Friendship is something that comes and goes with time, and the connections we form in our younger years do not always carry through as we grow older and begin to move on separate paths. This doesn’t necessarily invalidate those who manage to hold onto those lifelong friendships. Still, it does lend itself to some very intriguing commentary about the nature of these bonds and how they shift as time progresses. Those who are lucky enough to enter into adulthood with even a single childhood friend are so fascinating, especially since we’ve seen how challenging it can be to maintain these relationships, particularly when navigating the ambiguous space between adolescence and adulthood, a period that I’ve discussed extensively in the past, but which still bears repeating, if only for the sake of situating the conversation within a particular set of ideas. This is the foundation for Snack Shack, in which Adam Carter Rehmeier, in his wonderful second directorial outing (and following his acclaimed Dinner in America, an explosion of punk rock anger and despair), tells the story of Moose and A.J., two slackers looking forward to making the most of the upcoming summer vacation, which they intend to use making as much money as possible – and when they discover that the concession stand at the public pool in their small Nebraska town is open for bids for potential vendors, they leap at the opportunity, seeing it as the perfect way to make some fast money, since nothing is quite as appealing as a cold drink and a cheap hotdog on a lazy summer afternoon. What starts as a relatively chaotic and off-the-wall comedy eventually turns into something else entirely, a film built on a strong foundation that is unsurprisingly extracted from the director’s own childhood, being a slightly autobiographical account of his experiences growing up in the American Midwest, facing many challenges that ultimately formed the foundation for a creative and daring artistic career, defined by the exact kind of renegade madness that persists throughout his wonderful, original films.

As far as filmmaking goes, coming-of-age stories are a dime a dozen, and it does take a lot of work to make one that says something even vaguely new or innovative, let alone having some degree of originality. However, this hasn’t stopped many filmmakers from seeking out ways to exploit what has proven to be quite a profitable genre – all of us have childhoods, and while they may differ in many different ways, we do find that there are some common experiences that we all share to a certain extent. This includes the challenges of maturing and growing into your adult self (particularly when navigating the awkwardness that comes with the teenage years), the changing relationship with our friends and family, and (perhaps most confusing of all), the growing feelings of attraction we begin to feel towards others – and all of these concepts are embedded quite deeply in Snack Shack, a film that may seem to be nothing more than a checklist of the most obvious tropes associated with this genre, but which eventually – and with incredible swiftness – goes in an entirely different direction. Many ideas swirl throughout this film, which makes exceptional use of every minute of its oddly long running time (a film such as this verging on two hours would be excessive had there not been enough content to fill up the space), each moment building onto the central discussion around these two characters as they undergo the transition from boys to men, a process that entails much more than just physically becoming more mature, and instead is most challenging when it comes to navigating the emotional and psychological changes that they are experiencing, a daunting prospect that I think we can all agree was amongst the most difficult to handle during adolescence, and something that the director consistently deconstructs as the film progresses and becomes more complex and engaging in its depiction of their growth.

While it is easy to reduce Snack Shack to just a mildly amusing comedy about two young men moving between major chapters of their respective lives, the film is a lot more complex, which becomes evident once we peer beneath the surface and observe the many challenging ideas that inform the narrative. It’s understandable to mistake it for a less-serious work, considering it is essentially set over the course of a single summer, and revolves around two best friends who are looking forward to the carefree, freewheeling days of their vacation. Yet, there is a gravity to a lot of this film that is quite difficult to ignore once it gradually begins to overtake the narrative and become its ultimate driving force in many ways. There is a quiet sadness to the film, particularly in how it explores the friendship of these young men, who are gradually drifting apart, despite their best efforts to remain loyal to one another. Some of the challenges they face, such as overbearing parents or conflict over a shared affection for the same love interest, are quite trivial and lend themselves to a more comedic perspective, whereas others are slightly more serious – there’s commentary on how the United States is willing to send young men to fight for its honour long before they are even able to purchase alcohol, as well as conversations around mental health, identity and peer pressure, concepts that are currently much more prominent, but far from a pressing issue in the period where this film is set. Rehmeier handles all of this through the use of specific, careful tonal shifts – the film moves between broad comedy and deep melancholy, often in the same scene, and while this could have resulted in a far more jagged and inconsistent work, the results speak for themselves, where the jokes and more downbeat moments work together beautifully, complementing one another in the director’s fervent desire to create a more layered, three-dimensional depiction of the human condition.

To bring its ideas to life effectively and with some degree of consistency, Rehmeier makes sure to pay attention to the people he enlists to interpret these characters. Much like his previous film, he takes a gamble based on nothing but his instincts and observations, and considering Snack Shack is much more autobiographical than Dinner in America, there was an increased need for authenticity, since it didn’t have the benefit of being a series of explosive, off-the-wall expressions of pure conceptual anarchy. The result is a cast composed of some wonderful performances, each one intricately brought to the screen by actors who not only understand their characters, but also the entire film as a whole. Gabriel LaBelle has been steadily on the upswing in recent years, and while he may have been cast in this film before his breakout in The Fabelmans (a film and performance I am notoriously not fond of, but his potential is impossible to ignore), he still demonstrates a maturity and intensity that we can all appreciate. However, he’s not the star of the film, with the primary perspective being the character played by Conor Sherry, who has not done much else of note to date, but whose talent is incredibly clear, and who is given an astounding showcase for his natural charms, which anchor this film and give it a sense of genuine humanity, perfectly balanced by LaBelle’s more off-the-wall, eccentric co-lead performance that is as essential to forging the film’s identity. The supporting cast is not as impressive, but there’s solid work by Nick Robinson (playing a very particular kind of near-magical mentor figure that he single-handedly elevates above just another stock character) and Mika Abdalla, another young star who is on the verge of a breakthrough, especially with her natural charisma and willingness to play to some of the more intense themes that exist beneath the surface, never coming across as inauthentic or overly predictable. Unsurprisingly, Snack Shack is a film that owes a lot of its success to its actors, who are vital to its very effective navigation of certain ideas and emotions.

Snack Shack is a film that is more than willing to march to the beat of its drum, and we find that it is at its best when it allows itself to lean into its inherent inconsistencies, which may not be particularly intentional, but are instead recognised from the outset, and used as a platform on which the director can provide his astute observations. It’s wickedly funny, and often plays like a very traditional buddy comedy, the kind that we would expect from early-era Richard Linklater and Paul Thomas Anderson (who in turn borrow heavily from the likes of Robert Altman and John Cassavetes, in terms of both style and substance), but with a profoundly modern twist. It seems as if Rehmeier is on the precipice of his breakthrough – he has only made a couple of films to date, but he’s already accumulated quite a following, and it is only a matter of time before he receives the attention he deserves from the mainstream. Snack Shack may not be all that similar to his debut, but its in these differences that we find the director asserting his fervent commitment to making something that means a lot of him, combining his personal experiences with a series of philosophical ramblings and social observations that would be tacky had it not been done with such wonderfully positive intentions. Very charming, and never anything less than wholeheartedly entertaining and warm in terms of its story and execution, Snack Shack is a delightful triumph, a masterful blend of coming-of-age drama and buddy comedy, taking many chances and ultimately emerging as one of the most endearing, captivating independent films in recent memory.