Tribeca Review: Ponderosa Delivers a Mysterious, Humorous Perspective on America’s National Myths

      Family and belonging are foundational to society, representing mythical dimensions, their symbolic significance easily integrated into ideologies that divide the world into binaries—“us” and “them,” “familiar” and “foreign,” “left” and “right.” These enduring images of a bygone purity manifest in new ways in the works of filmmaker Rob Rice. Originating from Massachusetts, the Los Angeles-based writer-director released his debut, Way Out Ahead of Us, in 2022, marking his commitment to cinema as a form of community and connection, a platform for authenticity and seemingly indirect actions. This hybrid film features a real married couple navigating questions of true mortality and the imagined independence of a fictional daughter; its sequel, the Tribeca-premiering Ponderosa, is a more straightforward work of fiction.

      Ponderosa, named after the “Old West”-themed restaurant chain, exists in a space between past and present, engaged in a struggle for a better future. Zeke (Jack Dylan Grazer), the main character, encapsulates the essence of an “old soul” in his early 20s—disheveled hair and a wise, empathetic look—perhaps due to being the only child of a single parent. His mother, Sandra (Alexis Bledel, portrayed in an unfamiliar light), may work at a Ponderosa buffet, but her presence is filled with deep melancholy. She glides rather than walks and speaks very little. However, when she does speak, the warmth of her deep-blue eyes wraps around you like a comforting blanket. This duo of a mother and son is undoubtedly symbolic, yet the film never suggests that it lacks something essential—whether that be a father, financial security, or extended relatives. What are Zeke and Sandra to each other? They are sufficient.

      Enter heteropatriarchy, ready to disrupt this peaceful existence in the form of buffet regular George (Bill Camp, both endearing and menacing), who arrives when the Ponderosa restaurant is set to close. Driven by an irrational and indefinable urge to father Zeke (symbolically, yet almost entirely), George becomes a misguided antagonist—representing capitalist inequality as a middle-aged single man whose life has centered around amassing wealth by constructing substandard homes. Camp portrays his unsettling character, an aging white man plagued by questions of legacy, with a notable absence of self-reflection. Moreover, he spends his weekends among like-minded men with a “fathering” complex: nationalists united by a “founding-father” mentality. While we’ve encountered variations of this subplot that exploit toxic masculinity for ideological purposes, we have never seen it faced with Zeke’s hilarious stoicism—much like Bartleby, he would simply rather not engage.

      In Ponderosa, Rice critiques America’s national myths in a more stylized manner, utilizing uncanny visuals, unexpectedly low angles, and comedic wide shots by cinematographer Barton Cortright (The Cathedral), all assembled in poetically awkward (yet sharply intentional) sequences by editor Mina Fitzpatrick. The contrast between what appears familiar—the atmosphere of a dramatic thriller, the soaring score, tense male confrontations, and even the gentle features of Alexis Bledel’s well-known face—and what feels utterly foreign fuels a mythical kind of storytelling: everything and nothing are possible simultaneously. Describing Ponderosa as a strange film doesn’t fully capture its essence. Its enigmatic quality is more an invitation to rethink societal structures—not necessarily in radically new ways but to question intentions and resist conformity, even in the face of pervasive loneliness. One of the film's most touching elements—and there are many!—is the ability to share loneliness without allowing it to overwhelm. “Just keep pushing,” Sandra advises a despondent George, her irony capable of toppling kingdoms. However, her simple (and somewhat foreboding) advice isn’t meant for concrete application: the future belongs to those who soften to endure.

      Ponderosa debuted at the 2026 Tribeca Festival.