Red Rocket: American Delusion

(Chase Manze)

On the long drive eastward into Texas City, one can hardly tell the grey from the brown. Of course, there are different shades of each. Is it the shiny, metallic grey of the oil refineries or the faded, practically sun-bleached grey of the elevated super-highways ferrying passersby in and out of the state's vast center? And the browns: dead grass, relentless desert, or chipped paint on the wood siding of two-room houses? Director Sean Baker quickly ushers the viewer into this simultaneously distinct and utterly nondescript landscape, first seen through a bus window as our then-anonymous lead character makes his descent. Whereas the majority of movies in theaters now take place in established cinematic locales (i.e., New York and Los Angeles), Red Rocket continues the project Baker started with 2015's Tangerine and 2017's The Florida Project by depicting those American communities typically left undiscussed. 

Once the opening credits end and the bus pulls into the Texas City bus terminal, Mikey Saber (Simon Rex) steps into the center of the frame. Mikey hails from Texas City originally but left the town roughly twenty years ago to pursue a career as an adult entertainer in LA. He shuffles off the bus and proceeds to walk a lengthy distance, unguided, to what ends up being his estranged wife's house. Neither her nor her mother (both of whom live in the house) know about Mikey's visit until he's knocking on the door, calling their phones, and hanging about the porch. Rex as Mikey is a virtuoso physical performance. Here, even silent and in waiting, he's deeply antic, shuffling and fidgeting, rife with mannerisms. 

These tendencies expand ten-fold the moment he's exposed to another human being. When his wife Lexi (Bree Elrod) peaks through a crack in the door and sees him standing there, her immediate reaction is revulsion. Mikey begins his assault. By default Mikey speaks at a ticker tape pace, rattling his way through (largely) mono-syllabic words in ever-increasing states of persistence. Beyond just that, he paces and spins, throwing up jazz hands at a point as if to say "ta da" in a purposeful attempt to soften the blow of his arrival. He asks Lexi if he can stay for "just a few days" which all parties involved know means indefinitely. She aggressively rebuffs him, driving him off the property with the threat of calling the police. Mikey continues on from the street, undeterred, plying Lexi with sentence after sentence like wet strands of papier-mâché newspaper until her eyes are too masked over to see her own hurt. He stays.

Here, even silent and in waiting, he's deeply antic, shuffling and fidgeting, rife with mannerisms. 

At the outset you almost can't help but like him. It's abundantly clear through his own personality and Lexi's opinion of him that he's inconsistent and eccentric, but there's no evidence suggesting true malicious intent. In the earliest depiction of pure conversation, Mikey speaks ad nauseam to Lexi and her mother Lil (Brenda Deiss) in the kitchen, going on uninterrupted for several minutes. Lexi and Lil's facial expressions make clear the fact that they are not interested in anything Mikey has to say. He's blissfully unaware. He regales them with stories of living in shared housing in LA with other members of the adult entertainment industry. Trashy female performers caused problems in the house, MS-13 gang members almost shot him, etc. To him a captive audience is just an audience. Mikey believes his stories to be fascinating. Thus, they must be.

Real moments of sincerity pockmark Mikey's early character development. After promising Lexi and Lil that he would get a job, he goes on several interviews at local restaurants. The conversations go well at first as he is deeply personable and charming to strangers, but inevitably each interviewer asks the same deathly question: what has he been doing for the last seventeen years? The answer, of course, is pornography. Once Mikey admits it, he doubles down almost immediately, listing off his porn resume to anyone who will listen. He encourages the interviewers to look up his work in the moment, stating over and over that it is "good shit." 

One woman takes him up on his offer and finds a picture of his face, in ridiculous spring breaker sunglasses, next to an ass. Another man declines to look into it, prompting Mikey to reference his Adult Video News (AVN) awards, as well as his AVN Hall of Fame plaque. To him, his work as an adult entertainer is meaningful and indicative of his stature as a man. He references his own sexual prowess constantly throughout the film, always tying it back to his many years as a porn God. If he is eager and engaged in conversation by default, he is doubly animated when discussing his life in porn. Every video, picture, or actress comes with five opinions and a lengthy anecdote attached.

Ultimately, no one hires him. He's forced to visit an acquaintance from high school named Ernesto (Marlon Lambert) and get a gig selling weed for his mom. Even in these encounters, the first being when he re-introduces himself to Ernesto and the second when he convinces Leondria (Judy Hill) to let him sell weed, Mikey displays such overwhelming showmanship. In the face of absolute adversity (neither Ernesto or Leondria truly know who Mikey is) and a total lack of engagement (all his attempts at humor fall completely flat), Mikey carries on.

As the film progresses, Texas City becomes populated by various new characters. We start with the nucleus of Mikey, Lexi, and Lil. We then add Leondria, Ernesto, and Leondria's daughter June (Brittney Rodriguez) to the fold. After that comes Lonnie (Ethan Darbone): the tall, practically bone-thin neighbor to Lexi and Lil. He sports long black hair tucked into a man bun and a chest-deep scraggly beard. Mikey's friendship with Lonnie is born out of necessity: he doesn't own a car and can only get around using Lexi's yellow bicycle. Lonnie, on the other hand, has wheels.

The two grow closer over the course of frequent long drives to strip clubs or malls. It becomes clear just how sheltered Lonnie's life has been. While not said explicitly, it's implied that Lonnie has never really left Texas City and has remained in his parents' house throughout his life. It's fitting then that his personality and demeanor are almost childlike; he appears easily impressionable and eager to please. In interchanges with Mikey, Lonnie is usually in awe of the beautiful women that feature in Mikey's stories, the various porn exploits, and life in LA generally. Based on Lonnie's facial expressions during their conversations, one might assume Mikey came from a different planet.

Aside from Simon Rex (a former MTV VJ and Scary Movie star) and Bree Elrod (who has three credits to her name), none of the performances in Red Rocket come from professional actors. This is a routine Sean Baker technique and, as was the case in his previous work, the result is remarkable, imbuing the film with an unmatched feeling of authenticity. Every half-slurred word slipping out of Lil’s mouth, every instance of small-town insecurity found in Lonnie, each of Leondria’s knowing rejoinders feel deeply lived-in by virtue of the fact that they are. Each intonation and expression is born of this world Baker is trying to capture.

Unsurprisingly, Mikey's an excellent weed salesman, selling out his first batch quickly. This influx of cash coincides with Lexi and Lil demanding that he contribute financially. Mikey pulls out a stack of cash, offers to pay the rent in its entirety, and takes the two of them to their local donut spot, The Donut Hole, an unassuming yellow-brown building mainly patronized by oil refinery workers from across the street.

Lexi and Lil open the door and march to the counter to survey the day's donut selection. A bell rings overhead to notify the staff that they have customers. That’s when Mikey sees her. A young, cherubic, red-haired girl with huge round eyes, soft features, and a light, high-tone yet throaty, lilting Texas accent that makes everything sound alluring. Her name is Strawberry (Suzanna Son). It's obvious: she's his dreamboat Lolita with a ceramic strawberry necklace.

Rex is at his best here. Positioned next to Lexi and Lil in a Donut Hole booth, his eyes track Strawberry's every move. All attributes of his eccentric, scatter-shot persona are momentarily filed away as a new instinct takes their place. It takes him three more visits to see Strawberry again. Their age discrepancy is more a chasm than a gap. It is frighteningly obvious in their every interaction, yet neither party seems eager to acknowledge it. She's seventeen and looks like youth itself: pale-skinned, freckled, and dressed exclusively in light colors (a lot of yellows). He's handsome, but undeniably nearing fifty and weather-worn from two decades brutalizing his body and baking in the Los Angeles sun.

Despite this, Mikey attempts to mirror Strawberry's affectations. He raises the pitch of his own voice ever so slightly, lengthens some of his vowel sounds, and leans and turns slowly while speaking. It's as though, having assessed the situation, he's deduced how to funnel his typical mania into something more effective. That quick pace of speech remains largely the same, but the content shifts dramatically. He makes no references to his past. Instead, he speaks like a teenager, making poor jokes and feigning sass and disapproval for comedic effect. 

This fixation on and subsequent relationship with Strawberry highlights two key aspects of Rex's performance: aptitude and intentionality. Mikey first appears bruised, broke, and desperate for a place to stay. Lexi sees through his vulnerable act immediately and thus puts up a considerable fight before conceding and letting him into her home. Throughout that interaction she has the benefit of history and lived experience. The audience does not. We are forced to take on Mikey at face value and make our own determinations as the story progresses. Baker isn't the type to insert major expositional dialogue for the sake of clarifying backstory. 

With that approach, the only information given to the viewer about Mikey is provided by Mikey, whether that be via Rex's performance or the written dialogue. As previously mentioned, it's not hard to root for Mikey initially: he's a strange, seemingly inept grifter who has made it through adult life relying largely on charm. Initially Rex tricks the viewer into tying his delusion to stupidity or ineptitude. He does so through nasal desperation and micro-comedic tendencies (droning on and on much to his estranged wife and mother-in-law's obvious chagrin). His grand delusion, at that point, is assuming no one is immune to his charm. 

It's as though, having assessed the situation, he's deduced how to funnel his typical mania into something more effective.

When he meets Strawberry, Rex stops playing that initial iteration of Mikey. The calculus shifts and his delusion becomes that he can wield his charm like a weapon in order to impose his will on others, and do so without repercussion. It's not enough to say that Rex plays Mikey as more intelligent in the latter half of the film. Rather, Rex crafts a distinctly separate performance that recontextualizes what the audience saw and interpreted at the beginning. His goofball silliness gives way to focused, thinly-veiled desire. All of this is to say that Rex's performance becomes significantly darker and more nefarious when faced with an outside challenge. In this case: the seduction and ownership of a 17-year-old girl.

Mikey returns to The Donut Hole every day that Strawberry works. They begin to sit together for hours. What they talk about is unclear. He lies to her about virtually every aspect of his life from his profession (an agent) to his reason for being in Texas City (taking care of his sick mom). With each new lie Rex stares at her, as if to gauge whether she's challenging any of his information internally. On nights where they spend time together, he has her drop him and his bike off at a random house in an expensive neighborhood. Mikey turns around, watches with bated breath until her taillights disappear, and then speeds to Lexi's. The image he projects under these circumstances aligns more closely with his general self-regard: he is established, a good person, a good son, and successful in his career. A small town boy who fled to a big city and hit it big. He's a true American success story.

On the other side of this distorted romance diptych is Suzanna Son as Strawberry. In her feature film debut, Son illuminates the screen and presents such a warm, appealing aura that, when contrasted with Rex's increasingly volatile darkness, heightens the tension. Her great gift as a performer is the ability to swallow the explicit or implicit narcissistic antic mania of Rex's performance, funnel it into something simple that Rex is forced to mirror, and do so without coming across as dumb. She never presents herself as a simple-minded teenager. If anything, she's in pursuit of a playful, erotic romantic ideal. Despite her outward appearance, the character is highly sexualized. She initiates physical contact with Mikey for the first time and claims to prefer men to boys. Strawberry is attracted to something unknown: something other than the Texas City boys she's met and been involved with throughout her adolescence. Something other than small-town shit. 

Every spoken word is almost a purr, gentle yet textured. Everything is said in a knowing way. She almost suggests that she has an intellectual high ground over this thirsting old man. She's more aware than Mikey gives her credit for, but not aware enough to make the right call. With that implication of agency and intelligence, the viewer never knows her take on her relationship with Mikey. She never gives away her true thoughts. It's all seduction: eyes and voice.

Her great gift as a performer is the ability to swallow the explicit or implicit narcissistic antic mania of Rex's performance, funnel it into something simple that Rex is forced to mirror, and do so without coming across as dumb.

The remainder of the film charts their relationship, as well as Mikey's ever-shifting dynamics with Lexi and Lonnie. Without providing any unnecessary details, I'll say that Mikey's true character continues to unfold and present itself through a series of deeply upsetting sequences.

Baker ties so much of this film to notions of the American identity. It's no accident that the film is set in late July, 2016, with Ted Cruz, Donald Trump, and Hilary Clinton's voices appearing, off-screen, as the Republican and Democratic conventions air on television. Other pieces have drawn a parallel between Mikey, an eccentric con man constantly using charm and influence to march through life and impose his will upon others, and Trump, who could be described in very much the same way. It's a reductive comparison, but does speak to the broader idea of what characteristics American society chooses to celebrate. A unified concept of the American identity no longer exists, but previous iterations that revolved around individualism, self-sufficiency, and capitalist cunning still reside in the firmament of our political discourse. 

If nothing else, Mikey Saber embodies those outlined attributes. He, in his rural Texan porn star glory, aligns with a broader notion of American exceptionalism, at least in effort and attempt. What Mikey also possesses (and Baker showcases the significance of) is delusion. To personify confidence and manipulate others, Mikey owns various breeds of intense, detrimental delusion. This ranges from traditional narcissistic tendencies (thinking here of a scene in which he tells Strawberry’s ex-boyfriend to look him up on PornHub: “20.1 million views […] she’s in a different league now”) to a broader notion of control over others. 

As Mikey sits in the passenger seat of Strawberry's mom's pick-up truck, smoking a red, white, and blue joint with her in his lap, it's obvious that devastation is coming (despite his momentary self-satisfaction). And it does. If the reductive comparisons are accurate and Mikey represents a stand-in for so many prominent American figures, then let's label them delusional and try to exist in their inevitable wake. For Mikey, whose good fortune soon runs out, that wake is violent and massive.