The best film that arrived this month on Netflix: Alexander Payne’s masterpiece, which was nominated for 5 Oscars in 2024

In “The Rejects,” Alexander Payne directs Paul Giamatti, Da’Vine Joy Randolph and Dominic Sessa in a story of isolation and quiet reconciliation. The film follows a small group who stay at a New England boarding school during Christmas 1970. Strict and lonely teacher Paul Hunham is assigned to look after the few students who don’t return home. Among them is Angus Tully, an intelligent and rebellious young man, who tries to hide his abandonment behind his insolence. Cook Mary Lamb, still mourning her son’s death, completes the central trio, observing everything with the gravity of someone who knows the weight of absence.

Known for portraying disenchantment and tenderness in works such as “Sideways — Between Ones and Others” and “Nebraska”, Payne returns here to the territory he dominates: lost characters who search for some meaning in relationships that resist chance. The school, with its strict discipline and cold hallways, serves as a mirror of Paul’s emotional life. He teaches ancient history, but lives as if the past is the only safe place. Angus, on the other hand, represents the drive and anger of those still trying to prove themselves. Mary watches them both, torn between care and the tiredness of living with pain that is not hers.

The first clash between teacher and student sets the tone of the narrative. The dispute for authority exposes the fear that the two share: that of not being seen. Payne handles this clash naturally, letting the humor arise from the contrast between their ages and their stubbornness. Christmas confinement becomes, little by little, a mirroring experience. Each person begins to perceive in the other the reflection of what they try to deny.

Forced coexistence transforms the space. The school, once a symbol of control, becomes a temporary shelter. Tension grows when Angus decides to break the rules and test Paul’s patience. After this confrontation, the story slows down. What was surveillance becomes coexistence, and humor begins to open cracks in isolation. Payne shows that authority only makes sense when it is converted into care. The risk is no longer just disciplinary and becomes moral: how far is it possible to protect someone without betraying themselves?

The film alternates moments of irony and tenderness with precision. Payne uses the Christmas period as a counterpoint: while the world celebrates unity, his characters face emptiness. The snow and silence reinforce the feeling of suspended time. Each gesture has the weight of a contained dialogue. David Hemingson’s script builds transformation with small steps, always anchored in choices. Slowness is the pace of discovery.

Paul Giamatti plays the professor with dry humor and restrained melancholy. Your rigidity dissolves little by little, without the need for speeches. Dominic Sessa, in his debut, combines arrogance and fragility, revealing the insecurity of those who feel discarded. Da’Vine Joy Randolph composes Mary with rare sobriety: pain is not displayed, but shapes each movement. Together, the three form an emotional triangle in which silence is worth more than consolation.

Eigil Bryld’s photography reproduces the texture of 1970s cinema, with yellow tones and grains that recall memories. This aged appearance reinforces the feeling of remembrance, as if the past were seen through eyes that have not yet overcome it. Kevin Tent’s editing maintains the balance between introspection and lightness, allowing the story to breathe. Each cut serves the relationship between the characters, not aesthetic artifice.

The central conflict reaches a breaking point when the bond between Paul and Angus is put to the test. The teacher, who seemed incapable of empathy, must decide between preserving the rules or acting out of compassion. The choice changes the balance of coexistence and redefines the sense of responsibility. Payne avoids sentimentality. He suggests that maturation comes from imperfection, not redemption.

Mary, in turn, finds in the two men an indirect way to continue caring, without erasing the pain. His presence serves as the moral axis of the story. It is through her that the film achieves its most human tone: the acceptance that living with losses also means learning to share the weight.

The story ends with the feeling that time continues outside the screen. “The Rejected” maintains the same discretion as the beginning, trusting the viewer to realize that true change rarely announces itself. Payne is not looking for grand gestures, but the recognition of the other as a gesture in itself.

“The Rejected” confirms the director’s maturity in a cinema that values ​​human detail. The visual texture, the restrained humor and the compassionate look form a coherent and precise set. By reaffirming that empathy endures even in times of cynicism, Payne shows that there is still room for simple stories told truthfully. It’s a film that doesn’t promise redemption, but observes hope when no one is looking.