Life behind bars means death behind bars, and all the pain and frailty that often precedes it — a fate that awaits a good number of America’s incarcerated millions, though one we rarely see discussed or depicted on screen. A two-hander set entirely within the steel-blue confines of an American men’s prison, Petra Volpe‘s “Frank & Louis” charts with grace and sensitivity the initially reluctant but increasingly dependent connection between two inmates: a 60-year-old lifer slipping into the fog of Alzheimer’s disease, and a younger parole applicant enlisted to be the older man’s daily carer.
The ensuing story of trust and purpose regained in a spirit-sinking environment only really has one place to go — Volpe has scant time for melodrama or far-fetched buddy antics. But it’s all the more moving for that steady, solemn sense of mortal inevitability: As one man’s life gradually escapes his grasp, the other seeks to reclaim his while he still has time.
For Volpe, the Swiss writer-director behind last year’s effective, Oscar-shortlisted hospital procedural “Late Shift,” the film marks an equally assured, audience-friendly entry into English-language filmmaking. For stars Rob Morgan and Kingsley Ben-Adir, meanwhile, it’s a pleasingly patient and generous showcase: Both give performances of exquisite composure, with roiling anguish beneath the stillness.
“Frank & Louis” keeps its location non-specific, and after decades spent between the walls and fences of this unforgiving institution, our two principals might themselves feel stuck in a placeless limbo. But Volpe and co-writer Esther Bernstorff have modeled their tale on the innovative real-life Gold Coats program at the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo — whereby long-term prisoners are trained to act as carers for elder inmates stricken with dementia.
Renamed the Yellow Coats initiative for the purposes of this fiction, it’s a project that taciturn convict Frank (Ben-Adir), who has already spent nearly 20 years inside for armed robbery and murder, initially joins purely out of self-interest. His parole hearing is coming up, and he reckons his participation will prove to the review board that he’s a better, gentler and altogether changed man these days. Following the release of a more seasoned carer, he’s assigned to Louis (Morgan), a similarly closed-off personality, now exasperated at losing his self-sufficiency in addition to his freedom.
Perhaps sensing Frank’s less-than-wholehearted investment in all this, Louis at first resists the younger man’s help. But he’s deteriorating fast, losing control of his bodily functions and mental faculties, and in an environment that is already hostile to the vulnerable, he needs what support and protection he can get. Frank, meanwhile, is unprepared for the physical and psychological demands of the job — but also for its emotional rewards, and for the sense of community he finds with the other Yellow Coats, managed with plainspoken but kindly pragmatism by prison counselor Dr. Watts (Indira Varma).
Gradually, the two men gain each other’s trust, and a largely unspoken kinship emerges between them. In one lovely scene, a quiet, shared meal of cup noodles and Louisiana hot sauce says much about the fleeting sense of home they find in each other’s company, in stark single cells decorated with scrappy mementos of ever more distant family; in their absence, Louis and Frank become surrogate family to each other, with all the imminent heartbreak that entails. The words “I love you, son,” spoken with both sincerity and glazed confusion, are as close as this intelligently restrained film gets to sentimentality. The resulting swell of feeling is earned.
It’s a script and a production tightly built around its performers, both superb individually, but most importantly, warmly attentive to each other on screen, and capable of sharing a silence. Filmmakers too rarely gaze this intently at Morgan’s extraordinary face, which often stares back out at us in terror or defiance or sudden, ephemeral remembrance of where and why he is. In body language, too, he conveys Louis’ volatile swings between presence and internal absence.
Ben-Adir, the British star who made a strong impression as Malcolm X in “One Night in Miami…” but was hemmed in by the Wiki-drama conventions of “Bob Marley: One Love,” finally gets to show leading-man gifts beyond a knack for inhabiting icons. As Frank, he carries himself with a sadness that has become its own kind of armor, sometimes tapping into latent rage: He’s learnt impulse control, he tells Dr. Watts, though we feel the aching effort of that discipline.
Occasionally, Volpe and Bernstorff’s script wants for a more precise, flavorful local vernacular. “Frank & Louis” never quite shakes the air of a story researched and respectfully observed from the outside in, though its humane reserve is a rare virtue in the prison-movie genre, often given to more lurid displays of grit and misery. Assisted by the low, somber strings of Oliver Coates’ score and the clean, crisp brightness of Judith Kaufmann’s lensing, Volpe directs with much the same simplicity and moderation, toward a pitch-perfect ending of wholly disarming terseness and economy. No redemptive speechifying or cathartic waterworks here, just life carrying on with a slightly heavier tread.