This article was written exclusively for The Film Magazine by Jack Cameron.
Cowboys (2021)
Director: Anna Kerrigan
Screenwriter: Anna Kerrigan
Starring: Steve Zahn, Jillian Bell, Sasha Knight
Cowboys is a small but powerful film that quietly sneaks up on the viewer. At first glance it feels like a classic American road movie — wide skies, rugged Montana landscapes, and the familiar rhythms of travel and escape. But Anna Kerrigan’s film gradually reveals layers of emotional complexity, transforming into a tender and unsettling family drama. The film’s restrained storytelling, naturalistic performances, and careful use of setting combine to produce an intimate portrait of identity, love, and the difficult work of understanding one another.
This is Kerrigan’s second feature after Five Days Gone (2010). She both wrote and directed Cowboys, which earned recognition at the Tribeca Film Festival, including awards for Best Screenplay and Best Actor (2020). The film centers on Troy (Steve Zahn) and his child Joe (Sasha Knight) on a journey through Montana toward the Canadian border. The trip begins with an unforced sense of adventure — a father and child immersed in the vastness of the landscape — but tension quickly mounts when Sally (Jillian Bell), Joe’s mother, discovers the child missing and reports them to the police.
From the opening scenes the narrative sets up two core questions: is this an act of abduction, or a bid for escape and safety? And, what is it that Troy and Joe are trying to flee? Kerrigan resists easy answers and instead balances multiple viewpoints, shifting the audience between the perspectives of both parents while revealing Joe’s experience in well-placed flashbacks. These memories unfold gently, showing Joe’s earlier life as Josie and the small but revealing moments that hinted at an inner identity at odds with external expectations.
Joe’s discomfort in traditional feminine clothes, the preference for rough-and-tumble play, and the earnest desire to be called by a different name all paint a clear picture of a young person whose sense of self does not align with what others expect. Troy responds with immediate acceptance and warmth, happily indulging Joe’s imagination and stories of western heroes. Sally, by contrast, reacts with fear and resistance, her love complicated by worry and a rigid conception of gender. Kerrigan frames these tensions against the backdrop of Montana — a landscape evocative of cowboy mythology — underscoring how cultural narratives can both inspire and constrain identity.
Rather than treat the story solely as a child’s flight from harm, Kerrigan makes the film as much about the parents’ internal journeys. The screen becomes a space where two adults attempt, imperfectly, to do what they believe is best for Joe. Both Troy and Sally are motivated by love, yet each makes choices that hurt as much as they heal. The film avoids caricature: Troy is not a flawless savior, and Sally is not simply an antagonist. Instead, through nuanced scenes and quiet exchanges, Kerrigan traces the slow, often messy path from misunderstanding toward a fragile, hard-won empathy.
Performances are the film’s strongest asset. Steve Zahn brings a steady, lived-in quality to Troy — a man whose compassion is immediate but who also carries flaws and fears that complicate his decisions. Jillian Bell delivers a layered portrayal of Sally, making her anger and grief feel real rather than performative. Young newcomer Sasha Knight is quietly remarkable as Joe, conveying both vulnerability and conviction in ways that anchor the film’s emotional core. The dynamic between the three actors gives the story its human weight, turning simple domestic moments into scenes of deep resonance.
Kerrigan’s screenplay keeps the runtime economical, and the film’s 83 minutes feel precisely measured: neither rushed nor indulgent. Cinematography plays an important supporting role, using Montana’s open spaces to echo Joe’s longing for freedom while also emphasizing how isolation can intensify family conflicts. The result is a film that moves between tenderness and tension, never resorting to melodrama but always remaining emotionally honest.
At its heart, Cowboys is a sensitive study of transition — for Joe, who seeks self-determination, and for his parents, who must confront their own limitations and fears. It’s a thoughtful, modestly scaled work that rewards patient viewing, inviting audiences to consider how love, identity, and cultural expectations collide and sometimes reconcile. For viewers interested in authentic performances and character-driven storytelling, Cowboys stands out as a quietly affecting example of contemporary independent cinema.
19/24
Written by Jack Cameron
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