Grief, armed with talons, waits among the pumpkin rows at dusk. In the fading light of a roadside general store, a man named Ed Harley tends to his world, while his son, Billy, is the bright center of it. The props here feel lived-in, not placed: a worn ledger, a simple red scarf. The acting is just as honest, quiet and unshowy. But this peace is fragile. Far off, dirt bikes buzz like angry was...
