Before he was one of the most celebrated comedians of his generation (before facing controversy, the details of which we will not be discussing here by basis of looking at the art above the artist himself – but kindly don’t equate this positive review with any kind of support or sympathy for his actions), Louis C.K. was a promising independent film director, and, unsurprisingly, everything he has done has been profoundly cinematic in some way or another, whether it be his critically acclaimed and deeply iconic television show Louie (which lay the groundwork for an entire generation of comedians), or his stand-up specials, in which he earned the majority of his popularity. C.K. is a distinctly unique voice, and his authorship extends far beyond just comedy. I have always been fascinated by the work he does beyond performing, and his directorial efforts, while sometimes quite divisive, are indicative of a truly talented filmmaker, someone who is as comfortable behind the camera as he is in front of it, which is not a skill that many comedians can claim to have achieved at quite this level. His feature film efforts are slightly more divisive – for quite a while, his only directorial outings were Tomorrow Night, a charming but relatively minor independent comedy made on a shoestring budget over a decade before C.K.’s ascent to fame, and Pootie Tang, a cult classic but one that has not aged particularly well. Recently, he has returned to feature filmmaking, but not in the way that we would expect, based on public perceptions based on his actions. His Woody Allen-inspired I Love You Daddy remains unreleased, while his most recent film flew under the radar to the point where it took almost a year for me to encounter this film, only hearing about it through a friend that drew my attention to what seemed to be one of C.K.’s most melancholic works. A simple and often very funny existential drama that bears all the best qualities of his directorial work, Fourth of July is an unexpected triumph, and proof that C.K. is not only a tremendous comedian, but a skilled director whose attention to detail and immense emotion shows in every frame.

The overall premise of Fourth of July is extremely simple, but it is still not entirely clear what drove C.K. to direct this film, and one can only assume that the overall impetus for this story came from co-writer and the film’s star, Joe List, who seems to be as integral to the film as the director. The film tells the story of a man who returns to Maine for his family’s annual Fourth of July party, prepared to discuss his feelings of resentment from years of mistreatment, only to be met with hostility and unexpected reactions that call into question his entire reality, something he was not prepared to hear. Family is a difficult concept to portray on screen without it feeling either flippant or overly sentimental. There have been entire careers built on the concept of familial trauma and dysfunction, and it’s a challenge to tell such a story without resorting to some kind of cliche. Rather than attempting to avoid conventions, C.K. and List instead choose to embrace them, making a film about the thornier and more unstable aspects of family, focusing on both the eccentricity and darker moments that every family tends to endure in some way or another, with the ability to persevere through these challenging moments being a sign of meaningful bond. It should be said that Fourth of July is in no way a film that offers any definitive answer to some of the more abstract questions relating to the theme of family, nor is its advice particularly sound – after all, this is a film defined by its unlikeable, selfish characters – but it has a depth that is impossible to overlook, which is precisely where the film is at its most remarkable, both narrative and emotionally. There is a depth to the film that sometimes can feel quite meandering, but there is a purpose to everything we see reflected in this story, with C.K. drawing out meaning from even the most intimate corners of the narrative, which makes for an engaging and riveting comedy with moments of striking drama – although the inverse is just as appropriate a description.

Considering the simplicity of the story, and how it is essentially 90 minutes of awkward interactions and difficult conversations, most of Fourth of July depends on the tone to be effective and move the narrative along, which was an approach C.K. used quite often in Louie, particularly in episodes that weren’t focused on plot as much as they were atmosphere, which were often the most intriguing, even if they were sometimes out of character for the show as a whole. For someone known for his outrageous approach to comedy, C.K. is remarkably subdued when stepping behind the camera, and this film emphasizes that fact from its first moments, right until those last haunting shots when all the carefully-constructed details begin to unravel. There is a sensitivity here that we haven’t seen from C.K. in a while, but which has always existed in his directorial work – both Louie (particularly in the last two seasons) and Horace & Pete were more tone poems than they were comedy series, with the director experimenting and developing a new style, almost comparable to tragicomedy in many ways. How he tempers emotions is remarkable – he can take a single scene and infuse it with outrageous humour and deeply sobering melodrama, without even having to overtly switch, and instead managed to develop certain ideas that are best viewed from alternating perspectives. As a result,  Fourth of July is difficult to categorize into a clear genre – its frequent oscillations between humour and pathos can initially trip us up as we form our first impressions, but we soon settle into understanding the world in which this film takes place, which is an extraordinary and challenging experience, and one that proves the immense complexity that goes into the creation of even the most seemingly simple work.

One of the objective merits of C.K.’s work as a director is his insistence on casting actors that are not always particularly well-known or entirely famous, but rather drawn from his coterie of like-minded comedians and writers, or sometimes even found as a result of chance encounters. This has allowed us to become acquainted with many terrific comedians and actors, many of whom have become far more well-regarded as a result of the exposure they were given through collaborating with him. It is must suspicion that Fourth of July will be many viewers’ first encounter with Joe List – it was by my recollection the first time I had ever seen him perform in anything, which is not surprising considering he is a journeyman comedian who has not previously acted in any films, making this quite an audacious debut. The list is not a particularly remarkable person in terms of personality – he is non-descript and quite subtle, and his humour is subdued and observational, rather than being the more rambunctious style we normally find from C.K. and his colleagues. However, this contrast was intentionally used as the foundation for this film, since the blend of List’s quiet ruminations and the style usually associated with the director create a memorable and detailed account of a journey, both physical and psychological, undertaken by a young man searching for meaning in a hostile world. He is joined by a range of other actors, most of which are quite obscure – outside of C.K. and regular collaborators Robert Kelly and Nick DiPaolo (both of which are terrific), everything else in Fourth of July are small-scale character actors, which gives the film a sense of authenticity, which would not have been possible with more established actors in these roles, which is one of the many merits that come when working with those who have not had the opportunity to receive much exposure. In particular, Paula Plum and Robert Walsh are remarkable as List’s parents and Tara Pacheco is excellent in the role of the only other sane person in the film, a deliberate choice that reflects C.K’s belief that there should always be an emotional anchor in every story, even if they are otherwise inconsequential.

Fourth of July is a very strong effort from a director who frequently pushed the boundaries of his craft, to the point where it seemed like he was on the precipice of becoming one of our great modern filmmakers before accountability took hold of him and forced him to pay the consequences of his actions. On an objective level, this is a triumph – outside of his remarkable Into the Woods trilogy of episodes on Louie (which were autobiographical accounts of his experiences growing up), this film is one of his most intimate projects, as well as being a deeply personal text for List, who brings much of his own life into this story, albeit in a way that isn’t entirely reflective of his own experiences, but rather meditations on the past as he saw it, which we know is often not as consistent as we would like to imagine. This is a film that finds the perfect balance when it comes to both tone and emotional content – it can be quite callous at times, but it is also heartful in a way that feels like it was genuinely striving to achieve something much more than what we see on the surface. Very funny, but heartbreakingly honest and quite sombre in some parts (such as the final act, which is almost entirely dramatic, with only brief bursts of humour), Fourth of July is a strong directorial effort by C.K., whose ability to plumb the emotional depths of such a simple story feels unprecedented in many ways. Earnest and compelling, the film is a firm celebration of familial bonds and psychological discovery – it isn’t always easy, and the tension often threatens to derail the film, but there is always a method to the madness, and it feels so deeply compelling, it’s difficult to imagine anyone walking away from this film not feeling energized or moved in some way. It is a simple but evocative film, and certainly a gem that warrants our attention, if only to demonstrate the virtue of a story well-told and a narrative that both critiques and celebrates some of the more universal questions about life.