Honey Boy

Otis is an actor whose childhood they stole. Son of a mother elsewhere and a toxic father, he grew up (professionally) on television and (miserably) in a low-end motel on the edge of Los Angeles. Addicted to alcohol and a past that does not pass, Otis crashes in the car, resists the police and is hospitalized in a detox center for alcoholics. At war with the world and with his psychologist, who tries to reduce his anger, Otis traces his childhood to let go of his father and finally find peace.

Ferociously personal, Honey Boy turns the curse into an election. Directed by Alma Har’el and written by Shia LaBeouf, it transfigures an autobiographical pain and projects the actor’s ghosts onto the screen.

Pressing ghosts asking for a screen and a catharsis. Hollywood wonder boy, raised in captivity on Disney Channel (Even Stevens) and baptized by two heavyweights at the cinema (Steven Spielberg and Michael Bay), Shia LaBeouf is famous for his qualities and his innumerable intemperances. To help his fans understand him but above all to better understand himself, the actor decides to write a film about himself where he plays the role of his father, a Vietnam veteran with the vice of heroin and cruelty. Because Jeffrey LaBeouf is like bad grass: inestirpable, obstinate, resistant.

The Californian actor goes to the root of his problems and roots, which he sometimes seems to want to tear with his bare hands. Honey Boy wears the armor of the initiatory tale, a theoretical space in which to make the conflicting relationship of a son and father resonate who has not done great things in life except to flee his wife and alienate his boyfriend. A professional and itinerant clown who only took cakes in the face, the same ones that his son takes for fun on a television sitcom

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