‘Down the Arm of God’ Review: Caleb Landry Jones in a Sincere, if Heavy-Handed, Drama About a Texas Pastor Tackling Homelessness, and His Own Congregation

Caleb Landry Jones plays young, newly ordained pastor torn between the congregation he inherits in a small Texas town and an unhoused community desperately in need of help in Down the Arm of God , a powerful indie drama that’s clearly on the side of the angels.

With assistance from producer Luc Besson among others, Austrian-born director Peter Brunner, making his second feature with Jones after To the Night , elicits sincere, persuasive performances from his varied cast, including a fair few non-professionals with direct knowledge of homelessness. Peter Flinckenberg’s lively lensing and engagement with the distinctive light conditions of the location add an entrancing glow to the proceedings. Related Stories Movies 'Ketticè' Review: Luca Guadagnino-Produced Sicilian Teen Stoner Dramedy Suffers From a Lack of Spark Movies 'I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming' Review: A Ukrainian Trans Man and His Wife Face Excruciating Choices in a Sensitive, Sensuous Drama Down the Arm of God The Bottom Line Preaches to the converted. Venue: Locarno Film Festival Cast: Caleb Landry Jones, India Marie Cross, Nick Stahl, Mena Suvari, John Jones, Whoopie Campfield, Dene Valentine, Amanda Davis, Atlas Fulton, Fable Fulton, Glenamzye Norment, Mike Johnson, Bobbie Lo Fruge, Crystal Salazar, Cassandra Fuentes, Kip Billups, Rhonda Bennett Director: Peter Brunner Screenwriter: Peter Brunner, Caleb Landry Jones 1 hour 46 minutes

While all that weighs in the film’s favor, on the debit side Brunner and Jones make it pretty clear where their sympathies lie, which makes the film feel a bit manipulative and ploddingly polemical. Admittedly, viewers on the festival circuit, like those in Locarno where this debuted, and folks who might catch it on streamers or in niche distribution are unlikely to be very bothered about the film’s lack of impartiality. But arguably the script by Jones and director Brunner might have been a skoosh more impactful if the small-minded townsfolk, clearly coded as bigoted MAGA types, weren’t quite so hateful with only a few exceptions.

As the story starts, Landry Jones, himself a native Texan, is Nick, a fresh-faced minister from Dallas originally just settling into the small community near the Panhandle that he’s been assigned to shepherd. His flock consists mainly of white families whom we see mostly in their Sunday best, so it’s not easy to judge the economic realities that underpin this community, nor is the film very specific about what denomination exactly this is supposed to be. Suffice to say, that there’s no obvious dancing with snakes or speaking in tongues that suggest Pentecostalism, or choice of readings that would mark the congregation as, say, Episcopalian — although the choice of songs (like Sunday school banger “I Got the Joy Joy Joy”) Nick likes to play on the guitar lean low church.

This lack of specificity is also a bit of a flaw, because it suggests the filmmakers aren’t very interested in the theological forces and powers that be that shape what turns out to be a self-centered, possibly racist worldview.