It's impossible for me to objectively review this film, namely because in some important ways this film is about my own childhood. Not the fraught parent/child dynamics, not the pseudo-cultish theater troupe, but rather the immersive sound of cicadas, the green so lush it nearly overwhelms, the pastoral pace of a hot summer afternoon in Western Massachusetts in the early 1990s. I can be objective in a few ways, however. For all the accolades the film's actors justly receive, it features what may be the finest sound design in any film I've seen in recent memory. The constant cacophony of insects, birds, tree frogs; the satisfying crunch of footfalls on dirt roads; the creak of each wooden stair; the ancient, lived-in sound of air moving through a woodland cottage; the whispers and half-formed musings of liminal connection. In parallel to the film's immersive sound is its rich cinematography that brings to mind the works of Akerman and Sciamma, filled with keenly observed shots of the films characters nestled deep within their surroundings and a tactility that almost invites you into the frame, into Lacy and Janet's world in all its quixotic beauty. There is a naturalness to these compositions that nonetheless requires expert blocking and framing, as well as deft editing to maximize its emotional impact. Several sequences, including the theater performance and the contra dance, elicit a frisson of emotion that induces a kind of emotional time-travel, a fleeting glimpse of something profound and transformative usually hidden from our view.