Frank & Louis

Frank & Louis poses thoughtful questions about atonement and forgiveness, about how much sense it makes to keep ailing men behind bars when they no longer remember who they were or what they did. It’s an interesting angle for a prison drama, handled with great sensitivity by the filmmakers and cast.

It’s a script and a production tightly built around its performers, both superb individually, but most importantly, warmly attentive to each other on screen, and capable of sharing a silence.

While Frank & Louis is narratively unsurprising, its strong performances and emotional authenticity give it undeniable power.

Some films thrive on twists, while others compel based on meaty performances. Volpe’s picture is squarely the latter: an introspective analysis of the human condition.

Volpe’s direction and the stoic pace keep Frank and Louis at arm’s length, never truly letting us engage with them on a deeper level.

Frank & Louis slips into being a film that’s observed and admired from a distance, not experienced emotionally.

Despite fine performances and a riveting premise—prisoners finding meaning in caring for their elders, even a violent white supremacist—Frank & Louis falters by putting its characters in predictable, nuanceless boxes.