Yts Never Rarely Sometimes Always

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Eliza Hittman /
Drama /
Sidney Flanigan /
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Release year: 2020 /
duration: 101 minute.
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A quiet teenager named Autumn (newcomer Sidney Flanigan) looks like she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s introduced singing her heart out at a talent show—after her classmates have all either lip synced or done dance routines. There’s something melancholy in Autumn that’s not in most of her peers, and her only friend seems to be her cousin and co-worker Skylar ( Talia Ryder). It’s not long before we learn what’s weighing on Autumn’s mind—she’s 17 and pregnant. Eliza Hittman, the writer/director of “ Beach Rats, ” returns to Sundance with her best work yet, a powerful drama that’s mostly a character study of two fully-realized young women but also a commentary on how dangerous it is to be a teenage girl in America. With stunning performances from two completely genuine young leads, this is a movie people will talk about all year.
Just the simple plot description of “Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always” makes it sound pretty manipulative: a pair of teenage girls struggle in New York City after one of them becomes pregnant and they have to travel there for an abortion. I’ll admit that I have a very low tolerance for stories of young people or children in jeopardy because it so often feels like a cheap trick to pull at the viewer’s heartstrings. Hittman doesn’t make that kind of movie. Her filmmaking values detail over melodrama, unsparing of the plight of the teenage girl in America, a place that often treats them as objects or preys on them. Whether it’s the bro who makes lewd gestures at a restaurant, the grocery store manager who kisses his female employees’ hands, or the drunk pervert who pulls out his dick on a subway train, teenage girls navigate a minefield of toxic masculinity on a daily basis. After Autumn learns that Pennsylvania, her home state, requires parental consent, she convinces Skylar to travel with her to New York to get the procedure. With very little money, they make the journey via bus, and are pushed through a system that Autumn wasn’t expecting. What really elevates Hittman’s work here is the sense that Autumn and Skylar are making believable, character-driven decisions on the fly. Whether it’s Autumn piercing her nose after finding out she’s pregnant—maybe to take a form of control again—or how the women scramble to get what they need in New York, decisions feel organic and in-the-moment, adding to an incredible realism that’s embedded throughout the film. It also helps that Hittman is daringly unafraid of silence. There are no monologues. Autumn barely talks at all for long stretches. But Hittman also pushes her camera in close on Flanigan and Ryder, looking for the truth in their faces instead of manipulative dialogue. Hittman also dodges the “scary city” story that her film could have become. For the most part, the people Autumn and Skylar meet in New York are helpful, especially those in the healthcare system. One in particular asks Autumn a series of questions—the scene which gives the film its fantastic title—and it’s a breathtaking sequence, one in which it feels like Autumn herself is forced to come to terms with things she’s buried, even if just for a few minutes. Flanigan is remarkable in this scene, and throughout the film, and she’s well-matched by Ryder. Lesser writers would have made these two characters too similar, but Hittman trusts Ryder and Flanigan to carve out their own roles. They give two of the best young performances in a very long time.
There are a few minor beats in “Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always” that feel either too long or too rushed. It’s mostly a pacing issue in the center of the film, but this is a minor complaint for a major, personal work. Hittman’s visual acuity doesn’t draw attention to itself, but don’t underestimate that aspect either, reflected in simple beats like how she captures a Pennsylvania sunrise on a life-changing day or a tired head against a bus window. There’s an artistry to the filmmaking here that elevates what really matters—her character work. It’s so hard to make stories of young people that don’t feel like they’re using the precariousness of youth as a cheap trick. Adults often write dialogue for teenagers that sounds like posturing—what old people think young people sound like—or they embed moral messages in barely-remembered memories of their younger days. The reason that “Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always” is such an impressive piece of work is that Hittman has such deep compassion for her two leads, a pair of young women pushing through a world that is constantly putting obstacles in their path. You won’t forget them. This review was filed from the 2020 Sundance Film Festival on January 25th, 2020 and is being re-run now that it is on VOD, 4/3.
Brian Tallerico
Brian Tallerico is the Editor of, and also covers television, film, Blu-ray, and video games. He is also the Editor of Magill’s Cinema Annual, a writer for The New York Times, Vulture, The AV Club, and Rolling Stone, and the President of the Chicago Film Critics Association.
Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always (2020)
Rated PG-13
for disturbing/mature thematic content, language, some sexual references and teen drinking.
101 minutes
38 minutes
ago
1 day
ago.

Yts never rarely sometimes always 2020 trailer.
T he most important communication in Never Rarely Sometimes Always happens without words. Instead, a camera lingers closely on the back of 17-year-old Autumn (Sidney Flanigan) as she changes out of her grocery store uniform in a backroom; her bra straps dig a little bit deeper than usual in her skin. Autumn’s best friend/cousin Skylar (Talia Ryder) notices, and when Autumn sprints away from her register one day, she instinctively finds her in the bathroom. We hear Autumn vomit; we don’t hear her tell Skylar she’s pregnant. Skylar just knows.
This unspoken gravity holds together Never Rarely Sometimes Always, an achingly observant if pathologically spare movie from the writer-director Eliza Hittman which dwells in the mundane, confusing and quietly devastating moments of teenage pregnancy and abortion access in Trump-era America. Called a slut by male classmates (all the men in this film are either assholes or creeps) and neglected by parents exhausted by making ends meet, Autumn’s only resource in her small Pennsylvania town is the local crisis pregnancy center, which purports to educate women about their choices but in effect counsels against “abortion-mindedness”. The specialist at the center speaks to Autumn with patronizing concern, and as the only person besides Skylar in town who knows of her condition, takes an interest in her; she also shows her a VHS tape which violently equates abortion to murder.
Autumn googles self-induced abortion, the preface to one of many wordlessly brutal scenes, then how to get an abortion in Pennsylvania. The state requires women under 18 to receive parental permission, one of the many, many restrictions on abortion access enacted by conservative state legislatures since the 1973 supreme court decision Roe v Wade preserved a woman’s right to an abortion in the United States. So the girls board a bus to New York City with a little cash pilfered from their creepy store manager and smartphone directions to a clinic in Brooklyn. Hittman’s depiction of the city is, like the rest of her film, vigilant but passive. This is a city of hurdles and prizes, through which the girls pass nearly invisible. Their obstacles are both foreseeable – with no place to stay, they ride the trains back and forth at night – and unexpected. Farther along than she was initially told, Autumn requires a two-day procedure. A young man they met on the Greyhound bus (Théodore Pellerin, the right mix of friendly and skeevy) becomes a queasy lifeline.
It’s hard to watch this movie outside its context, as states across America cracked down on access to abortion services. In 2019, 12 states passed abortion restrictions – some at as early as six weeks, before many women, including Autumn, know they’re pregnant. Alabama attempted to ban abortion outright. Just last week, oral arguments began in a supreme court case over a Louisiana law that observers worry could undermine Roe v Wade. Never Rarely Sometimes Always smartly refuses to name these distressing developments outright, nor does it wade into didactic political messaging. But the stench of gaslit doubt and judgment suffuses the film. There’s no mention of so-called heartbeat bills, but there is a heartbeat – on the monitor at the pregnancy center, where the provider tells Autumn, without asking her plans, that it’s the best sound she’ll ever hear. Autumn’s journey out of state for an abortion is one an increasing number of American women will have to make – if they can make it at all.
Talia Ryder in Never Rarely Sometimes Always. Photograph: Courtesy of Focus Features
Dire context aside, Hittman steers clear of melodrama, and the choice to observe two teenage girls assess their situation and navigate their options, sans capital T Tragedy or twist ending, feels refreshing. The film’s most poignant scene, which attracted buzz at Sundance and gave the film its title, captures an ordinary intake session for Autumn’s second-trimester procedure at a Manhattan clinic. The counselor quizzes Autumn on her medical history with escalating emotional severity – does she have any allergies? Has anyone made her have sex against her will? – with four response options: never, rarely, sometimes, always. Each word carries a short lifetime of unspoken pain. No need to detail it. The ordinary questionnaire is enough.
What’s not enough is the dialogue between Autumn and Skylar; Hittman’s attentive passivity works well in finding a compelling angle into an explosive political issue, but too often it extends to the characters themselves, who frequently go through whole scenes barely speaking. Flanigan and Ryder are capable actors, especially in performances as constrained as these, but too often, Hittman relies on a pained look between the girls to stand in for an unshakable bond that hasn’t been given time to imprint on the viewer. Small hints – a joke in a diner booth in New York, bonding over makeshift deodorant in a public restroom – suggest a more playful, generative bond, the kind of know-what-you-need-without-saying-it mirroring that marks the best of adolescent female friendship. But there’s too little evidence here to buy their reticence with each other.
Still, the film’s spareness has lasting power – as Skylar and Autumn boarded the bus home, I realized I had been clenching my jaw the whole movie. It’s a testament to Hittman’s portrayal of fear and frustration in navigating American reproductive healthcare as a teen. I just wish her characters had more to say about it.
Never Rarely Sometimes Always is released in the US on 13 March and in the UK later this year.

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