THE STRAIGHT STORY

Yes — and this is one to seek out, not settle for. An elderly, ailing man named Alvin Straight learns his estranged brother has had a stroke, and rather than wait or explain himself away, he climbs onto a riding lawnmower and sets out on a 360-mile journey to reach him. What unfolds is patient, understated, and quietly overwhelming — a film about humility beating pride and forgiveness outlasting anger.

The cost is small. A few mild obscenities pepper the dialogue, an old man smokes cigars against his doctor's orders, and some sequences — a collapse, a storm, the sounds of past war — build suspense through sound alone rather than anything graphic on screen. None of it should trouble a family conversation.

This is a film that rewards patience with real emotional and spiritual weight. Watch it together, and talk afterward about what it costs to go "the extra mile" for someone you love.

Alvin Straight is over 70, worn down by bad hips, failing eyes, and a body that's finally giving out. He lives with his daughter Rose in Laurens, Iowa. When word comes that his estranged brother Lyle has suffered a stroke in Wisconsin, Alvin decides he has to go to him — but with no driver's license, little money, and no patience for public transportation, he chooses the only vehicle he trusts: his riding lawnmower, towing a small trailer of supplies. The road ahead is long, and it is not the point.

Four stars, and every one of them earned. This is filmmaking of remarkable restraint — the sound design alone puts you on the road beside Alvin for every mile, and the craftsmanship makes a true story feel unbelievably alive without ever straining for effect. Richard Farnsworth's performance is described as one of the great screen performances, carrying the film's quiet gravity almost entirely through presence rather than dialogue.

What makes it more remarkable is who directed it. A filmmaker known for pushing envelopes of weirdness and darkness instead made something understated, life-affirming, and true. Nothing here preaches, and nothing here is wasted. It is the kind of film that has to be discovered rather than sold — patient, careful, and completely captivating on its own terms.

This is a redemptive story told without a single sermon. Alvin's journey is entirely in service of reconciliation — going to his estranged brother not because it's convenient but because family and forgiveness matter more than pride, comfort, or even his own failing health. Along the way, he teaches biblical truth through story rather than lecture: the parable of the bundled sticks, unbreakable together though easily broken apart, is a picture of family loyalty that any household can carry home.

Worth noting once: the director behind this film built his reputation on very different material — dark, strange, and often troubling work. That this same filmmaker produced something this gentle and morally clear is itself a kind of testimony — evidence that no artist's past output limits what they might yet make.

The film's spiritual center is simple and biblical: don't let anger outlast the day, and don't let distance outlast love. "Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger" (Ephesians 4:26). Alvin's whole journey is an answer to that command, lived out one slow mile at a time.

Few films earn quiet the way this one does. It is patient, true, and full of grace without ever preaching — a story about a brother who refuses to let distance or pride have the last word. Worth the trip. Take the family, and talk about forgiveness on the way home.