Cinema doesn’t always need to say something – there doesn’t need to be some underlying message that occurs in every frame of a scene. Sometimes, a film is just allowed to exist. No one understands this more than Lynn Shelton, whose work has been the very definition of independent cinema. Not only does she make small but meaningful pieces, she’s seemingly been completely liberated from the mainstream machine, making films that are minimalistic and gorgeous, without ever feeling the need to give in to the temptation of employing the various models that tend to govern filmmaking. Sword of Trust is the perfect example of why Shelton is a master of her craft – small and hilarious, it is an irreverent comedy that sees a quartet of great performers interacting over their shared relationship with a certain concept, which the director explores in an intimate but impressive way, never deviating from the very simple core of the film. The film may not appear to be much – and some may think its a ghastly addition to the already over-packed sub-genre of the mumblecore movement, but for those that actually look beneath the surface, you’ll find a terrific little film with a lot of heart and the kind of narrative nihilism that can never be found in bigger films.

Mel (Marc Maron) runs a pawnshop in Birmingham, Alabama alongside his friend Nathaniel (Jon Bass), who mostly spends his day watching videos rather than working. Nearby, Cynthia (Jillian Bell), and her partner Mary (Michaela Watkins) are visiting the home of the former’s recently-deceased grandfather, hoping to sort out some loose ends and receive the inheritance – it turns out he didn’t leave his granddaughter anything except a single parcel, which they are chagrined to discover contains a sword. The only thing more absurd than being given this sword is the story that goes behind it – a family heirloom passed down for several generations, it was apparently surrendered to one of Cynthia’s ancestors, an officer in the Confederate Army, by a member of the Union, thus apparently being evidence to support the unpopular conspiracy that the South won the Civil War. Naturally, the paths of the two groups of people cross when Cynthia and Mary intend to sell the sword, which they offer to Mel, who initially believes that he’s being scammed. This is until some research shows that these women are hawking a theory that may not be true, but is increasingly popular, with many conspiracy theorists paying decent amounts of money for any evidence that supports their belief that the South was victorious. They strike up a deal to work together to sell it, but it soon becomes clear that those who seek out the sword are far more intense in their desire to have it than anyone is particularly comfortable with.

Sword of Trust embodies everything that should be appreciated about independent cinema – it is small and unpretentious, is entirely character-driven, features a terrific plot and is executed with a certain intimacy that allows the comedy at the core to flourish. It also deftly navigates the thin line between heartfelt and acidic, employing elements of both in its approach to a story that may not be particularly riveting in theory, but becomes something extremely special in execution. We have seen so many of these kinds of films descend into being unbearable, mainly because they’re often made without any foresight into how the audience is going to receive them (let’s be honest, there are factions of independent film fans that will adore anything, as long as it goes against the mainstream), but Shelton has been in the industry long enough to know how to tell such a story in a way that never dismisses the audience, but rather works alongside them. Shelton was one of the formative voices in the mumblecore movement, and is returning to the offbeat roots that set off her career over a decade ago with Sword of Trust, a film that proudly displays all of the wonderful traits that made her one of the most pivotal voices in contemporary independent cinema in the first place, and proof that while she may have ventured into slightly broader storytelling (mainly in her television work), she clearly has no intention of going mainstream, and that she’s still fully capable of making a tremendously entertaining and lovably strange piece of independent cinema.

There have been very few ascents to fame quite as satisfying as that of Marc Maron’s rise into a reliable character actor – a hilarious comedian in his own right, and a wonderful conversationalist, as demonstrated by his renowned podcast, it has only been in the past few years that he’s been afforded the opportunities as an actor that his talents warrant. In all fairness, he is such a unique individual with a very unconventional style and approach to his comedy, but he is also a very gifted performer and someone whose talents would undoubtedly be of great use in a landscape where character actors are starting to be used in more substantial roles. Sword of Trust is definitely not a film in which Maron feels out of place, and it is essentially built around his performance as a lovable curmudgeon out to make some fast money through very little effort. It isn’t a performance out of the comedian’s wheelhouse, but anyone who doesn’t consider this to be one of the most refreshingly honest portrayals of the year is gravely mistaken – Maron isn’t just playing a one-dimensional character (in the same way Bass and Bell seem to, even though they do have their moments), but rather a man who may appear to be just a misanthropic social outcast who just wants to get on with his life, but has his own secrets. As the film goes on, Maron’s performance starts to take on a new shape, and the intricacies of the character being to unfold, leading to a series of moments that demonstrate that there is a lot more to this performance than we think. Michaela Watkins is also wonderful as Mary, with her comedic timing working extremely well alongside that of the rest of the cast, with her feisty conviction and deeply unsentimental approach to the character being a highlight of the film – Maron’s performance has the heart, Watkins’ has the humour, and they occur brilliantly together.

Sword of Trust works because it never tries to be anything more than it actually is. Independent filmmaking was never designed to be direct competition to mainstream cinema – it wasn’t supposed to be an antidote, but rather an alternative, one that exists not to correct the narrative mistakes of bigger films, but to just tell stories on its own terms. It’s in this lack of hubris that we can find genuine sincerity in the film, because it tells a story that is actually worth telling, without ever feeling the need to deviate into more sardonic commentary. Its minimalistic approach serves it well, where it focuses on a single idea that it explores thoroughly, and one of its more significant merits is the fact that it never takes itself too seriously. Executed with a certain subdued confidence that rests very much on the improvisational background of the actors involved and their unique comedic timing (rather than the strict confines of a script that was clearly loose enough already to facilitate the unique talents of its performers), Shelton’s work here is remarkably subtle but also assured – this is not a film that ever felt the need to be broad or universally resonant, and its in this decision to not submit to the conventions of traditional comedy that this film is able to flourish. The attention paid to the small details of the story, and the authentic comedy that never feels forced, makes Sword of Trust a very natural and highly entertaining piece that proves that Shelton still reigns supreme when it comes to these kinds of intimate character-driven films.

Lynn Shelton continues to prove herself to be a filmmaker who is consistently underrated, despite her wonderful output of work throughout a career that has been wonderfully offbeat and defiant of any broad conventions. Sword of Trust is definitely one of her best films, mainly because it is so undeniably her own – simple but effective, executed with deft precision and told through a very natural style that never feels disingenuous. It may not make any major statements, and it may be seen as a victim of its own subtletly at times, but we just can’t ignore that this is an extremely likeable, effortlessly entertaining comedy that tells a straightforward story, working alongside a small cast of actors that bring their own nuances to quirky but endearing characters, and finds humour in some very unexpected places. It is a lot of fun and a wonderfully unique film that is filled to the brim with resonance and has no shortage of comedy lurking below its awkward encounters and moments of heartfelt sincerity. While it may not be to everyone’s taste, Sword of Trust is an effective independent comedy that has fun and makes some profound statements about life and its little absurdities along the way.