Raymond & Ray

There is something inherently comedic about a man in a crisp, expensive suit trying to operate a backhoe, especially when he’s doing it to fulfill the spiteful dying wish of a father he hasn't seen in years. It’s a literal metaphor—digging through the dirt of the past—and yet Rodrigo García’s Raymond & Ray manages to lean into that absurdity with a wink rather than a heavy-handed sermon.

I watched this on a Tuesday afternoon while nursing a lukewarm glass of ginger ale that had lost its carbonation twenty minutes in, and honestly, that flat, slightly sweet vibe matched the movie perfectly. It’s a "Dad Movie" in the most literal sense, arriving in the 2022 streaming landscape where mid-budget adult dramas have largely migrated to platforms like Apple TV+ to avoid being crushed by the latest superhero sequel at the multiplex.

The Chemistry of Resentment

The film lives and dies on the chemistry between its leads, and fortunately, Ewan McGregor and Ethan Hawke are an inspired pairing. McGregor plays Raymond, the uptight, thrice-divorced brother who has spent his life trying to be the "good son" to a man who didn't care. Hawke is Ray, a former jazz musician and recovering addict who wears his damage like a comfortable, tattered cardigan.

Ethan Hawke is currently in his 'coolest uncle at the funeral' era and I’m here for it. He brings a weary soulfulness to Ray that balances McGregor’s jittery, repressed energy. Watching them navigate their father’s eccentric funeral arrangements—which involve a revolving door of grieving mistresses and a very confused local parson—is where the film finds its rhythm. They aren't just playing brothers; they feel like two people who share a shorthand language born entirely out of surviving the same hurricane.

Streaming-Era Intimacy

In our current era of "content saturation," films like this often get lost in the scroll. It’s a quiet, character-driven piece that doesn’t demand a theatrical screen, but it does demand your attention. Released post-pandemic, it reflects a certain cultural exhaustion—a collective desire to sort through the wreckage of family history now that we’ve all had too much time to think about it.

The supporting cast adds some much-needed color to the funeral procession. Maribel Verdú (who many will recognize from Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También) is luminous as Lucia, the father’s final partner. She provides a bridge between the monster the brothers knew and the "reformed" man the town seemingly loved. Sophie Okonedo also shines as Kiera, a nurse who sees through Ray’s bullshit almost instantly. These women aren't just plot devices; they serve as mirrors, showing the brothers that while their father may have been a villain in their story, he was a complex protagonist in someone else’s.

Dirt, Jazz, and Details

Turns out, the production didn't take the easy way out with the grave-digging. The actors actually spent a significant amount of time in that hole. Rodrigo García (son of legendary author Gabriel García Márquez) opted for a grounded, tactile feel. You can almost smell the damp Virginia soil and the stale cigarettes. The score by Jeff Beal leans into the jazz roots of Hawke’s character, providing a melancholic backbeat that keeps the movie from sliding into total melodrama.

One of the more interesting behind-the-scenes tidbits is the involvement of Alfonso Cuarón as a producer. You can see his fingerprints in the film’s visual restraint; Igor Jadue-Lillo’s cinematography avoids flashy tricks, instead letting the camera linger on the micro-expressions of the leads. It’s a film that trusts its actors to do the heavy lifting, which is a rarity in a time when many directors feel the need to edit around a performance rather than through it. It’s a movie that knows it’s a 'streaming original' and doesn't try to overcompensate with fake scale.

The film occasionally stumbles when it tries to introduce too many quirky subplots—there’s a bit with a lawyer played by Todd Louiso that feels like it wandered in from a different, zanier movie—but the core remains solid. It doesn't provide easy answers about forgiveness or "healing." Instead, it suggests that sometimes the best you can do is bury the bastard, have a drink, and hope the next generation does a slightly better job than the last one. It’s a modest, well-acted journey that fits perfectly into a 105-minute window on a quiet evening.