Christopher Rhoten
In Adam Meeks’ steely drama Union County, Will Poulter (The Revenant, Warfare) plays Cody Parsons, an opioid addict trying to get clean in rural Ohio. Hiding beneath a scruffy beard and a weathered Under Armour cap, Poulter is introduced inconspicuously in the bottom corner of the opening frame, no more Hollywood than the faces beside him at a court-mandated recovery program. Accompanied by his foster brother and fellow addict Jack (Noah Centineo of Dream Scenario), Cody, a user since the age of seventeen, does his due diligence in attempting to get his life back on track.
Despite being the more irresponsible half of the duo, Jack gets Cody a job cutting 2x4s. The sponsors at the program attempt to give his life structure, provide accountability, and shelter, since he’s been living out of his car. However, swearing off any vice is always easier said than done, and it isn’t long before both men relapse. An accompanying drug-induced automobile accident sends Jack off for more specialized care and leaves Cody more alone than ever.
Poulter’s unexceptional leading man is the type of protagonist movies rarely choose. He’s suffering but silent, unique but uninteresting, someone who feels remarkably close to a person that you could meet—and likely have met—in the real world. Whenever Cody appears in court, the camera mirrors the perspective of the judge, inviting us to impart judgment of our own, or perhaps, refuse to.
Like Cody, Union County is patient and procedural. Rather than sensationalize the highs and lows of addiction, the film focuses on the boredom and monotony of a life in recovery. Day in and day out, Cody tries to kick his devastating habit as he listens to rap music rendered unintelligible by his jalopy’s deafening bass, or as he nails pallets together to pay for the next pack of cigarettes.
While court-ordered intervention is often portrayed in grayer light, this tale finds plenty of allies both in the system and surrounding it. When a member of the program has good news to share, they receive applause. When an issue arises, the judge’s first question is what can be done to help. Unsurprisingly, it’s a sense of community that allows Cody to open up and start envisioning a way forward. Connections blossom with fellow addict Anna (Elise Kibler of TV’s The Night Agent) and counselor Annette (Annette Deao, in her feature film debut), even as things prove more difficult to mend with sister Katrina (The Deuce cast member Emily Meade), one half of a relationship that has long deteriorated because of substance abuse.
Shot on location in Bellefontaine and based on real-life cases, Union County is set within a real drug court and features real-life addicts, counselors, and judges. It’s a neorealist drama keenly aware that the people and situations it explores are someone’s reality, and it’s unusually empathetic to all parties involved. Which is not to say romantic—when it’s revealed late in the film that Cody got Jack hooked, it’s one of many subtle flourishes that speak to the weight Parsons carries, a small sleight of hand that works better than an expository flashback ever could.
The film is based on Meeks’ own 2020 short film, itself inspired by a chance meeting between the director and a judge from the actual program. After being invited to a meeting, Meeks was heartened to document not only the resilience of addicts but also the sense of family present both among those in recovery and within the courtroom itself. The sparse plot exists only to offer a glimpse into what will be another world for most viewers, faithfully recreated in both process and tonality, if filtered through a vision that’s perhaps unhelpfully apolitical.
Union County is not an exciting film. It’s sorrowful and slow. It’s difficult to imagine a story this austere finding a wide audience—even if Poulter is gradually beginning to earn respect as a dramatic actor. This isn’t the kind of bait that will coax a showy, head-turning performance. Yet all these decisions are intentional, with a specific punch to the gut in mind, and with performances that complement the authentic thesis.
Ultimately, Union County‘s simplicity can’t hide the complications of addiction. When Cody’s progress is recognized with a certification, it seems unremarkable until one stops and realizes how rare it is for addicts to achieve any concrete sense of having changed, even months and years past their lowest points, or how it takes someone genuinely concerned to create such motivation in the first place. For both the helper and the helped, the promise of better days must, at times, be the only reward. A film about those struggles won’t hurt either.
