IMDB
By Andrea Thompson
“Sword of Trust” is an odd little film, and sadly will now be director Lynn Shelton's last due to her unexpected death this month from a blood disorder. Calling her film small is by no means an insult, however. Much like 2007's “Waitress,” another final film from a female filmmaker whose life was tragically cut short, “Sword of Trust” quietly and firmly keeps a tight focus on its characters in a small Southern town.
Those characters veer quite sharply from the usual stereotypes who typically populate such environments, all of whom find themselves right in the middle of some of the worst topics of our national conversation, such as conspiracy theorists and our post-truth world. It also quietly offers hope from the beginning, establishing a case for the continued existence of a social contract, aka trust, between people, whether it's between Mel (Marc Maron) and a customer in a pawn shop he owns, or the fellow proprietor of another store, who casually mentions leaving it unattended.
This optimism doesn't fade, not even when married couple Cynthia and Mary (Jillian Bell and Michaela Watkins proving their chemistry in “Brittany Runs A Marathon” was no fluke) walk into his store looking to sell a sword that was left to Cynthia by her grandfather, who believed it was proof that the South won the Civil War. After some skepticism, they realize Cynthia's grandfather was by no means alone in this belief, and that the sword is worth a large amount to the right (for lack of a better term) people. Once they all realize what they're dealing with, Cynthia, Mary, Mel, and Nathaniel (Jon Bass), Mel's employee and the dimwitted comic relief, decide to work together to “take these fuckers for everything they're worth,” as Mel puts it.
Films which address such harsh truths often try to explore why people are drawn to such toxicity or outright ridiculousness, or at least explore if they can be drawn back out again. But in “Sword of Trust,” ours is not to reason why, even if reasons are present. Rather, it chooses another, relatively new way entirely of offering hope for the unpredictable world we find ourselves in, that of not focusing on the worst of us. Things don't get too serious, since “Sword of Trust” always remains a comedy first and foremost, and a damn funny one, all while allowing its foursome to talk like actual people, rather than exchanging far too intellectual and insightful barbs.
It also stays true to its optimism. Cynthia, Mary, Mel, and Nathaniel do continually choose trust, even if they shouldn't at times. Other films would most likely punish them for it, but “Sword of Trust” is more interested in rewarding those who keep their humanity in a time when it's becoming frighteningly easy not to. All four share an easy chemistry, and most importantly, an impeccable sense of timing that allows the jokes to land in a fashion perfectly suited to the low key humor in a style deeply emblematic of 90s indie meets mumblecore.
Screenshot
Make no mistake though, “Sword of Trust” remains deeply embedded in our current times, and not just because it flings its characters right into the headlines of the day. There's a deep undercurrent of longing for something we've all lost, as a community, as individuals. In the case of Mel, what should've been a touching look at a lost love becomes a bittersweet elegy to the real life love story between Marc Maron and Lynn Shelton, who has a small role as Mel's lost love Deirdre. We'll never see more from Shelton, but “Sword of Trust” remains a touching tribute to an artist we lost too soon.
