American Honey

The first time I saw Shia LaBeouf dancing to Rihanna’s "We Found Love" in the middle of a crowded Walmart, I realized I was either witnessing the end of civilization or the most honest moment captured on film in the 2010s. I watched American Honey on a laptop with a hairline crack across the screen that made every sun-drenched frame look like it was being split by a lightning bolt, and honestly, that jagged, broken aesthetic felt exactly like what director Andrea Arnold was aiming for.

This isn't your standard "finding yourself" road movie. There are no tidy epiphanies at the Grand Canyon and no one learns a life lesson from a wise gas station attendant. Instead, we get 163 minutes of pure, unadulterated "vibes"—a word I usually hate, but here it fits like a pair of dirty denim cut-offs. It’s a sprawling, messy, 4:3 aspect ratio journey through the parts of America that don't usually get their own postcards.

The Van Life We Weren't Promised

The story follows Star, played by Sasha Lane, a teenager who ditches a bleak home life to join a "mag crew"—a band of misfit youths traveling the Midwest in a white van, selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door through a mix of charm and blatant lies. Leading the pack is Krystal (Riley Keough), a steely business-woman in a Confederate flag bikini who runs the operation like a low-rent cult, and Jake (Shia LaBeouf), the crew's top seller and resident chaotic flirt.

What I love about this film is how it captures the sheer loudness of being young and broke. The van is a rolling pressure cooker of hip-hop, cigarette smoke, and hormone-fueled shouting matches. It reminded me of a three-day bus trip I once took where the air conditioning broke and everyone eventually stopped pretending to be polite—it’s the kind of cinema you can practically smell, and it smells like cheap body spray and desperation.

Andrea Arnold (who gave us the brilliant Fish Tank) avoids the trap of "poverty porn." She doesn't look down on these kids. Instead, she finds poetry in the mundane: a bug crawling on a leaf, the way the light hits a suburban sprinkler, or the mid-morning glow of a Motel 6. By shooting in a narrow square frame rather than a wide cinematic one, she traps us in the van with them. You’re not an observer; you’re the 16th passenger.

Finding Star in a Hopeless Place

The casting here is the stuff of indie legend. Sasha Lane wasn't an actress; Arnold literally spotted her on a beach during spring break and asked if she wanted to audition. That lack of polished "acting" is the film's secret weapon. Lane’s performance is all intuition and guarded eyes. When she’s on screen with Shia LaBeouf, the chemistry is so thick you could clog a radiator with it.

Speaking of Shia LaBeouf, this was the peak of his "I’m going to live this role" era. Sporting a braided rat-tail and a collection of tattoos that look like they were applied in a moving vehicle, he is magnetic and deeply annoying in equal measure. He’s the guy every girl’s father warns her about, but he sells those magazine subscriptions with the fervor of a tent-revival preacher.

Then there’s Riley Keough (who you might know from Mad Max: Fury Road). She is terrifying as Krystal. She represents the cold, hard reality of the "American Dream"—that to get ahead, you have to be willing to exploit the people right next to you. The dynamic between Star and Krystal is a masterclass in power plays, often conducted while one of them is applying tanning lotion.

Dirt, Dreams, and Dead Ends

For a film made in 2016, American Honey feels incredibly relevant to our current moment. It captures a specific American exhaustion that has only grown since its release. These kids are the "left behind" generation, hustling for a buck in a world that has no long-term plan for them. They are selling physical magazines in a digital age—a business model about as sustainable as a chocolate teapot—but the hustle is all they have.

The production itself was as wild as the script. To keep the energy authentic, Arnold had the cast stay in the same motels where they were filming. They spent weeks traveling the actual route through the Midwest. Apparently, Shia LaBeouf ended up getting 12 tattoos during the shoot, many of them real and unplanned, because he was so deep into the mag-crew lifestyle. That’s the kind of commitment—or insanity—that gives the film its grit.

There are moments where the movie feels its length. It’s a long sit, and some might find the lack of a traditional plot frustrating. But I’d argue that’s the point. Life on the road isn't a three-act structure; it’s a series of loops, parties, and disappointments. The film doesn't want to tell you a story as much as it wants to let you inhabit a space. It’s a snapshot of a burning world, and while it’s sometimes uncomfortable to watch, you can’t look away from the flames.

Ultimately, American Honey is a rare beast: a three-hour indie drama that feels like a pop song. It’s excessive, beautiful, and deeply empathetic toward people who are usually ignored by Hollywood. If you’re in the mood for a movie that feels like a long, hazy summer afternoon where you aren't sure where you're sleeping tonight, this is your ticket. It’s a reminder that even when the "American Dream" is a scam, the people chasing it are still worth a look.