A very fitting sendoff for the great Harry Dean Stanton. It’s great to see him in a leading role in a film presumably written around him. Written after his passing in many ways, after the fact.
Stanton’s titular character in the film, a remarkably healthy (for his age) loner atheist, spends the runtime grappling with his impending death, as the film breezes through his daily routine and local characters he interacts with. There’s nothing in the way of plot stakes, this is all a character piece. Stanton wisely underplays the material when the writing starts getting on-the-nose or sentimental. The film would be little without his performance, but the film is his performance more than anything else. Three turtles and some flan.