and Ricky isn’t exactly a patient man eager to learn new life lessons.
By the looks of it, Ricky is making it easy for himself to end up behind bars again He’s required to attend these self-help group meetings for ex-cons and he can’t seem to ever get there. His parole officer Joan (Sheryl Lee Ralph, with an occasional Caribbean accent that peaks through), takes no shit. She needs that signed letter saying Ricky attended the meetings. Ricky can’t hold a job, neither, in part because of his own screw-ups but also because he can’t endure the background checks.
One of the many positive things about Ricky is how it doesn’t try to paint him as a saint caught up in an obviously stacked legal system. The deck is stacked against him the way it’s stacked up against all ex-cons, and the film doesn’t even talk about the racial component because it’s obvious. But Ricky is also his own worst enemy and makes bad choices when the right ones are there in front of him.
What we also see is that Ricky is a decent soul; an imperfect one who can be scary when the rage is too hot to contain, but he’s trying the best he can with the skills he possesses. One of those is cutting hair; he has a real gift for it. It’s through this gift that he meets Jaz (Imani Lewis), a young mother who lets Ricky cut her son’s hair. She’s weary of Ricky at first but warms to his innocent, boyish nature. Ricky’s escapades with women are hit and miss, like the doomed sexual tryst with Cheryl (Andrene Ward-Hammond), another former felon who seems nice but later becomes one of the many mistakes that threaten to make his time on the outside short.
Throughout, Ricky shows street smarts and naivete as he comes of age. We witness his first sexual encounters, his first driver’s license, and his first girlfriend, all things he should have done years earlier but is only now able. Ricky works best when seen as a coming-of-age story rather than one of social justice. Frett, for all of his skillful direction and ability to capture small moments and intense violence, fails to fully flesh out Ricky’s world in a way that feels unique.
The film is set in Hartford, CT in a bustling Caribbean community much like the one Frett grew up in. Prior to the film’s world premiere at Sundance this evening, Frett talked about wanting to tell this kind of story but do it in a way unique to the people of that community. But Ricky fails to do that. It could’ve been set in Oakland or Los Angeles like so many movies telling a similar story. Frett also wanted to highlight the mental health issues that so many face upon leaving prison, but Ricky barely skims the surface. The same goes for frequent allusions to those exonerated after wrongful convictions, and the tragic story of Kalief Browder, who spent 800 days in solitary confinement for a crime he may or may not have committed, and then hanged himself shortly after release. These may have been an influence but don’t necessarily fit with Ricky’s hardships, and feel like Frett’s forceful attempts to give his film some meaning.
Ricky doesn’t need any of that. James’ soulful, compelling performance is one of the best to pass through Park City in years, and Frett knows how to tell a story that crackles with life and genuine stakes. While I wouldn’t dare compare Ricky‘s debut to the world premiere of Fruitvale (later Fruitvale Station) more than a decade ago, if we’re so lucky, the pairing of Frett and James will become as tight-knit as Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan.
