Cicada (2020)
Directors: Matthew Fifer, Kieran Mulcare
Screenwriter: Matthew Fifer
Starring: Matthew Fifer, Sheldon D. Brown, Cobie Smulders, David Burtka, Bowen Yang, Scott Adsit
Cicada is an unusually quiet New York film. Instead of the typical urban noise, the soundscape leans toward birdsong and distant seaside ambience, and many scenes unfold in unexpectedly empty spaces. That calmness is deliberate: it creates an intimate atmosphere where the film’s central characters can begin to process trauma, build trust, and start to heal.
Co-directed by Matthew Fifer and Kieran Mulcare and written by Fifer from his own life, Cicada is a raw, autobiographical drama about a young man navigating the aftermath of childhood sexual abuse and living with PTSD. Fifer, who also stars as the lead and serves in production and editing roles, shapes the film as a personal, confessional piece. Set against the soft pastel palettes of New York City, the story follows Ben (Fifer), an attractive yet guarded man who masks his pain with casual sex, alcohol, and medical appointments. Daylight brings routine; nights bring anxiety that manifests physically—phantom throat lumps, persistent nausea, hair loss, numbness—symptoms that hint at deeper psychological wounds.
The tone shifts when Ben meets Sam (Sheldon D. Brown) in a sweet meet-cute at The Strand bookstore. Sam’s gentle curiosity and thoughtful questions coax Ben to lower his defenses. After their first date, they lie together in Ben’s sunlit bedroom and begin to share their stories. Sam, who is still closeted, asks, “Do your parents know?” Ben replies that his mother was supportive and that she told him “a mother always knows.” The line carries layered meaning, but in that peaceful exchange the two men taste connection and recognition. Yet as the film develops, references to the 2009 Jerry Sandusky sexual abuse trial make clear that Cicada confronts heavy, real-world themes rather than shying away from them.
Fifer chooses restraint when depicting the childhood sexual abuse at the heart of Ben’s trauma. The film does not linger on graphic detail; much of Ben’s confession happens off-screen or through song and implication. That choice avoids sensationalizing pain. Cicada refuses “trauma porn” and instead focuses on the emotional truth and the aftermath: how trauma lives inside the body and the mind, and how it shapes intimacy and identity. In response to Ben’s quiet revelation—“I was young”—Sam reaches out physically and emotionally, offering steady support. Their shared understanding as gay men who have survived significant violence becomes the film’s emotional core.
Sheldon D. Brown’s Sam adds another layer of authenticity. During the film’s early stages, Brown survived a random drive-by shooting in Chicago, and the project also became a space for him to explore the lingering effects of that incident. Sam bears physical and psychological scars from his shooting, and he grapples with racism and homophobia. Not yet out at work, Sam refuses public displays of physical affection, fearing that as the only Black employee he would be further marginalized. He also fears losing the bond with his religious father when the truth emerges. Those pressures intensify the couple’s struggle to find safety and mutual care.
One scene crystallizes the film’s thoughtful approach to identity and allyship: Ben invites Sam to perform a song for an all-white group of friends. Sam later tells Ben he felt tokenized, used to demonstrate Ben’s “wokeness.” Ben reacts defensively, and the resulting argument exposes the limits of good intentions when they fail to address real power dynamics. The couple reconciles, but the film does not pretend that a simple apology erases systemic hurt. Cicada acknowledges that racism, abuse, and homophobia leave lasting traces that cannot be tidily resolved.
At times the film’s intimacy is interrupted by brief celebrity cameos that feel out of scale with the story’s emotional core. Cobie Smulders appears as an over-eager therapist whose tone clashes with the film’s quieter register, and short turns from David Burtka, Bowen Yang, and Scott Adsit register as distractions more than contributions. These familiar faces, known for their comic energy, receive scant screen time and thinly sketched roles, briefly pulling attention away from the central relationship.
Despite those interruptions, Cicada remains a powerful debut for Fifer and Mulcare. The filmmakers’ courage in addressing such personal material is evident, and the central performances by Fifer and Brown give the film its strength. Their portrayals transform individual trauma into a universal meditation on pain, recovery, and the tentative, healing power of intimacy. The film’s deliberate quiet—its decision to let small moments breathe—creates space for empathy rather than spectacle.
Cicada is not an easy watch, but it is a moving, honest piece of filmmaking that lingers. It makes room for difficult questions without exploiting them, and it offers a nuanced portrayal of how two men navigate love, identity, and the long work of healing.
18/24