Tyrel (2018)

Tyrel review by Mark McPherson - Cinema Paradiso

If Jordan Peele’s Get Out seemed too out-there with its weaving of Twilight Zone-style frights to illustrate the uncomfortable black experience among white people, Tyrel is the real deal. No crazy twists where the racism finally bubbles up into a more confrontational motif that is easier to pin. No easy resolve. No comfort. Just an awkward sensation of feeling distant and unsure in such a scenario.

The premise centers around Tyler (Jason Mitchell), a black friend of a gaggle of white guys who have ventured up to a cabin for a party. There’s no phone, no bathroom, and it’s in the middle of nowhere. Sounds like a horror movie setup. But, no, this isn’t that kind of movie. There’s no killer in the woods and no sinister plans of the white boys for their black friends. Such tension is not so easily severed. Perhaps that’s part of the thrill. We keep waiting for the hammer to drop; for Tyler to become a victim. But he’s already a victim of a minor infection of racism that is in the air. It never bubbles up but it’s always present.

The party starts off decently even if Tyler feels a little out of place. It’s not when they play a game of trying out different voices for a unique take on charades that the uncomfortableness sets in. One suggestion thrown into the hat is a black voice. The white person who pulls it out tries to call out who put in the suggestion and it’s no surprise it’s from a white kid who looks like a frat party staple. He tries to explain himself in a stammering sense while Tyler sits back looking down in mild disgust. But Tyler won’t call him out. He feels outnumbered and when pressured to do a black voice half-heartedly attempts and fails.

There are hills and valleys with this party. Things seem to lighten up once Michael Cera arrives at the more daring and chatty member of the group, trying better to relate. Cera will at one point test out a scuba suit and is semi-pissed when his friends try to snatch his clothes. “Don’t trust white people,” Cera tells Mitchell, “they’ll leave you to die in the woods.” They laugh over a beer. Sort of.

Tyler continues to feel like he doesn’t belong when he later ventures away from the party and drunkenly stumbles into the home of a sax player played by Reg E. Cathey. No connection is made here. Just cold stares and distance. Tyler can’t connect with anyone. There’s crippling loneliness felt in the woods despite being surrounded by so many people who are all welcoming. They talk openly about how much they hate trump and seem to help out Tyler when he gets too drunk. He can’t flat-out hate anyone here not just for their kindness but because there’s nobody else.

I could certainly see someone arguing that Tyrel is boring, not merely for any slamming climax but for the mere tip-toeing around the subject to create a situation so real it’s almost agonizing in its dullness. The audience is expected to do a lot of looking to find some meaning in its efficiently mundane mash of typical cabin partying with a lack of the fantastical. Maybe I’m just seeing more than there is here but at the end of the day, that may just be the test. Do we look at such a scenario and see little more than a party or a commentary on race relations still have a ways to go? It’s up to us to find that meaning.