It was the great photographer Diane Arbus who said “a photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know”, which she used to describe her approach to photographing the various people who agreed to be her models as she traversed the streets of her native New York, taking pictures of people who captured her attention and piqued her curiosity. Her legacy has seemingly been carried over into the career of Ricky D’Ambrose, who is undeniably one of the most talented young voices in contemporary cinema, and whose work has been very much indicative of provoking conversations around these supposed secrets, revealing deeper truths about life that many would have thought would function better had they remained hidden. His previous directorial effort was Notes on an Appearance, a daring subversion of the film noir and mystery genres, and one of the most unique entries into the canon of astonishing directorial debuts of recent years. His sophomore effort is an even more ambitious project, coming in the form of The Cathedral, in which D’Ambrose once again works with similar ideas and stylistic techniques to tell a story of his own life, crafting a semi-autobiographical account of a young man growing up in a family plagued by tension and tragedy, and learning about some of the more challenging realities that many people soon learn are inevitable as they undergo the difficult process of ageing into a state where the inherent truths are impossible to hide. It makes for a deeply complex portrait of a family gradually falling apart due to a number of issues, which are all beautifully captured by the director’s lens, which is used as a pen to write a haunting but evocative narrative of life’s many obstacles, as seen through the eyes of a complex protagonist.

In The Cathedral, the director is represented by a character named Jesse, who serves as the vessel in which D’Ambrose is able to filter his perspective, working through his quandaries as he addresses his own past in this loosely-structured account of his upbringing. The focus may not always be on Jesse himself, as he is mainly an observer into the lives and affairs of his family, but the film uses him as the only constant motif, whose growth over time is used as the temporal marker for the sporadic glimpses into the life of his family as they undergo various changes over time. The coming-of-age narrative is frequently utilized as the central theme in a number of films, since it has structure and allows for a range of fascinating ideas to manifest – but yet, somehow under D’Ambrose’s direction, it becomes more polarizing, since we are not given much insight into the protagonist himself, but rather his family, whose existential quandaries are contrasted with his own, which leads to a number of intimidating but poignant conversations in which Jesse realizes the challenges that lay ahead of him, as shown through the difficult relationship he has with those around him. However, this is not an opportunity for the director to unravel the film into a cavalcade of traumatic incidents, but rather a restrained and elegant account of his formative years, as shown through the people closest to him. The Cathedral is essentially the story of a young man’s journey from infancy to adulthood as seen through a series of vignettes in which his family are the primary focus, telling the story of his development through their own various experiences, leading to a multifaceted and deeply disconcerting tale of familial strife.

For as long as art has been produced in the country, there has been a concerted effort to choose a work that is most definitive of the American experience. The proverbial “great American novel” is a contentious concept that has yet to find any conclusive resolution, with everyone holding different opinions as to what could possibly earn such a definitive title. The same has been carried over into cinema, with a constant debate occurring around a film that best encapsulates the American experience. There are several contenders, each one of them carrying merits – yet, it is The Cathedral that somehow emerges as the most unexpected entry into the conversation, something that is both surprising and entirely fitting, considering the extent to which D’Ambrose goes to explore his upbringing. This film uses the story of a young man coming of age to tell the story of America during the transition between the 20th and 21st centuries through the eyes of someone who had witnessed the change occurring around him as he matured in the years surrounding the millennium. D’Ambrose ensures that every frame of this film includes distinctly American images, in order to paint a portrait of his upbringing as he shifted between the tranquil suburbs and bustling urban spaces, both of which served as his formative surroundings, the locations in which he learned many of the most difficult lessons. Through this process, the illusion of the American Dream steadily declines – prosperity is shown to be temporary, and the trust in hard work is proven to be nothing but an institutional myth, a delusion that we have been forced into believing as a result of the fetishization of consumerism and wealth. These are all ideas that D’Ambrose assimilates into the film, and while many of them are not obliquely discussed, they form the foundation for the film’s active provocation of the status quo, which is done slowly and through the most subtle gestures of disdain and desperation.

The Cathedral features a new kind of realism, and an almost provocative sense of authenticity that is drawn from the most intimate moments. There is something about D’Ambrose’s style that keeps us at a slight distance – the tone is extremely stoic, and there is very little constructed emotion, which can create the atmosphere of the film being somewhat stilted. However, sentimentality is not what the director wanted, and instead he was doing it in search of a more honest depiction of everyday life. The film consists of an equal number of important events in the protagonist’s life (graduations, major religious ceremonies and the occasional death) as it does seemingly inconsequential moments, those days that seem to be ordinary, but actually turn out to hold a lot more importance in hindsight. We don’t always realize that the present moment are going to be the days that we look back on fondly, and while this film is not particularly gleeful, it does find a lot of warmth in those smaller moments, which are shown to be as integral to the protagonist’s development as those major events, which are contrasted with real-world affairs that are used to map his growth and coming-of-age. In many ways, The Cathedral is a deeply sad film – there are moments in which D’Ambrose allows his camera to linger on a particular shot for a few moments longer than necessary, which creates a tense and melancholy atmosphere – and the ambiguities of the film, and refusal to have a clear resolution or a traditional happy ending, creates a deeply authentic work, and often quite uncomfortable, but also entirely purposeful in its vision, which the director uses to his advantage as he navigates his own childhood and early adulthood.

Tonally and narratively, D’Ambrose is clearly an exceptionally gifted filmmaker, but this is not exclusively the elements that make his work so intriguing. As with his previous film, the style is as important as the story, and he certainly develops a distinct vision that immediately separates him from his more conventional contemporaries. The stilted tone is matched by the very simple visual style – D’Ambrose is clearly someone with a background in photography, since his ability to capture the most mundane images and make them absolutely spellbinding and complex in their own right is truly resonant. Through the time spent exploring the world of The Cathedral, we learn that the elisions are as important as the inclusions – the moments that the director leaves out or glosses over tell as much of a story as the scenes we see play out, many of them in real-time. This is a film in which the construction may be slightly bewildering – a series of disjoined tableaux that only start to converge and make sense in the latter portion, but where each one is incredibly important in creating a very stark image of his middle-class, suburban life. The Cathedral is a film that tells its story through intimate details rather than bold strokes – the quiet, meditative nature of the film allows D’Ambrose to reflect on themes that are much deeper than they would appear on the surface, and we watch him build a poignant coming-of-age narrative from the most seemingly simple ideas, which are as artistically resonant as they are philosophically profound. The camera is used as a tool to write a story, and whether capturing the emotion-laden faces of his actors (which include an array of native character actors who perfectly fit into the subdued world D’Ambrose is constructing), or the stagnant objects that suggest a psychological dissonance between the present moment and the past, there’s something so poetic about how the images in this film are displayed.

The Cathedral is one of the most provocative and unsettling films of recent years, a harrowing drama that takes place in confined spaces, and focuses on people who may not be particularly noteworthy, but feel so complex when placed under the director’s stern but compassionate gaze. Autobiographical works are challenging because there’s such a narrow boundary between insightful revelations and outright excess, especially when dealing with as complex a story as D’Ambrose’s upbringing – but yet, his ideas are so beautifully realized, and he understands the importance of establishing that distance between his role as both the subject of the story, and the person telling it. It creates an invigorating and fascinating account of a young man’s journey through life, stopping just before the present moment. The candour with which D’Ambrose puts this film together is remarkable – there’s so much detail in even the most insignificant moments, and every idea, whether disparate or connected to another, comes together to form this poignant tapestry of the ennui faced by a young man going through life surrounded by constant change, which is made even more challenging by the fact that these events seemingly occur randomly and without any explanation. Yet, it all feels so fascinating when filtered through the director’s bespoke lens, which combines psychological drama and urbane realism to be a vivid and distinct portrait of the quintessential American family, one that may not adhere to the principles previously established, but is far more authentic. It is a very small film, but there’s not much doubt that The Cathedral is going to grow in estimation as more people witness it, with its unique tone and deep compassion for its subjects being the foundation for one of the most challenging films of the past few years, and yet another reason to pay attention to D’Ambrose, who is certainly destined to become an even more vital voice in contemporary cinema.