Bosco, 2024.
Written and Directed by Nicholas Manuel Pino.
Starring Aubrey Joseph, Theo Rossi, Thomas Jane, Tyrese Gibson, Vivica A. Fox, Nikki Blonsky, Jim O’Heir, D.C. Young Fly, Brandon Rogers, Tory Lanez, John Lewis, Darell M. Davie, and Camden Randall.
SYNOPSIS:
Based on the story of Quawntay ‘Bosco” Adams, sentenced to 35 years for attempted possession of marijuana. With the help of a woman from a lonely-hearts ad, he escapes to see his daughter but is forced to take responsibility for his past.
Based on the life of Quawntay Adams, writer/director Nicholas Manuel Pino’s Bosco (the protagonist’s nickname) isn’t attuned to anything that would separate this story from a generic prison break film. Convicted and sentenced to an absurdly cruel 35 years in a maximum penitentiary for a marijuana bust, activities Quawntay (Aubrey Joseph) got roped into due to the questionable advice and upbringing from his father (Tyrese Gibson), the script (which is also based on Quawntay Adams’ memoir) functions as a didactic slog about what life on the inside is like and what goes through the mind, primarily ignoring the hook that this crafty escape artist (he has broken out of smaller jails several times) used a phone line to contact a lonely socialite housewife in an abusive relationship through a newspaper ad, who went on to play a vital part in his plan as they became close.
Instead, Bosco turns its attention toward the staples of the genre, whether it be trading goods for information, empathizing with fellow inmates finding themselves struggling with addiction, or copious amounts of physical assault at the hands of the penitentiary staff (Thomas Jane and Theo Rossi being the ruthless guards.) As for Quawntay, he does have a girlfriend who has just given birth, although she isn’t interested in returning his calls from jail. All he has is an ultrasound picture of the baby that the guards naturally confiscate as psychological punishment. Nevertheless, it’s evident that his ultimate goal is to be reunited and earn his way back into their good graces, swearing off the life his father pushed him into and hopefully breaking that cycle.
It’s also unfortunate that relative newcomer Aubrey Joseph is incapable of carrying the narrative, whether it be through his actions on screen or awkward, low-energy narration. He delivers a stilted performance that doesn’t do the material any favors. However, unsurprisingly, whenever the film allows for an encounter between Quawntay and his potential new lover Tammy (Nikki Blonsky), there is a slight dramatic pull. Not only do the actors have decent chemistry together navigating uncertain and uncomfortable life moments, but there is also a sense that they do see the opportunity to find freedom within one another. These scenes make it all the more baffling that Nicholas Manuel Pino reduces that dynamic to a mere subplot. There are cutaways to Tammy’s home life that are too forced to carry any emotional weight.
Bosco also crams in a helping of flashbacks between Quawntay and his father, building up to the moment that got him put in this prison, all of which feels unnecessary, although it might be worthwhile in the end considering Tyrese Gibson and Vivica A. Fox, playing his parents, turn in the most convincing performances. The dialogue, especially the narration from Quawntay, is otherwise constantly heavy-handed and supremely derivative.
As Bosco wraps up, we are informed that Quawntay Adams is a part of several charitable organizations and activism to reduce the time on overly harsh sentences, which is not only worth applauding but also gives the impression that a documentary might have been better suited for this man of the filmmakers aren’t willing to explore what would make this particular prison break story stand out. This is amateurish and truly tough to sit through.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★
Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com
