Tribeca Review: Ponderosa Delivers a Cryptic, Humorous Perspective on America’s National Legends
Family and belonging shape society on a mythical scale, with their symbolic significance easily integrated into ideologies that categorize the world into binaries—“us” and “them,” “familiar” and “foreign,” “left” and “right.” As enduring as they are in our shared consciousness, these remnants of a lost purity manifest anew in the works of filmmaker Rob Rice. Originating from Massachusetts, the Los Angeles-based writer-director made his debut with Way Out Ahead of Us in 2022, signifying his commitment to cinema as community and communion, serving as a platform for authenticity and seemingly indirect action. This hybrid film features a real married couple grappling with actual mortality and the hypothetical independence of a fictional daughter; its sequel, the Tribeca-premiering Ponderosa, stands out as a clear fiction.
Ponderosa, reminiscent of the “Old West”-themed dining chain after which it’s named, exists in a liminal space between past and present, wrestling for a better future. Zeke (Jack Dylan Grazer), our main character, embodies the essence of an “old soul” in his early 20s—unkempt hair and a wise, compassionate gaze—perhaps due to being an only child raised by a single parent. His mother, Sandra (Alexis Bledel, unlike you’ve seen her before), may work at a Ponderosa buffet, but she exudes profound melancholy. She glides rather than walks and speaks infrequently. Yet, when she does, the warmth in her deep-blue eyes feels like a gentle embrace. The duo of Zeke and Sandra is certainly symbolic, yet the film does not present their relationship as lacking any vital component—such as a father, financial security, or extended family. What do Zeke and Sandra represent to one another? They are sufficient.
Enter heteropatriarchy, which disrupts this seemingly ideal situation, embodied by buffet regular George (Bill Camp, charmingly menacing) who arrives when the Ponderosa location is set to close. Driven by an irrational, inexplicable urge to father Zeke (both symbolically and wholly), George appears as a misguided antagonist—an avatar of capitalist inequality as a middle-aged single man who has amassed wealth through constructing inferior houses. Camp’s unsettling character, a self-absorbed older white man consumed by legacy questions, lacks any self-reflection. Furthermore, he spends his weekends with a cohort of like-minded “fathering” men: nationalists united by a “founding-father” complex. We’ve encountered variations of this subplot where toxic masculinity is wielded ideologically, but we’ve never seen it met with Zeke’s amusing stoicism—much like Bartleby, he would rather opt out.
In Ponderosa, Rice critiques America’s national myths in a more stylized manner, employing uncanny visuals, unexpected low angles, and humorously wide shots filmed by cinematographer Barton Cortright (The Cathedral) and arranged in poetically awkward sequences (with sharp precision) by editor Mina Fitzpatrick. The contrast between what appears familiar—the tone of a dramatic thriller, the soaring score, suspenseful confrontations, and the soft features of Alexis Bledel’s beloved face—and what feels entirely foreign fuels a mythical type of storytelling: everything and nothing is simultaneously achievable. To describe Ponderosa as a strange film falls short of capturing its essence. Its enigmatic quality serves less as a puzzle and more as an invitation to reimagine societal structures—not necessarily in radically different ways, but by questioning one's motivations and resisting conformity, even amid pervasive loneliness. One of Ponderosa's most poignant elements—and truly, there are many!—is the ability to share that loneliness without the dread of it consuming you. “Just keep pushing,” Sandra advises a despondent George, laced with a touch of irony that could topple a kingdom. However, her simple (and somewhat ominous) advice isn’t meant for absolute application: the future belongs to those who soften to endure.
Ponderosa premiered at the 2026 Tribeca Festival.
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Family and the sense of belonging shape society on a mythical level, and their symbolic significance is easily integrated into ideologies that divide the world into binaries—“us” and “them,” “familiar” and “foreign,” “left” and “right.” Although these echoes of a bygone purity are deeply embedded in our collective consciousness, they emerge in new forms through the creations of filmmaker Rob Rice. Originally from Massachusetts,