Back from a tour of duty, Kelli can’t wait to rejoin her old life in the Rust Belt town she’s always known. She’s ready to experience the feelings of everyday life—the carpet under her bare feet, the smell of her baby’s head.
But slowly, her world comes to feel unfamiliar. Her friends love her but seem preoccupied with trifles. Her children need more focused attention than she can give, and as much as he tries, her husband Mike doesn’t understand what she’s been through. As Kelli’s dislocation ripples through her world, she risks becoming an outsider. When she’s thrown back on her own resources Kelli has to struggle to find a new way forward. –Quinzaine des Réalisateurs
Viewed from afar one might mistake Liza Johnson's ode to solemn serving women everywhere with verisimilitude, but not even watching paint dry or examining grass by the millimeter in some deconstructed Lynchian parable is this snoozable. Empty shop talk and leaky pipes lead to beers and not much else. Plot meanders while characters stumble in forlorn unanimity. Indie films shouldn't stink this much without cheese.